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Famous sociopaths? Gabriele d'Annunzio
From the link, headlined under "THE SEX-OBSESSED POET WHO INVENTED FASCISM":
D'Annunzio was a thrill-seeking megalomaniac best described as a cross between the Marquis de Sade, Aaron Burr, Ayn Rand, and Madonna. He was wildly popular. And he wasn't like anyone who came before him.“You must create your life, as you'd create a work of art. It's necessary that the life of an intellectual be artwork with him as the subject. True superiority is all here. At all costs, you must preserve liberty, to the point of intoxication," d’Annunzio writes in Il Piacere, an ambiguously autobiographical novel published in 1889. "The rule for an intellectual is this: own, don't be owned.”
A-Can I ask you a personal question? You don't need to respond, if you do not wish to. I was wondering-did you initially have lust for your partner? Or, are love and lust always seperate"
I was not originally attracted to my husband. I was toying with a handful of other men, so when he first asked for my number, I refused him.
He was the roommate of a friend, so I saw him a lot. What initially attracted him to me was his mind. He's brilliant. We soon discovered that we shared a morbid sense of humour. He has a strong antisocial streak, so we got into lots of trouble together. This cemented our friendship.
But it was making out with him for the first time that finally did me in. He's amazing in bed.
I have the highest sex drive of anyone I have ever known- and he is experimental and open. That was more important for me than virtually anything else. His only hard boundary to this day is a staunch insistence upon strict monogamy. I would prefer an open marriage. This remains a source of frustration for both of us.
The sex is good in general, but when we both really have time to play (which is not as often these days), we have a sadomasochistic dynamic in the bedroom that is mind blowing. We engage in a lot of very risky edge play, which definitely helps to keep things interesting. At this juncture, no safe words or general precautions are necessary, because our non-verbal sexual trust and communication are exquisite. This allows us to take things to an extreme that few people experience or relate to, even within bdsm culture, which we do not participate in. You would never know what kind of a freak I am just by looking at me. :)
So to answer your question: I love and lust my partner, but generally not at the same time. Our sex life is downright violent, and if most people knew the kinds of things we do, they would call us sick. And maybe we are. But the kind of intimacy engendered when someone offers themselves up to you, and willingly places their throbbing jugular under your blade, is indescribably delicious. That kind of power exchange is very exciting, heady stuff. But it most certainly isn't what anyone might call "making love".
“I was not originally attracted to my husband. I was toying with a handful of other men, so when he first asked for my number, I refused him.”
While I understand your point, I have a few thoughts that might give you some ideas. based on what you’ve written in this post, I am inclined to believe that you could have been originally attracted to him. Could it have been an intense, “subterranean” attraction that brewed in there for a while? As it were, some things take a while to surface in full force. Sometimes, a specific reason for one’s behavior is “unknown” until the subterranean mesh or ensemble allows things to become full-fledged.
“He was the roommate of a friend, so I saw him a lot. What initially attracted him to me was his mind. He's brilliant. We soon discovered that we shared a morbid sense of humour. He has a strong antisocial streak, so we got into lots of trouble together. This cemented our friendship.”
True, I can see how a brilliant mind, a strong antisocial streak, and a morbid sense of humor can fortify a relationship. These qualities/traits are undoubtedly invaluable.
“But it was making out with him for the first time that finally did me in. He's amazing in bed.”
It sounds like a stunning and tightening first time. Having the effect of being “finally done in” conveys further cementation.
“I have the highest sex drive of anyone I have ever known- and he is experimental and open. That was more important for me than virtually anything else. His only hard boundary to this day is a staunch insistence upon strict monogamy. I would prefer an open marriage. This remains a source of frustration for both of us.”
I agree with the importance of having a high sex drive in the type of marriage and sexual-proclivities-setup that you’re describing. However, why do you prefer an open marriage? If you think about it, wouldn’t monogamy contribute to strengthening the “alloy” of the cement as the relationship rises to an even more intense level in all of the aspects that you’ve expressed so far?
“The sex is good in general, but when we both really have time to play (which is not as often these days), we have a sadomasochistic dynamic in the bedroom that is mind blowing. We engage in a lot of very risky edge play, which definitely helps to keep things interesting. At this juncture, no safe words or general precautions are necessary, because our non-verbal sexual trust and communication are exquisite. This allows us to take things to an extreme that few people experience or relate to, even within bdsm culture, which we do not participate in. You would never know what kind of a freak I am just by looking at me. :)”
This sounds perfect and enthralling, A. In addition to blades/knives, do you also engage in heated and “chancy” gunplay?
“So to answer your question: I love and lust my partner, but generally not at the same time. Our sex life is downright violent, and if most people knew the kinds of things we do, they would call us sick. And maybe we are. But the kind of intimacy engendered when someone offers themselves up to you, and willingly places their throbbing jugular under your blade, is indescribably delicious. That kind of power exchange is very exciting, heady stuff. But it most certainly isn't what anyone might call "making love".”
I have been thinking a bit more about your post. I believe that my questions to you about a monogamous marriage were, in essence and retrospect, statements on my part, which means that I do not really expect you to answer them. After all, you were discussing your situation in terms of “preference,” and there is another post wherein you’re stating that it is a “shared project." Clarifying things is my goal here. :)
“At this juncture, no safe words or general precautions are necessary, because our non-verbal sexual trust and communication are exquisite. This allows us to take things to an extreme that few people experience or relate to, even within bdsm culture, which we do not participate in.”
Non-verbal sexual trust and communication is so valuable to have in the relationship that you are defining in your post. Taking things to extreme levels can result in highly fulfilling experiences. In essence, a couple can do anything they desire, which most people would surely not understand.
I did not mention in my prior comment that I agree with your view on love and lust, and having compartments for each one. As you mentioned above, what you do is not what ordinary or “normal” people might call “making love.”
“Our sex life is downright violent, and if most people knew the kinds of things we do, they would call us sick. And maybe we are. But the kind of intimacy engendered when someone offers themselves up to you, and willingly places their throbbing jugular under your blade, is indescribably delicious.”
Truth be told, I instinctively believe and feel that a blade can be more impacting than gunplay. I asked you about gunplay, because I, for one, find it appealing as well. All in all, I imagine the effect of the blade and upsurge of it as being no less than extraordinary.
However, why do you prefer an open marriage? If you think about it, wouldn’t monogamy contribute to strengthening the “alloy” of the cement as the relationship rises to an even more intense level in all of the aspects that you’ve expressed so far?"
Yes. That is his position. I find it difficult because there are things I would like to do that would hurt him emotionally. We are not wired in the same way, in *that* way. He also compartmentalizes love and lust- but he has no desire to be with anyone apart from me. He is incredibly devoted and loyal. I respect that. I respect *him*. So I honour him with physical exclusivity, at the expense of expressing certain facets of my lust. It is a worthwhile sacrifice.
As for gunplay... That is something I would most definitely enjoy, but we have not explored it.... Yet. ;)
That said, there is something much more intimate and visceral about knifeplay. It's my favorite kink amongst many.
"A"-thank you so much for your candid response!!! I find a lot of similarities between you and your husband, and my husband and I. I believe he is an undiagnosed psychopath/sociopath. At first he seemed uninterested in me, and I chased him. He was friends with my sister and her husband, so I ran into him a lot. I think I am fairly intelligent. People have told me, that I can have a sick sense of humor. I don't know if I have an antisocial streak, but I am an introvert. I also have a higher sex drive, than any other woman I have ever known...
“That said, there is something much more intimate and visceral about knifeplay. It's my favorite kink amongst many.”
The visceral quality and instinctual mark in the sphere and forte of knifeplay can lead to so many hidden aspects of one’s personality. As for its inherent intimacy, I believe that it can become illimitable.
In reference to both knife and gunplay, what do you think about some of the scenes in the movie “Mr. and Mrs. Smith?” Have you seen it in its entirety?”
We watched it a long time ago, so my recollection of specific scenes is poor, but I do remember that we both enjoyed it. :)
Knife play is *very* intimate. A blade strikes me as much more personal than the barrel of a gun- although I've never engaged in gun play, so I have no first hand experience upon which to draw.
Knife requires a level of reciprocity and mutual trust that demands intimacy. It is not the kind of play that you should engage in with anyone you do not literally trust with your life. I certainly wouldn't advise it within the context of more casual relationships.
I was just thinking about this, and the rhythm of the soundtrack combines so well with the action in the movie, A.
No, I have not experienced knifeplay or that inducing level of intense intimacy, but it appeals immensely. Truth be told, I have never literally trusted anyone with my life, or, more explicitly, I have never reached that high and unique point of being so intimately in synch with someone to actually engage in knife play. I believe that it would be a haunting experience for me.
"I agree with the importance of having a high sex drive in the type of marriage and sexual-proclivities-setup that you’re describing. However, why do you prefer an open marriage? If you think about it, wouldn’t monogamy contribute to strengthening the “alloy” of the cement as the relationship rises to an even more intense level in all of the aspects that you’ve expressed so far?"
You ask a good question which really hits the nail on the head. Why do you think "lust" is a deadly sin? NOT because your private bedroom activities are inherently evil or dangerous (some can be of course). It's because they inevitably lead one to become a slave to their sexual appetite. No one is denying their "right" to do whatever they want in private but that's not enough for them once they have it. They want to caricature language first by calling it "love" in "their way." Next they make the whole concept of marriage a joke by having "open marriages." Why the hell did you get married if you wanted to keep it "open"? Marriage is a contract - imagine you made a business contract and agreed to sell your product exclusively to one company. Next thing you are all over the place and you say "why can't we just agree to keep it open?" You just butchered the terms "contract" and "responsibility" and "honor" and "trust" etc etc. WORSE still, they know what they're doing is wrong but instead of admitting it they want the world to conform to their behavior and change terms, laws and attitudes to conform to them. Instead of "promiscuity" and "cheating" it's just "open marriage."
No one - NO ONE - who falls in actual love ever, EVER, desires anyone or anything other than their lover. They may if that love dies out for some reason but it while it's there, it is NOT mere lust. It is to actually care for the other person in every aspect, and it inevitably makes everything they do - including sex - better. My own philosophy used to be: everyone is different (sound familiar? the minions start like this). I'm a lover but others just need sex wherever they get it and that's all fine. I swear by God it's not all fine. These people end up becoming envious of those who don't need to copulate with everyone all the time to be happy. They become more arrogant and cannot possibly stick to one person. I promise this "relationship" will not last either unless it evolves into something real. In fact it never was a real one because of it's "open" and deceptive nature.
One more thing I learned about God when it comes to sexuality: the emphasis has been on privacy and secrecy. If you have cravings that are not satiated by normal, loving relationships, do what you do and keep it private. Don't advertise your behavior, don't JUSTIFY it by twisting words and caricaturing language and don't ruin other people's lives by cheating on your own spouses and deceiving others into "relationships."
Having said all that, this was not an attack on A. This was being blunt and factual. Of course he / she will take it as such because, as I've explained above, the TRUTH doesn't matter to enslaved people but rather they need others to see the world as they do (why I wonder? you'd think they'd be happy with all the wild sex they're getting).
No one - NO ONE - who falls in actual love ever, EVER, desires anyone or anything other than their lover.
+
the TRUTH doesn't matter to enslaved people but rather they need others to see the world as they do
=
Yet more of your contradictory, self-righteous, self-centered crap.
According to your OWN logic and definition, then, Mohammed never "loved" his child bride Aisha, considering the fact that he had while harems of sex slaves at his disposal. His marriage to her must have been a joke... Right?
Love grows with time. Lust requires more with time. Last time you needed to choke during orgasm. Eventually you'll need to get more "creative." Maybe add tow more partners. Then it's full on orgies. Do people use their reason? They are NEVER satiated, never content with all the "wild sex" - the more they do, the more they need. I know that "A" knows this to be true whether he / she admits it or not. They didn't start off all over - in the beginning it's "normal." Then they want more and more and will sell their soul for it.
"Shut up you just don't get laid and you're lashing out"
I'm sure you'll be more creative that that. Let's see. Attack away but you know what I said is true.
I've come across several people inflicted with this disease...I mean "freedom." Only one managed to get me to almost crack and even that was because I ended up in a deep hole dug by my own family. I don't want to go into details - it doesn't hurt anymore but it does sadden me a little, mostly for them - but I mention this to say that A LOT more problems arise from this kind of behavior, not just what I've discussed in the above two posts.
You're right I wasn't aiming to address you but I ended up doing so at the end of one of these posts. Sorry about that. Now that it's happened, here's my (hopefully for real this time) last comment:
"A" I would say I KNOW who you are also but that's technically not 100% true and I don't knowingly lie anymore, thank God. You've always underestimated me because I've been putting up with your BS for a long time. I'd rather we both avoid each other - I don't want to say something which will hurt you.
I'm just calling you on your own words, Jihadi. You can comment as much as you want. There is literally nothing you (or anyone, for that matter) can say here to hurt me. I have not accorded you that power. Say whatever you will.
You can start by addressing my comment about how- according to your own words and definition of the term "love"- Mohammed's "marriage" to Aisha was a joke.
If you haven't read about Caligula, the Roman Emperor, you should. This Dannunzio sounds like a mini version of him - or perhaps the same kind of person but with far less power. Reading this article I was wondering if this guy was psychopathic, sociopathic or narcissistic. I think he was almost certainly no psychopath - he wouldn't be so openly rebellious and creative if he was. He's almost certainly a narcissist and obviously has very many sociopathic traits. I suspect there's more to his history then we know.
I've been following this guy on and off for about 15 years now. He's a famous American convert (most Western muslims know him). I've heard this talk before but it's amazing how much it ALL makes sense and puts into words a lot of what I've been writing here for the past few weeks. I think M.E. and other sincere viewers might benefit from watching it.
I wanted to comment on this yesterday but completely forgot. This would be laughably stupid if it wasn't sad & dangerous. The deceiver knows how to market better than anyone: put "intellectual" and "own, don't be owned" in the same sentence and let morons flock in thinking they're intelligent. Irony: some of these "intellectuals" would actually BE intellectuals if they didn't sell out.
People are you still not noticing how all these tricks work? They put together two opposites to sell their agenda: want to sell lust? Say it's "love." Want to sell deviance, call it "creativity." Want to sell falsehoods, call it "science." Want to sell immorality, call it "humanism" or better "secular humanism." Bah how ignorant I was!
Irony: a deceiver deceives you to think you're so much more special than you are and much better than most of the people who are just idiots. You get happy because you're "in on it" and "on the top." The deceiver sits back and lets you handle his dirty work, throwing you bones here and there to keep you happy (sex, money, etc) but keeps laughing AT YOU for falling for it and loving it all the while. Then the deceiver satiates the bright ones who may be concerned by saying "the pious are the ones who are deluded." His evidence? They DON'T indulge and sell themselves.
"A deceiver deceives you to think you're so much more special than you are and much better than most of the people who are just idiots."
What, you mean like how you were saved by God because you were so much more special than the depraved, filthy minions with whom you used to associate?
You get happy because you're "in on it" and "on the top." The deceiver sits back and lets you handle his dirty work, throwing you bones here and there to keep you happy"
You mean like how Islam strokes your ego by fueling your self-righteousness, deluding you into thinking that it is justifiable to commit atrocities in the name of a god who bears no resemblance in the Qu'ran and Hadith to the one YOU claim to serve- thereby laughing AT YOU for falling for it, and loving it all the while?
To the oft-used tactic called whining "you are mean," "you judge," "you don't listen to me," "you don't answer me," etc etc. I'm sorry I don't know how to explain things to people who are either incapable or unwilling to actually lend an ear.
You need to learn civility before you can discuss serious matters with me. I've wasted too much time trying to put sense into self-obsessed "intellectuals."
"What, you mean like how you were saved by God because you were so much more special than the depraved, filthy minions with whom you used to associate?"
This one has to be addressed for the sincere readers. The difference between God and the envious coward is the former does NOT care if you're "special" according to the world. ANYONE who can be sincere and humbly ask Him for help will get it. The latter has a pyramid. He puts the bright minions on top and the pawns at the bottom. This is attractive for the someone intelligent minions. The irony is that EVERYONE is deceived in his pyramid. God is the Creator He has no need to deceive you.
No I'm not "special" because I'm "in on it." I just did the simplest and He responded. ANYONE can do it. Really simple and easy to understand unless your mind has been swallowed up by your deceptive master.
"O Children of Adam! Let not Satan seduce you as he caused your (first) parents to go forth from the Garden and tore off from them their robe (of innocence) that he might manifest their shame to them. Lo! he seeth you, he and his tribe, from whence ye see him not. Lo! We have made the devils protecting friends for those who believe not."
Qur'an 7:27
There's "psychopathy" for you defined 1400 years ago. It says the grand psycho and his minions see you (non-psychos) while we can't see them.
Indeed, Allah has purchased from the believers their lives and their properties [in exchange] for that they will have Paradise. They fight in the cause of Allah , so they kill and are killed. [It is] a true promise [binding] upon Him in the Torah and the Gospel and the Qur'an. And who is truer to his covenant than Allah ? So rejoice in your transaction which you have contracted. And it is that which is the great attainment.
And you say that nothing in the Qu'ran contradicts the teachings of Jesus. Yet, according to this verse, it is ordained for believers to "kill and be killed". The text even has the audacity to state that this is what's in Gospels. Outright lies.
Do any movie have a scene where some guy gets lost in a big office building and suddenly, by mistake, enters a room where a meeting is interrupted; the guy sees old grannies, bus drivers, students, enemployed, old geezers, rich folks, all with that "peculiar dead stare", and they start asking why he´s come? How did he find his way there? Isn´t that a fine "opening" for a movie? It could "suck on" the tension for awile, letting some "alley wino" spin yarns about the street wisdom of not disturbing gatherings in room 114 & the (rumoured) consequences for doing so..with right (nasty) director surely this would be a film not for everybody, but for some?
The director could put in a "movie-decoy" letting the audience be convinced that the meeting has to do with satanic practices, when in reality The Club in the film is FAR WORSE, gathering "specially gifted" folks from all walks of life, "people bored by limitations set by dullards.."
M.E. and sincere readers please confirm this on your own if you're intrigued:
Speaking of movies, I recently watched "A Beautiful Mind" - incidentally when I was having a bad day with my new found "faith." I have no idea why I wanted to watch that and not something else (I've seen it before). So I watched it and noticed something was "off" (again, no idea why). It felt like the movie was "rigged." He was seeing people for years but it only turned into paranoia and schizophrenia after his new wife got pregnant. Then all of a sudden he started thinking he's being chased and he's admitted in psych ward. He starts medication and is relatively okay after because he also learns to avoid his "visions." Fast forward he wins Nobel prize and thanks his wife during the lecture. Now here is the interesting part:
1) John Nash NEVER saw anyone or anything. He never had visual hallucinations. 2) His "delusions" (auditory and perceptive) started AFTER he got married and his wife was pregnant. They never occurred before. 3) He was put in psych ward and forced to take medication. He eventually stopped them altogether (I believe by 1970 he was completely medication free). 4) His wife divorced him and left him in 1963 (3/4 years after he's diagnosed with schizophrenia) and remarries him in 2001 (7 years after he wins the Nobel prize). That's right - he gave no speech at the ceremony and did not thank anyone, including his wife. 5) He actually thought he was being given messages & a mission by aliens from the sky. He thought it was similar to MUHAMMAD and actually started looking into Islam. Alas, the minions around him pinned him down. He was certainly no Muhammad.
The movie does get him right when they portray him as utterly conceited and self-centered. He walked & talked like he was God. It's no wonder when he started getting delusional he went nuts and schizophrenic. Luckily though, he didn't (so it appears) sell himself to the devil outright so he ended up being plagued by "schizophrenia."
The sinister grey office-club (in the movie) is in reality jaded psychopaths organizing/directing their own depraved sadean "holiday-daydreams", not everything is even illegal, but most involves "serious carnage" & orgies with few left alive in the end. A visual director may devise a "human shark attack", with some really rabid "psycho bithces" having been equipped with razor sharp "steel scissor-jaws" and is seen diving with delight into the water, just as the next flock of unsuspecting tourist dullards comes to sunbathe (in the movie, its just a description of a possible movie..of course!!)
[WIRE IN THE BLOOD] Tony and Carol talk about dominance and submission in relationships.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1mSVNJj4RY
Have always thought this clip to be delicious.
Mm-hmm.Maybe it's not just one person, you know. Maybe it's two.Mmm.
Is that possible? Could it be a couple?
Well, when two people kill, they feed off each other. We'd see more of an escalation with each successive death. Here, there's minor escalation only. Within each death as well, we'd see an exploration of two different people.
The foreplay.
Exactly.
You'd see the person teasing the other to go further.
And that's not here?
Here, there's repression, our killer lives in a defined set of parameters. A dominant and subservient relationship.
Dominance and submission.
That's what makes the world go round, Carol, present in every relationship.
Every relationship?
In degrees, in light and shade.
Even between you and your lawyer, one of you will be dominant and the other submissive.
Which am I?
Dominant. I suspect you hardly ever go to him; he always comes to you.I suspect you decide when you meet, when you don't meet, and eventually, youwill decide the fate of that relationship.
But you don't know that.
No, but the manner of your denial has just confirmed it.
Okay, then, so what about between us?
You and me?
Yeah. You said every relationship.
It's a tough one.
That's why I ask.
Turmoil. Small turf wars. Each person fighting the other for submission. Or to be the most submissive.
Did anyone else notice that the only thing the minions do here is 1) insult anyone who outs their tactics (i.e. yours truly), 2) talk about (often perverse) sexual fantasies, 3) on rare occasion they might actually contribute something accidentally. Just another unfortunate side effect of joining the losers' club.
"Hey I have an idea guys, just because we've sold oursevles and are going to lose doesn't mean we can't lie to ourselves. I say we are the winners and they're the losers. Hey, I can actually believe that too. That's it! I'm going to make up my version of how the world works and ignore their reality. That's it!"
If anyone ever wondered why the Devil would knowingly betray God there's your answer. He lost his own "mind" in his pride.
Free yourselves while you can. Why are you letting the charlatan laugh at your expense? Look at the world from a cosmic view and then find yourself on the planet. Look where you're headed. Don't let pride & fear of humiliation be the reason why you knowingly destroy yourselves and others.
You'll realize you've been stuck in a horrible nightmare and the whole time you thought it was a pleasant dream. There is a whole real world out here and you've been trapped by the Joker. What agenda could I have to call you to God? How do I profit from it? How on Earth would you lose from it?
Look up Sociopath World, look up! The soul of man has been given wings, and at last he is beginning to fly. He is flying into the rainbow -- into the light of hope, into the future, the glorious future that belongs to you, to me, and to all of us. Look up, Sociopath World. Look up.
Please do share with us your humility Jonaid! Teach us how to be humble! Allah has anointed you and our ears are eager for your teaching!
Save us! Jonaid, show us the path! We want to be humble like you, Jonaid! Teach us empathy, wise one! You have been martyred here enough. Our ears are open and we stand with you against the minions and imbeciles who reject your word. Dash them to pieces - it were better they were not born than to bring sin into this world.
I'm no prophet or any special chosen person but this sort of mockery and caricaturing of people who call to truth is the same strategy that we find sellouts & minions using throughout history to placate their master. Keep it up we'll see who gets the last laugh.
At a certain point in time I didn't quite have the self awareness that I do have now. Sure, I was self aware of my own way of thinking but I wasn't aware that what I was came with the label "sociopath". I thought that since my thought process was like that that it was then the norm; that society as whole thought no differently then me because I was under the impression that I was normal. Normal to me was shallow affect and manipulation, opportunistic altruism with strings attached, a facade presentation of external body language that projected emotions that allowed me to use others. When I came to the realization that other people's realities where so different it was like a rude and disappointing awakening. It was like "Wow, I'm a sociopath." With this new found knowledge I realized I was fated to a lonely existence because knowing my difference, my sociopathy, set me worlds apart from normal people. They could never truly experience reality the way I see it from my perspective.
I live in usa and life is worth living comfortably for me and my family now and really have never seen goodness shown to me this much in my life as I am a mother who struggles with three children and I have been going through a problem as seriously as my husband found a terrible accident last two weeks, and the doctors states that he needs to undergo a delicate surgery for him to be able to walk again and I could not pay the bills, then your surgery went to the bank to borrow and reject me saying that I have no credit card, from there i run to my father and he was not able to help, then when I was browsing through yahoo answers and i came across a loan lender MR TONY HARTON, offering loans at affordable interest rate and i have been hearing about so many scams on the internet but at this my desperate situation, I had no choice but to give it an attempt and surprisingly it was all like a dream, I got a loan of $ 50,000 and I paid for my husband surgery and thank God today is good and you can walk and is working and the burden is longer so much on me more and we can feed well and my family is happy today and i said to myself that I will mourn aloud in the world of the wonders of God to me through this lender GOD fearing MR TONY HARTON and I would advise anyone in genuine and serious need of loan to contact this God-fearing man on [email protected] through .. and I want you all to pray for this man for meThanks
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HOW I GOT MY HUSBAND BACK AFTER HE LEFT ME FOR ANOTHER WOMAN..!! My name is Marina Williams, I am a UK citizen, 48 years Old. I reside here in London United Kingdom.My residential address is as follows, 43 Stephen Road, Bexleyheath DA7 6EF United Kingdom, I have been in bondage, passing through pains, sorrow, heart broke, ever since my Husband left me for another woman, It was really hell for me and everybody told me to forget about him but i could not because i love him so much,I cried and sobbed every day, until it got so bad that I reached out to the Internet for help. And i saw a testimony of a spell caster who help a girl called cynthia get her ex boyfriend back, and i said let me give it a try,but I never believe because i thought all spell caster are fake,so i decided to contact him for help and he cast a love spell for me which i use in getting my Husband back and now i am a happy woman. For what you have done for me,i will not stop to share your goodness to people out there for the good work you are doing. Once again thank you Dr Frank Ojo You are truly talented and gifted. If you need his help you can reach him on his email address: [email protected] , i believed him and today i am glad to let you all know that this spell caster have the power to bring lovers back. because i am now happy with my husband.Try the Dr Frank Ojo today he we be the key or answer to your problem. Here's his contact email address: { [email protected] } Website address: http://lovespell2.yolasite.com, His Mobile number: +234)80- 7237-0762, i give you 100% guarantee that he will help you.!!
!!! it used to be connected to this blog but was disconnected over a year ago. We need fresh blood and lots of interesting things have happened recently (relates to kiwifar.ms drama: https://archive.is/M2tXa) that will go down in the forum's history! Be sure to check out http://www.psychforums.com/antisocial-personality/ too, as some of its regulars are regulars on SC too!
Thanks so much with this fantastic new web site. I’m very fired up to show it to anyone. It makes me so satisfied your vast understanding and wisdom have a new channel for trying into the world.businessinthornton |
Featured comment
Of course, my default is still to intuitively analyze every outcome and situation and achieve the best result, but it's more interesting to let people remain a variable and go in their own direction, rather than nudging them in the direction I prefer. Interacting with people WITHOUT trying to control them is a new paradigm for me.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
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The integrin superfamily of cell surface receptors includes may of the receptors for extracellular matrix components. Integrins have been implicated in many morphogenetic and differentiative events during embryogenesis, and a better understanding of integrin function will be crucial to understanding basic developmental processes, and therefore certain congenital defects, in humans. This proposal outlines a combined genetic, cellular and molecular biological approach to basic questions of integrin structure-function relationships. Using the PS integrins of Drosophila as our model system, the following lines of research will be pursued: 1. Mutations will be generated in the genes coding for the alpha and beta chains of the integrins. 2. The functions and protein associations of the integrins will be studied in situ, using clonal analysis, conditional alleles, and other genetic approaches. 3. A cell transformation system (in which integrin genes are introduced into and expressed in a cultured cell line) will be developed; this system will permit cell biological assays for specific integrin functions. 4. The functions of mutant integrins will be examined in the transformed cell lines, and the molecular bases of the mutations will be examined in the transformed cell lines, and the molecular bases of the mutations will be determined by sequencing. 5. The transformation system will be used in combination with in vitro mutagenesis to produce integrins with specific functional defects. These mutants can then be introduced into whole files, where their developmental consequences can be determined.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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NIH ExPorter
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Digital images are commonly used for many different purposes in computer systems, especially with respect to selling and buying goods and services through an e-commerce website or software platform. For instance, it is commonplace to list a product item (hereinafter, “item”) for sale on an online marketplace and include one or more digital images of the item with the listing. Depending on the seller, the type of listing, and the item being listed, the seller may use a digital image depicting the actual item for sale (e.g., when the item for sale is an item previously owned or used), or use a stock digital image that represents the item for sale (e.g., a stock digital image provided or used by the manufacturer to sell instances of the item).
Generally, it is a challenge for users to search for items on an e-commerce website/platform by keywords. For instance, it can be difficult for users to provide appropriate or exact keywords to describe an appearance of an item, especially one relating to fashion (hereafter, “fashion item”), to search for the fashion item.
As a solution, technologies have emerged that permit a user to provide a digital image (e.g., by capturing it using their mobile device) that depicts an object of interest and use the captured digital image to search (e.g., on an e-commerce site/platform) for an item that matches the depicted object of interest. Such a search may involve the user providing the digital image in place of, or in addition to, one or more search keywords to search for the item. For example, a user can capture a digital image of a human individual (e.g., in public or on the “street”) wearing a fashion item (i.e., the object) of interest to the user, and use the captured digital image to search for the depicted fashion item on an e-commerce website/platform.
For some technologies, facilitating an image-based search (also known as a visual search) of an item, using a user-provided digital image depicting an object of interest as search input, involves generating, based on the user-provided digital image, one or more stock-quality digital images that depict an item that is identical or similar to the object of interest depicted in the user-provided digital image. The one or more generated stock-quality digital images can then be used to search for items that are similar to the item depicted in the generated stock-quality digital images. The items found by the search may be, for example, items listed for sale on an e-commerce site/platform that are represented in the sale listing by one or more stock digital images (e.g., ones provided by the item manufacturers).
Unfortunately, it can be technically challenging to perform stock-quality digital image generation based on a user-provided digital image depicting an item such that the generated image resulting from the image generation is similar enough to the stock digital image representing the item (e.g., in an item catalog of an e-commerce website/platform) that the generated image can be used to search for the stock digital image using on the generated image. This is particularly true where a user-provided digital image, depicting a fashion item as found in the public or on the “street,” is used to generate a stock-quality image (e.g., to perform a search for a stock image representing the fashion item). Such a user-provided digital image can include, for example, where the user-provided digital image is captured by the user in public and depicts a human individual wearing the fashion item of interest. In such an instance, the human individual's pose may orient the fashion item in the user-provided digital image differently than it is depicted in a stock image used to represent the fashion item on an e-commerce site/platform, the fashion item depicted in the user-provided image might have partial self-occlusions, or the user-provided image may be one taken under challenging lighting conditions. As a result of such difference,
The headings provided herein are merely for convenience and do not necessarily affect the scope or meaning of the terms used.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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USPTO Backgrounds
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**Contents**
_Title Page_
_Dedication_
_Epilogue_
_Prologue_
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
_For more sweeping romance..._
_Don't miss these three_
_Praise for Midnight Bride_
_Also by Susan Carroll_
_Copyright Page_
_This book is dedicated to two women of remarkable
strength and courage: My daughter, Serena, and my
dear friend, Kim. Ladies, out of the darkness, your
light came shining through._
_E PILOGUE_
* * *
**_I_** T WAS on a crisp sunny December morning that the wedding of Kate and Val finally took place much to the relief of the entire St. Leger family and the village of Torrecombe. Stories were still told of Lord Anatole's grandfather, a scandalous rake so consumed by passion for his chosen bride, he kept his lady a week between the sheets before the couple ever made it to the altar.
No one had ever expected that record to be broken, leastwise not by the respectable Dr. Val St. Leger. But the older and wiser heads in the village clucked their tongues knowingly and murmured. Wasn't it always the way with the quiet ones?
As Kate and Val emerged from the church, all of Torrecombe turned out to cheer, the children waving ribbon favors and tossing flower petals. It was noted that Miss Kate made a lovely bride, for once looking surprisingly demure and ladylike. Her bridegroom clearly had eyes for no one but her. The good doctor swooped his wife into his arms for a passionate kiss right there on the steps of St. Gothian's, both delighting the crowd and shocking the vicar.
No one took note of the tall man watching from a distance, a rare look of wistfulness stealing into the lord Prospero's inscrutable eyes as he observed the radiant bride.
"Take care of our wild girl, St. Leger," he murmured. Then with a soft smile, the great sorcerer turned and vanished in a stream of mist.
_P ROLOGUE_
* * *
_T_ HE SHIP GLIDED over the waves, the dark outline of the coast looming closer on the horizon. Passengers gathered on the deck, laughing and sharing the joy of imminent arrival, all except the man who had kept to himself for the entire voyage, so grim and unapproachable, no one had dared speak to him.
Raphael Mortmain stood alone at the deck rail, his profile averted from his fellow travelers. Even after an absence of five years, he had taken a great risk by returning to Cornwall, a man branded as a pirate, a thief, and a murderer with a large price on his head.
But illness had left his frame wasted to a skeletal thinness, his once trim dark hair lank and shaggy, his gaunt face lost beneath a layering of beard. Rafe doubted his own mother would have recognized him now. If she would have even bothered to try.
Evelyn Mortmain had abandoned him in Paris when he'd been no more than eight years old. He'd never heard tell of her again, except for the report of her death, her life flung away on the obsession that had consumed her, had meant more to her than her only son. The obsession that had tormented all the Mortmains for generations: the destruction of their enemies, the St. Leger family.
It was like a sickness in the blood, a madness that Rafe had never succumbed to in all his forty years—until recently. Now it was all that filled his thoughts both night and day. He shivered, taking a large quaff from a small silver flask. The whiskey burned his throat, but did nothing to warm the permanent chill that had settled in his bones. He wiped his mouth with a once strong hand that never seemed to be steady of late.
He squinted toward the distant outcropping of shore wreathed in mist. Cornwall, a land steeped in legends of romance and magic, fairy stories and hero tales, Rafe thought sardonically. It was nothing more than a bleak, isolated coast, the perfect place to exact his revenge, each swell of the ship drawing Rafe closer to _him_. The oh so noble Dr. Valentine St. Leger.
Hatred surged through Rafe, so virulent he shook with it as he remembered how hard he had once tried to lead a respectable life. His career as a customs officer had obliged him to return to that part of Cornwall where his ancestors had attained such infamy, but Rafe had sought desperately to put the taint of his heritage behind him. He'd managed to reach past the ancient Mortmain–St. Leger feud, find a friend in Lance St. Leger, perhaps the only true friend Rafe had ever known in his entire lonely life.
But Val St. Leger had put an end to all that. The stiff-necked doctor had made an extensive study of the misdeeds of the Mortmains, the injuries they had done to the St. Legers over the centuries. Val couldn't forget that Rafe was the last descendant of such a villainous line, nor would he allow anyone else to do so either, including his twin brother Lance.
And it hadn't helped that in his bitterness, Rafe had made mistakes. Terrible ones. He was willing to admit that, but he had been struggling hard to put everything right when Val St. Leger had interfered, cruelly exposing his sins, costing Rafe his friendship with Lance, costing him everything, obliging him to flee for his very life. No second chance for a damnable Mortmain.
"And now no second chance for a St. Leger either, doctor," Rafe whispered, taking another swallow of the whiskey. It caught in his throat, bringing on a coughing spasm, violent and painful. His entire body shook with the force of it, and this time when he wiped his mouth, his fingers came away bright with blood.
A consumption of the lungs, that was the verdict the doctor in Boston had pronounced about his condition. But Rafe felt that the illness wasting him was something far more insidious, more unnatural. Some darkness of the soul, years of suppressed rage, bitterness and despair, frustrated dreams and hopes eating away at him like acid, threatening his very reason.
Val St. Leger would pay for it. The mere thought of the St. Leger's solemn disapproving features caused Rafe to tense with longing to wrap his hands around the doctor's throat and—
It wasn't until his nails dug into his own palms that Rafe realized what he was doing, clawing his hands into fists. He forced himself to relax, released a jagged breath. No, killing the noble Valentine would be far too swift a vengeance, over far too soon. Rafe had something more subtle, more cruel in mind. And none of the doctor's unique heritage would be able to save him. All those romantic legends, tales of strange inherited powers, whispers of magic.
Indeed it was the fabled St. Leger magic that was going to prove the good doctor's undoing. Rafe reached beneath the flap of his greatcoat, drawing out the object concealed there, fastened by a tarnished chain around his neck. A small shard of crystal dangled from the end of the silver braid, looking so dull that for a moment the mists clouding Rafe's mind shifted, allowing him a brief glimpse of his own sanity.
There was something cursed about this crystal he had stolen from the St. Legers. It had done something to him dark, terrible, and strange. Even now he could put an end to this madness, if he would just...just...
The crystal caught the light, flashing in Rafe's eyes, and the thought was lost. His fingers closed over the shard, piercingly cold. It sent a shudder through him, a weakness so dizzying he was obliged to clutch the deck rail for support.
Ah, God! He didn't know how much longer he could conserve what remained of his strength. As soon as the boat docked, he needed to find a horse, ride as fast and hard as he could toward the village of Torrecombe, to Castle Leger perched high above the rugged cliffs. The risks of being seen and recognized no longer mattered. The threat of the gallows held no terror for him.
He was already a dying man and he knew it. And that made Rafe Mortmain more dangerous than he had ever been.
_C HAPTER ONE_
* * *
_T_ HE WIND RATTLED the cottage windowpanes, the pale sun presiding over a day that seemed endless to the young woman who writhed upon the bed. As the next contraction hit in a hard wave, Carrie Trewithan clutched her fingers across her distended belly and was unable to stifle a sharp cry.
The midwife hovered over her, patting a cool cloth to Carrie's perspiring brow. "There, there, dearie. Try to hold on. 'Twill all be over soon enough, I'll be bound." Sarah gave her a broad toothless smile, but the fear in the old woman's eyes was unmistakable.
Something was going terribly wrong this time. Carrie had labored hard for seventeen hours, all through last night, the morning and into the afternoon, longer than she'd ever done before, and still no babe. She sank back weakly against the pillows of the rough wooden bedstead, her lank brown hair tumbling about her. She couldn't endure much more of this. She could feel her strength fading with each fresh wave of pain.
_I'm going to die,_ she thought, closing her eyes tight to stem the flood of tears. Not for herself but for the helpless little ones she'd be forced to leave behind. The new babe if it lived and her other children, Janey, Tom, Sam, and Aggie. What would become of them with no mother to look after them?
Lost in the haze of her own misery, Carrie was only vaguely aware of Sarah moving away from the bed to whisper fiercely to someone attempting to enter the room. No doubt little Tom, crying again, wanting his mama. Lord knows, Carrie didn't want any of her children seeing her this way. It took a great effort, but she turned her head to deliver a gentle admonishment, her eyes fluttering open. Her breath caught in her throat instead.
It wasn't Tom. A man filled her threshold, carrying with him the powerful scent of crisp autumn air. His broad shoulders were draped in a caped greatcoat that fell to his knees, casting a dark presence like the specter of death itself.
Carrie stiffened in fear as the stranger stumped closer, his heavy boots ringing off the floor in an uneven gait. But before she could cry out, he stripped off his cloak and beaver hat, passing them to Sarah. The light filtering through the dirty windowpane fell full upon his face. No hideous spectral features but those of a mortal man. His wind-tossed black hair and heavy dark brows appeared too harsh for the pale hue of his countenance, the alarming lines of his hawklike nose at odds with the sensitive cast of his mouth. But one glance at him was enough for anyone to tell. This was a good man, a kind one, his strength tempered by gentleness.
Carrie's fear evaporated in an awed sigh of relief.
"Oh, Dr. St. Leger," she whispered. "You—you came."
"Aye, Carrie." He smiled down at her. He had a quiet smile, a mere half-quirking of the lips that marked him as a man who did not easily give way to mirth. He scolded gently, "Why on earth did you not send for me sooner?"
"I should not have sent for you at all. I—I have not much money—"
"Hush. That's not important."
As he drew up a chair close to her bedside, Carrie moistened her lips, rushing to finish her explanation before the next wave of pain robbed her of breath. " 'Tis only that it has gone on so long this time and—and it hurts so bad and I'm so tired—" Her voice broke on a dry sob. "You're the only one who can help me, Dr. St. Leger. The only one."
"And so I will, Carrie. Everything is going to be all right now." His voice was soothing, filled with such quiet conviction that she believed him, even though she knew that her husband, Reeve, would be mighty angry with her for daring to summon the local doctor.
She should have been frightened to have done so herself. He was the youngest son of the dread lord of Castle Leger, Anatole St. Leger, a man rumored to be descended from a sorcerer. It was whispered that all St. Legers had a bit of the demon in them.
But she saw no demons in Valentine St. Leger's solemn features. Rather he had the eyes of an angel, warm, compassionate, full of the knowledge of human suffering, because he knew what it was to suffer himself. She panicked a little as the next contraction started to build, but she felt his strong hand close over hers.
"Don't be afraid, Carrie. Just look at me and hold on tight," he said.
Her breath hitched in her throat, but she struggled to do as he asked. She gripped his hand and stared deep in his remarkable eyes, a rich velvety shade of brown. And at the touch of his palm against hers, something strange began to happen. First it was a mere tingling, then a warmth that slowly spread up her wrist like a golden liquid rushing through her veins. The terrible pain began to ebb.
She saw the doctor's mouth tighten as though all her suffering was being drained from her into him. It was what everyone in the village whispered he could do, work this inexplicable magic, but Carrie had never fully believed it until now.
She knew she was in the throes of another terrible contraction, but she felt nothing, her eyelids growing heavy, deliciously drowsy. She lost all track of the minutes that she had counted with such agonizing precision before. From some great distance, she thought she heard Dr. St. Leger's strained voice rapping out orders to Sarah, commanding Carrie herself to push. She felt a rush of warmth between her legs followed moments later by a tiny cry.
"God be praised," Sarah seemed to sing out from a hundred miles away.
Carrie merely smiled like one floating in the mists of a dream. When she finally felt able to open her eyes again, something nestled in the crook of her arm, something soft and wriggling. Still half-dazed, Carrie peeled back the blanket to see that it was a babe, a little girl.
Like a sleepwalker jerked awake, reality sank in. She had just been delivered of a daughter. She was worn to a thread; she already had four other children she scarce had the strength to care for. Ah, but this new little girl of hers was such a miracle, so healthy, so perfect, and Carrie was still here to cradle the babe in her arms. Tears of joy trickled down her cheeks.
She turned to thank the angel who had seen her through this ordeal. But like the mysterious St. Leger that he was, the good doctor had already disappeared.
The road leading to Castle Leger wound uphill, a narrow track half lost in the purple haze of twilight. But the roan gelding moved with a sure step, a fortunate thing for his master was scarce alert enough to guide him.
Barely able to remain upright in the saddle, Val St. Leger hunched over, his bleary eyes struggling to focus on the road ahead. Exhaustion melted into the very marrow of his bones. He felt as drained as if...as if he'd just endured three hours of agonizing labor to bring forth a child?
Val's mouth crooked in a tired smile. He'd wager there were few other men who could lay claim to such a feat. He would never make his mark in the world as a soldier, a brilliant artist, or a great statesman. But his strange St. Leger gift offered him at least one distinction. He knew firsthand how much pain had to be endured to give birth and he could only marvel at the strength of women to continue populating the world. Especially Carrie Trewithan.
The poor woman had been constantly with child these past seven years if one counted her miscarriages. Val had warned her oaf of a husband that Carrie's frail body needed time to recover. It had been a miracle that she had survived this last pregnancy, and while she had fought to bring their child into the world, Reeve Trewithan had been off drinking at the Dragon's Fire Inn, boasting about his potency. The man was notorious for neglecting his family, staggering home only when he felt the itch to drag his wife into bed.
Val would have to have another word with Trewithan tomorrow. A word! Val felt his hands tighten on the reins. He wanted to thrash Reeve Trewithan senseless. It was what his brother Lance would have done. But such behavior was not to be expected from the village doctor and a crippled one to boot.
An old injury had left Val with a permanent limp and his bad knee was flaring worse than usual tonight. Already tired from battling his own pain, it had not been the wisest thing, taking on Mrs. Trewithan's suffering as well. But what else could he have done? Val thought, remembering Carrie's hollow eyes, the desperation in her voice.
_"You're the only one who can help me, Dr. St. Leger. The only one."_
How often had he heard that plaintive refrain from too many suffering souls? The memory of pleading eyes, beseeching cries haunted him even in his sleep, pursued him in his waking hours. Unconsciously he attempted to spur Vulcan onward as though he would outride the persistent voices. He paid at once for the inadvertent movement. A stabbing pain shot through his knee.
Val gasped, drawing in several sharp breaths until the pain subsided to a dull ache. And it had made no difference to Vulcan. The horse continued to plod along at his own steady pace. There had been a time in his youth when Val had been able to spend a hard day in the saddle and then battle at swords with his brother half the night. A time when he had been able to handle the most spirited hunters in his father's stable.
But remembering could only stir up bitter thoughts and regrets. Grieving over all that he had lost was something Val never allowed himself to do. He kept such dark emotions tamped deep down in the secret corner of his soul where they belonged.
As Vulcan rounded the next bend, Val was heartened, some of his weariness dissolving at the sight of his destination. A thick line of oaks obscured the newer portion of Castle Leger, but the battlements of the old keep soared above the trees. Even after so many centuries, the main tower still pierced the sky. The chamber had been the private refuge of the first lord of the castle, Prospero St. Leger. In that weathered turret the wily sorcerer had worked his black spells, tampered with the strange alchemy that had eventually brought about his downfall, condemning him to be burned at the stake.
A fairy tale, some might scoff, but Val had researched enough of his family's past to know that it was all true. Both history and legend were mortared into the stone walls of Castle Leger, tales of valor and tales of magic.
How often his heart had swelled at the sight of those towering ramparts as he'd galloped home at twilight, Lance leading the way with Val following at a more sedate pace. He had always been the more cautious twin, the scholar, the dreamer. It was difficult to ride full tilt when his head was so stuffed full of books and romantic fantasies, imagining himself to be a bold knight returning to the castle astride his fiery steed to kneel at the feet of the beautiful lady who awaited him. He'd never been able to envision clearly her face, only the gentleness of her smile, the sweet glow of her eyes, her white slender arms reaching out to welcome him home.
That had been before he'd grown up enough to realize there were few professional prospects for a knight in the nineteenth century. Far more sensible to dream of becoming a doctor. And it was just as well, Val sighed, flexing his tired, aching muscles. He would have never been anyone's idea of a bold knight, Vulcan was no fiery steed, and as for the lady...
There would never be a lady. At least not for him.
And yet there was _someone_ waiting at the crest of the hill. A woman. Her willowy figure was draped in a scarlet cloak, the hood flung back, her hair spilling like a rippling shadow over her shoulders. The dying rays of the sun framed her in a brilliant burst of gold, dazzling Val's eyes, stirring in him remembrance of the lady he'd conjured in his boyhood dreams.
He blinked hard, wondering if his exhausted eyes were playing tricks on him. Or perhaps his romantic imagination wasn't as dead as he thought it was. He leaned forward eagerly as he drew nearer, only to slump back, smiling at his own idiocy as he recognized who it was.
It was certainly no lady. It was only his young friend Kate, the adopted daughter of a distant relative of his, Elfreda Fitzleger. When she spied Val, the girl let out a loud whoop and came tearing down the hill, her skirts hiked up to a scandalous level.
"Blast it, Kate, slow down," Val roared out.
Either she didn't hear him or, far more likely, she paid him no heed. She only picked up momentum, her gypsy black hair streaming behind her. Val reined in Vulcan, fearful that in her recklessness, the girl would dart directly into the horse's path.
Val held his breath, expecting at any moment that she would lose her footing and come tumbling the rest of the way. He'd already lost track of the number of skinned knees he'd bandaged and the bones he'd reset for Miss Kate over the years.
But somehow the little hoyden made it down the steep track in one piece. Val let out a breath of relief as Kate fetched up beside the gelding's head, holding on to Vulcan's reins, panting and laughing from the sheer exhilaration of her mad dash. The horse gave a joyous whicker of recognition, nuzzling her ear.
Kate's laughter was pure silver, so infectious Val had trouble maintaining a stern façade as he frowned down at her. "Katherine Fitzleger. Have you quite taken leave of your senses?"
"Very—very likely," she gasped out. Fully recovering her breath, she marched around to stand by his boot. A rosy flush spread across cheeks that were still tanned from the summer. Kate found bonnets a great nuisance.
She smiled beguilingly up at him. "What have I done now to make you look so cross?"
"What have you done! Merely come plunging down that steep hill when it is already nearly dark. You could have fallen and broke your neck."
"But I didn't."
"What are you doing out here anyway?"
"Waiting for you."
"Alone? In the dark."
"In the _nearly dark_ ," she corrected him. "Besides, what could happen to me even if it were midnight? No one would dare trifle with me on St. Leger lands, not even an accursed Mortmain. And you drove off the last of those villains years ago."
So Kate persisted in believing, imagining Val to have performed some heroic action on that occasion. If Rafe Mortmain had been banished from Cornwall, it had been owing more to Lance, Val thought. Val had succeeded only in nearly getting himself killed.
"It doesn't matter how close we are to the castle," he continued to scold. "You should not be wandering off alone anymore. You are a young lady—well, at least a young woman—now."
"You've finally noticed," Kate purred, fluttering her long thick lashes in a way that disconcerted him. If it had been anyone else but Kate, he might have imagined she was attempting to flirt with him.
"Yes, I've noticed, and no doubt so have many of the young lads hereabouts. If you persist in jaunting off alone..." Val paused, clearing his throat uncomfortably, trying to find some delicate way to explain his fear to the girl. "You could be—could be—"
"Raped?" Kate filled in bluntly.
"I was going to say subjected to some very unwelcome attentions."
"Pooh! I'd like to see any man try it. It would be the sorriest day of his life, especially when I have this." Kate groped beneath her cloak to the bulging inner pocket. With a triumphant flourish, she unsheathed a small flintlock pistol, which she brandished at Val.
Val jerked back involuntarily, startling Vulcan. "Sweet mother of God, Kate! Put that thing away before you hurt yourself."
"It hasn't been loaded...yet."
Val tightened his grip on the reins, leaning forward to give Vulcan's neck a soothing pat. As soon as the animal had quieted, Val extended his hand toward Kate. "Give me that infernal weapon. Right now."
All she gave him was a serene smile as she lifted up the flap of her cloak and tucked the pistol back in her hidden pocket. "You needn't fret, Val. I didn't steal it or anything. The pistol is mine. It was a present from Lance."
Val seldom swore, but he did so now, muttering under his breath. His brother had always been amused by Kate's wild ways, encouraging the chit to don breeches, climb trees, even learn how to fence. But giving Kate a pistol. Had Lance entirely lost his mind?
As soon as he reached Castle Leger, Val intended to seize his brother by the cravat and tell him—Tell him what? Val snorted. Lecturing his incorrigible twin was about as useful as lecturing the kitchen cat. Or Kate.
Unperturbed by his reaction to her _gift_ , she struggled to mount in front of him, the perch she had claimed from the time she'd been a little girl. Val had no choice but to haul her up. Bracing against the inevitable pull on his knee, he hefted her into the saddle. Not a difficult task. She was still a slip of a thing. Sometimes, it seemed to Val, she had not grown much taller since the orphaned girl had first arrived in Torrecombe ten years ago, all knobby knees and wide, defiant eyes.
She settled against his thighs, wrapping her arms about him, causing him to flinch when she brushed her fingers against his neck. Her hands were ice cold. Kate had, as usual, seen fit to dispense with her gloves.
"Now, you were saying," she said, assuming a meek expression as though she meant to heed every word he had to say. But it didn't work with Kate. There was too much fire sparkling in her storm gray eyes, too much mischief lurking in her bow-shaped mouth, too much stubbornness stroked into her delicate chin.
Val gave over the scolding with a resigned laugh. "Ah, Kate, Kate, whatever am I to do with you? You worry the devil out of me, girl."
"You don't have any devil in you, Val St. Leger." She proceeded to rain enthusiastic kisses across his face, hitting his brows, his cheeks, his chin, and coming perilously close to the corner of his mouth.
"Stop that," he growled, struggling to get her to desist and still maintain his grip on Vulcan's reins. "When are you going to learn to behave yourself?"
"When are you going to stop fretting over me?" She subsided with a final peck on his nose. "I can take care of myself and you, too. If any villain ever threatens either one of us, I'll turn him into a warthog."
"Now, Kate, you promised me. No more of that kind of talk." Val pulled back enough to peer down at her anxiously. "Er, you haven't been meddling with any more of that—that—"
"Witchcraft," Kate filled in with a wicked waggling of her brows. "How could I after you took away that fascinating book I found?"
"And just as well I did, after what happened. You actually had old Ben Gurney believing that you could cast some sort of spell on his pig."
"A love spell. And what a charming couple they would have made." Kate chuckled but stopped immediately at Val's frown. She peeled one hand away from him long enough to raise it solemnly. "Val, I swear to you, since then I have not been attempting to practice any more magic upon the unfortunate people of Torrecombe."
"Good," he said, relieved by her earnest reassurance. It wasn't that he feared that Kate actually could instruct herself in the black arts. The book he had taken from Kate had been mere superstitious nonsense. Casting spells was not even an ability any of the St. Legers had ever possessed, unless one placed credence in all the old tales of Prospero's sorcery. Most of Kate's antics thus far had been harmless, but given the girl's penchant for making mischief, it was just as well that she left dabbling in the occult alone.
She was looking deceptively angelic at the moment. Hugging him tightly, she nestled her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh. Val stiffened a little, knowing he ought to discourage this. Kate truly was too old to be flinging herself at him in this fashion, too old to be waiting for him at the roadside and running to be lifted onto his horse.
He could make her promise not to do it anymore. For all her madcap ways, Kate had a strong streak of honor. She'd keep her vow. But even knowing it would be for the best, he couldn't bring himself to extract such a pledge from her.
He was far too glad she'd come, too glad of the warm feel of her cuddled close, revealing that gentler side of her nature the restless Kate reserved for him alone. He deposited a brotherly kiss atop her curly dark head, some of his exhaustion seeming to evaporate merely with the fresh, sweet scent of her hair.
Arms stretched around Kate, he urged Vulcan into motion again, and the old horse set off at a very sedate walk as though aware of the precious burden he carried. Kate mumbled against Val's shoulder, "All right, I suppose I _should_ have waited for you tamely by the parlor fireside. But you know how impatient I get and you were taking so long. Where have you been all this time, Val?"
"Tending to a patient, my dear."
"Old Mrs. McGinty?"
"No, Carrie Trewithan. I delivered her of her child, another daughter."
"But the Trewithans usually summon the midwife for that. Why did Carrie need to have you—"
Kate broke off, her head jerking up from his shoulder to study his face, her eyes far too keen and accusing. "Val! You used your power again, didn't you?"
He shrugged, but didn't attempt to deny it. Kate knew him too well for that, and no doubt the haggard set of his face spoke for itself.
"Damn it, Val. You know you—"
"Don't swear, Kate."
"—shouldn't have been messing about with your power again. It's wearing you to a shadow and—and it's dangerous!"
"Dangerous," Val scoffed. "My father's power to fling a man across the room with one flash of his eyes is _dangerous_. My brother's ability to separate his body from his soul and go drifting through the night is _dangerous_. My power to absorb pain is pretty tame by comparison."
"So tame that it already cost you the use of your leg."
Val flinched. The one time he'd lost control of his power had cost him more than his leg. It had nearly cost him his brother as well. He and Lance had been estranged for a long time after that grim day on the battlefield in Spain, a rift that had been mended only in recent years. Val didn't care to be reminded of that dark period in their lives and Kate knew that. But she never minded her tongue when she was angry or distressed, and she was clearly both at the moment. Val had assured her many times before that she did not need to worry so much over him, but he mustered his patience to do so again.
"Kate, I promise you I am very careful now about how and when I use my power. Today, I simply had no choice."
"That's what you always say."
He smiled at her and said, "This time it happens to be true. I verily believe Mrs. Trewithan might have died if I hadn't helped her. She simply had no endurance left. She was never that strong and her body is purely worn out from birthing children."
"Because that husband of hers is a disgusting lecher. Reeve Trewithan should be castrated, his pecker whacked off with a red hot knife."
"Kate!"
"I forgot. Innocent young ladies aren't supposed to be aware of such things. But you know I have never been all that innocent, Val," she added rather sadly.
Few details were known of Kate's childhood before her adoption, but it was obvious she had learned far too much too soon about the darker side of life. Whatever Kate remembered of those grim days, she had chosen to forget, but at times Val glimpsed a world-weariness in her young eyes that brought an ache to his heart. He tenderly eased her head to rest back against his shoulder.
They rode in silence, their bodies rocked together by the gentle pace of old Vulcan. But Kate could never allow any discussion to lapse until she had the final word.
"I'll tell you one thing, Valentine St. Leger. Whenever I am with child, I won't allow you to bear my pain. I'll be strong enough to handle it all myself."
Val was hard pressed not to laugh at that. The notion of his wild Kate becoming anyone's wife, anyone's mother was—was—
Not as absurd as he wanted to believe. Val felt his smile fade, knowing that time was approaching faster than he wished. Kate would sally out into the world and find herself a strapping young husband, begin a family of her own. It was only natural and right, yet it filled him with an inexplicable melancholy.
Val strained her close the rest of the ride home. Without any prompting from him, Vulcan carried them to the stable yard behind Castle Leger's newest wing, an imposing Georgian manor that seemed mismatched to the old fourteenth-century keep.
The quadrangular block of stables at Castle Leger was nearly as impressive as the house. On the ground floor were enough stalls to accommodate more than twenty hunters, mares, and carriage horses; the spacious tack room; and the coach house itself with its wide doors. Above were the hayloft and sleeping quarters for the army of grooms and stable hands.
The yard was quiet this time of evening, with Tobias, the plump head coachman, lolling on a bench, smoking his pipe. But at Val's approach, two of the burly young grooms darted out, nearly colliding in their efforts to help Kate down from the saddle. Val frowned, finding their overeagerness surprisingly annoying.
It scarce mattered in any case. Kate dismounted after her own fashion. Before Val could remonstrate, she had squirmed out of his arms and managed to slide to the ground in a flurry of skirts. Val suppressed a deep sigh. Just once, it might have been nice if he could have leapt down first and lifted her out of the saddle.
But his blasted leg was so stiff, he was fortunate he didn't disgrace himself by falling flat on his face in his struggles to alight. The impact of his boot striking the ground jarred his knee as he'd known it would. All he could do was grit his teeth and brace himself for the stab of pain.
He clung to the stirrup for a moment to steady himself. Kate unstrapped his ivory-handled cane from the saddle and handed it to him as practically as any medieval woman would have reminded her knight that he needed his sword.
But then Kate was well accustomed to his infirmity, Val reflected. She had never known him to be any different, had no recollection of when he'd been able to stand as steady and strong as any other man. That thought had never saddened him before, but tonight, for some odd reason, it did.
As Vulcan was led off to the stables, Val tried not to rely as heavily on the cane as he usually did. Ignoring the ache in his knee, he offered Kate his arm to escort her toward the house.
She seized hold of his hand instead, attempting to tug him in the opposite direction. "Please, Val. Must we go in just yet?"
Val regarded her in mild surprise. "I fear I am already overdue, and you know how my father is about dinner being served on time."
"It is not that late yet. Please, Val. We could go take a stroll in the garden."
"The garden." Val gave an incredulous laugh. "In the dark and the cold?"
"The moon is rising and it is only a wee bit chilly. And I have not seen you all day, nay scarce all week. I just want us to have some time alone. Oh, please, Val, _please_."
She tugged more insistently at his hand, peering up at him through the thickness of her lashes. He was tired, his knee was aching like the very devil, but Val had never been proof against that look, perhaps because Kate rarely ever begged favors of anyone. She was far too proud.
It was no longer appropriate, their spending so much time alone with each other, but the truth was, he had greatly missed her company himself this past week. And their time together was growing so short....
He acceded to her request, allowing her to lead him up the worn path that led to the gardens, a rustling wilderness of flowers and shrubs lit by the half-moon that hung like a broken locket in the dark night sky.
The current head gardener had labored all summer to lay out neat paths, rows of hedges that would border tidy flower beds. All to no avail. To Edmond's deep frustration, the plants rebelled against such man-made order, their tendrils shooting out, growing sweet and wild to reclaim the walkways.
Perhaps, like so much else at Castle Leger, the garden possessed its own kind of magic. It had been planted during the time of Cromwell by Deidre St. Leger, a young enchantress who had possessed the startling power to coax seeds out of the ground, their flowers blossoming almost overnight. Her life had been cut tragically short, and to Val the garden still whispered of her sorrow, the last roses of the season dropping their petals along the path like a carpet of velvet tears.
The winters were so mild in Cornwall, even along this rugged section of coast, that something always remained in bloom. But the crowning glory of Deidre's garden, the magnificent arbor of rhododendron trees, would not begin to bud again until February. The barren branches made the garden seem to Val a rather bleak place for a stroll on such a raw autumn eve.
He compelled Kate to don her gloves, while he himself tugged up the hood of her cloak as he had done from the time she had been a little girl.
"This is hardly romantic, Valentine," she complained.
_Romantic?_ Val's eyes widened in surprise. There had been a time when his Kate would have never thought of such things. Whenever he'd read aloud to her from the King Arthur tales, she always insisted he skip over those "sticky sweet" love passages between Guinevere and Lancelot, and go straight on to the exciting parts where heads were being lopped off with swords.
At times she still appeared the same madcap hoyden she'd always been. At others, Kate seemed to be changing too much, too fast. She peered up at him now with a look of such melting softness, Val felt a faint stirring of unease. Perhaps this moonlit walk was not such a good notion after all.
But there was no resisting Kate as she tugged him over to the nearest stone bench and insisted that she needed to sit down for a while. He wasn't fooled. Kate had the stamina of a young colt. The knowledge that she proposed this rest out of consideration for him was both painful and sweet.
He wished it hadn't been necessary, but he was too grateful to get his weight off his throbbing knee to refuse. He settled on the stone bench with a wearied sigh, propping his cane in front of him. Kate nestled beside him, wrapping her gloved hands about his arm.
They sat in that kind of companionable silence only longtime friends could share. He and Kate had often done this, sat in the garden together, staring up at the night sky, identifying the constellations, weaving fantastical stories about the far-off world of the stars. Why then did this particular evening keep weighing him down with sadness?
Of a sudden he felt so old, far older than his two and thirty years, as though the entire world were passing him by. Was it the dying leaves, the fallen rose petals making him so conscious of the relentless march of time? Or was it the budding young woman pressed so close to his side?
"Val," Kate said at last.
"Hmm?"
"Have you completely forgotten what day it is?"
Val was forced to bite back a smile. "St. Swithin's Day?"
"No!" Kate straightened to peer reproachfully at him.
Val frowned, pretending to wrack his brain. "Well, it cannot be Michaelmas. I am sure we are past that."
Her head drooped, her eyes so downcast with disappointment, Val could not bear to tease her any longer. Crooking his fingers beneath her chin, he forced her to look up at him.
"Of course I recall what day it is, child. Many happy returns."
Her face lit up with a radiant smile. He tenderly smoothed back one of her stray curls. "How could you possibly think I would forget your birth date? After all, it was I who gave it to you."
Val could still remember clearly when he had discovered that the orphaned Kate had no idea when she was born, neither the date nor the year. It had not been many months after she had arrived in Torrecombe. February 14, the date of his own birth, as usual had been an embarrassment of riches of festivities, presents, and congratulations from his affectionate family.
When Kate had been prodded forward, nudged by Effie to wish him many happy returns, the child had shocked everyone by declaring fiercely, "I hate birthdays!" Only Val had seen the wistfulness beneath her gruff façade and guessed the reason for it. He had set about remedying the situation at once.
Kate murmured, "Val, do you remember why you chose this particular day in October to be my birthday?"
"Certainly. Because it is the anniversary of the day you arrived in Torrecombe."
"And also the anniversary of the day we first met."
"Yes, that, too," he agreed. He hadn't intended to give her his gift until after supper, but suddenly _now_ , when they were alone, seemed like a very good time. Very likely this would be the last of Kate's birthdays they would ever share this way.
He tried not to think about that as he fumbled beneath his cloak until he produced a small brown wrapped parcel that he presented to her with a solemn smile.
"For you, milady."
Kate let out a delighted cry. She pounced on the package with a greed that both amused and tugged at his heart, as though even after all this time his wild girl feared any gift, any happiness would be snatched away from her in a puff of smoke.
As she tore away the wrapping, he watched her, his pulse quickening with anticipation of her reaction. For all her hoyden's ways, Kate harbored a secret delight in pretty trinkets, especially anything that glittered or sparkled.
When the small jewel case was revealed, Kate lifted the lid and gave a purely feminine shriek of joy at the contents. With quivering fingers, she lifted out the delicate gold necklace. Dangling from the end of the chain blazed a magnificent bloodred ruby. Pearls might have been a more suitable gift for a young girl, but not for his gypsy Kate.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"Like it?" she breathed. "Oh, Val, I adore it. Thank you a million times." Box and wrappings flew to the ground. Still clutching the necklace in her hand, she flung her arms about him in an impulsive hug that nearly sent them both tumbling off the bench.
Val chuckled softly, patting her shoulder, but like the quicksilver creature she was, Kate peeled herself out of his arms. She pressed the ruby into his hand and demanded, "Fasten it on me. Please."
"Here? Now?" he protested, laughing. "It would be better if you waited until we went back to the house."
But Kate leapt up from the bench, eagerly undoing the fastenings of her cloak.
"You'll catch your death—" Val's words died on his lips as the cloak fell away, revealing the gown she wore. For a moment all Val could do was stare, unable to speak another word, the necklace nearly slipping between his fingers.
He firmly believed Kate would have strutted around in breeches the rest of her life if it had been possible. It was a rare thing to see her attired as elegantly as she was tonight. The white silk crepe gown adorned with chenille embroidery fit her to perfection, the short puffed sleeves emphasizing the gracefulness of her arms.
The night breeze tugged at the folds of the dress, molding the fabric to Kate's slender frame, revealing a hint of her supple limbs, soft hips, and narrow waist. The close-fitting bodice displayed _more_ than a hint of her high, rounded bosom.
Val blinked, dazed. With her dramatic dark hair spilling about her shoulders, it was as though she had been transformed into a young goddess before his very eyes. He stared for so long, even Kate noticed.
Holding out the folds of the gown, she twirled around in front of him. "This is the new frock Effie had made for my birthday. Don't you like it?"
"It—it's very nice," Val said. "But it does not quite look like the design you showed me. The fashion plate was—was—"
Decidedly different. Sweet and demure, whereas this gown...well!
Kate shrugged. "Oh, I did have Mrs. Bell attempt to copy that design, but she put too much lace on it. I had to take all that trim right back off again. You know I can't abide frills."
But the frills had been very necessary, Val thought with dismay. Especially about the neckline. Without the trim, Kate's décolletage plunged to a daring level, displaying far too much of her to the chance eye of any wandering rogue.
That lace had to be sewn back on at once. But when he opened his mouth to tell her so, he found himself averting his eyes instead. Good lord, he was almost blushing. He thought that he'd always be able to talk to Kate about anything, but this was clearly a subject his mother was going to have to broach with the girl. The best he could do was fasten the necklace on her and get Kate covered up again as quickly as possible.
He struggled painfully to his feet, balancing his weight upon his good leg. An awkward position. Likely that was what made his hands so unsteady as he draped the chain around Kate's neck.
He was so much taller than she was. It was far too easy to see over her shoulder, to notice the way the moonlight played over the creamy expanse of her skin, dipping down to form an intriguing shadow between her breasts. He fumbled with the clasp, trying to touch her as little as possible, and still he felt how warm she was, her flesh seeming to pulse with all the vibrant energy and passion that was Kate.
Gritting his teeth, Val forced himself to focus on the necklace. As soon as he had it fastened, he all but snatched his hands away. For once, he scarce felt the wrench in his knee as he bent down to retrieve Kate's cloak.
He straightened, shaking out the scarlet folds, frowning as he felt the weight of that blasted pistol knock against him. He was tempted to slip his fingers into the hidden pocket and confiscate the thing. But he had never behaved in such high-handed fashion with Kate before and he wasn't about to start now. He merely held out the cloak to her instead.
Despite the gooseflesh parading along her arms, Kate seemed in no hurry to be bundled back up again. She fingered the fragile chain, peering dreamily down at the ruby nestled against the swell of her breasts in brilliant contrast to the ivory of her skin.
"Val, how old do you think I really am?"
"Fifteen. Sixteen at most," he said promptly.
She shot him a wry smile. "You can be so exasperating sometimes, Valentine. I think I must be nearly one and twenty."
Val merely grunted by way of response, determinedly swirling the cloak back around her shoulders. As he worked to redo the fastenings, Kate slanted a glance up at him.
"I must certainly be old enough to be kissed by you."
Val deposited a brusque kiss upon her forehead as he did up the next button.
"No." Kate pouted. "I mean a _real_ kiss."
Val drew in a sharp breath. The invitation in her eyes was as dangerous as the full, tempting curve of her lips.
"That wouldn't be wise, Kate." He secured the last button and prepared to retreat, but Kate slipped her arms about his neck.
"Why not? I have to get the hang of kissing sometime and you've already taught me everything else—my sums, my Latin, my copperplate."
Val attempted to disengage her. "This would be a little different. You need to wait until you are properly betrothed to some nice young man—"
"Oh, Val, do you really want my first kiss to come from some callow boy who will slobber all over me and ruin the magic of it all?"
No, he didn't. In fact he was surprised how much he was disturbed by the image of some oafish lad crushing his mouth against Kate's tender lips.
She stood on tiptoe, straining toward him, tipping back her head. Her eyes were soft, dark, and vulnerable. "Please, Val," she whispered.
Oh, God, not that _look_. Val tried to steel himself against it. And yet...one little kiss. What harm could it do? Kate had always had a boundless curiosity about everything, and it might be the surest way to end any further desire on her part to experiment. After all, kissing him could hardly prove to be that great of a thrill.
He bent toward her, intending to do no more than touch his mouth to hers, a mere whispering of lips. But he reckoned without Kate. She yanked him forward so that their lips met in a collision of warmth that sent a jolt through his entire system. She buried her fingers in his hair, her mouth exploring his with an eager innocence that touched him deeply. It was wrong, but he couldn't stop his arms from stealing around her, holding her fast as he savored the fresh sweet taste of her lips.
He sighed, his heated breath mingling with hers. Tentatively Kate's tongue crept forward to flicker against his, stirring in him desires he'd long denied, desires he could not allow himself to feel for any woman, let alone Kate. He started to deepen the kiss, only to snap sharply back to his senses.
What the devil was he doing? This was Kate, his young friend, his wild girl. He wrenched his mouth free, thrusting her away from him, appalled and repulsed by his own ungentlemanly behavior.
He staggered away from her, his bad knee threatening to give out beneath him. Where had he left his infernal cane? He limped painfully back toward the bench and located the walking stick, his fingers for once closing gratefully over the worn ivory handle.
The cane returned to him some measure of control, and he needed it, for Kate showed no signs of displaying any. Her face flushed, her breasts rising and falling too quickly, she attempted to pounce on him again. Somehow he managed to hold her at arm's length.
"That will do, young lady," he said as sternly as he could manage. "No more kissing lessons. You learn far too quickly."
"That is because I have been practicing with you every night in my dreams." She added almost shyly, "I love you, Val."
"I know you do, my dear. I have been like your older brother forever, but—"
"No, not like a brother! I never thought of you that way. Even when I was a little girl, I always knew I would belong to you one day."
Oh, lord. Val suppressed a groan. He had realized that Kate had once harbored such nonsensical notions, but he had hoped, nay believed, she would outgrow them. Clearly she had not. He longed to swear, to call himself every kind of fool imaginable. Stupid! Stupid to have allowed that kiss, this stroll in the moonlight.
He should have seen this coming, but perhaps he hadn't wanted to, knowing Kate's feelings would threaten their friendship.
He touched his hand to her cheek, attempting to reason with her. "Kate, I know you believe yourself to be in love with me, but you have met few other men. In time you will forget—"
"Why would I want to forget the best thing that has ever happened to me?" She caught hold of his hand and pressed her lips against the palm. "Marry me, Val. Please."
She gazed up at him, her eyes shining with such naked trust and adoration, it was enough to unman him. He tugged his hand from her grasp.
"I can't, Kate," he said as gently as possible. It was not often Kate wore her heart on her sleeve. The last thing he wanted to do was trample all over the love she so innocently offered, but he could already see the hurt beginning to well in her eyes.
"Why not?" she cried. "Because you're the son of a great lord and I am the bastard daughter of no one knows who?"
"Don't be ridiculous, child. I couldn't marry you even if you were the queen of England. I can never marry anyone."
"Because of the legend. The stupid legend!"
"Aye, the legend," Val said. A painful fact of his existence, as much as his crippled leg. "Perhaps you have forgotten all the details of it."
"I have certainly tried to," Kate snapped.
"Then I need to remind you. Once upon a time—"
"Oh, Val," she groaned, rolling her eyes.
He offered a sad smile, realizing he was treating her like a little girl. But it seemed by far the safest way to diffuse this situation. He began again, spinning out for her the story as he had done so many winter nights, while sipping cider, and huddled by the fireside.
_"Once upon a time there was a family named St. Leger who lived in a magnificent castle high atop the rugged cliffs of Cornwall. They were a strange breed, in many ways as wild and mysterious as the land itself, perhaps because they lived in such splendid isolation, but mostly because they were the descendants of Lord Prospero, a man who had been a great knight, but was an even greater sorcerer."_
Kate folded her arms rebelliously across her breasts, impatiently tapping her foot.
_"Through Prospero, the St. Legers all inherited vastly differing powers, gifts that were both blessing and curse. Some could predict the future, some could read the hearts of other men, some could separate body from soul to go drifting through the night."_
"And some could nearly kill themselves trying to absorb the pain of everyone they touched," Kate put in tartly.
Val frowned, but chose to ignore the interruption.
_"Along with these strange gifts came an even more powerful legacy, the legend of the chosen bride."_
Kate gave a very unladylike snort.
_"According to the tradition, each St. Leger was promised a perfect mate, a love that would last forever, through death and beyond, shining as long as the stars. But there was a condition to this great gift."_
"Isn't there always in these silly stories," Kate muttered.
_"St. Legers are forbidden to seek their own mates. If they do so, only death and tragedy will follow. They are forced to rely upon the services of the Bride Finder, a be_ _ing born in each generation with mystical powers to find for each St. Leger his perfect bride—"_
"Oh, for mercy's sake, Val!" Kate cut him off, clearly unable to endure any more. "I know the damned story."
"Don't swear, Kate."
She glared at him. "You told it to me at least a hundred times."
"I thought you loved hearing it."
"Well, I didn't. I _hated_ it."
Val stared at her, stunned. "Then why did you always let me—"
"Because I hoped you would finally outgrow it."
His mouth fell open. He might have been tempted to laugh at the notion of Kate standing there sounding so pompous, scolding him like someone's elderly aunt. Except—Val winced. Except she sounded too much like him.
"Kate, I realize I have always presented the legend to you in the form of a fairy story. But every word of it is true."
"Piffle!" Her mouth set in a mulish line. "I don't know how an educated man like you can continue believing such nonsense."
"It isn't nonsense. You have practically grown up in my family. You have witnessed the strange powers—"
"The powers are one thing, but this chosen bride legend is pure foolishness. I happen to be the adopted daughter of your supposedly wise and wonderful Bride Finder, remember?" Kate gave a contemptuous shrug. "I am very fond of Effie, but I assure you, there is nothing magical about her. She still dresses like a woman half her age and she hung fuchsia curtains in our drawing room. Fuchsia, for mercy's sake!"
"I admit that Effie's judgement may err in some respects, but as our Bride Finder, she has always been impeccable. She matched up my brother and his wife."
"Lance and Rosalind were simply right for each other. Effie made a lucky guess, as she always does." Kate took to pacing along the garden path, waving her arms in such an agitated fashion, Val was obliged to step out of her way. "Ask Victor St. Leger how clever he thinks Effie is. I happen to know he is very unhappy with Effie's choice of Mollie Grey for him."
"That is because Victor is an ungrateful idiot. But he'll come around in time."
"And what about you, Val?" she demanded. "Where is your chosen bride?"
Val stiffened. It was a painful question, the answer equally as painful.
"I don't have one," he said quietly. "Effie—the Bride Finder has decreed that there will never be a bride for me."
"Because she won't bestir herself to find you one! And if she refuses to find you a wife, why can't you choose your own?"
"You know it doesn't work that way, Kate. Any St. Leger who acts on his own in this matter is cursed."
"Ohhh!" Kate stamped her foot, venting a low growl of frustration.
"It is true. My own grandmother...she died long before I was born." Val paused, his gaze drifting toward the skeletal arbor of trees that sloped down the hill. Somewhere out there in the darkness, the beautiful wild garden ended abruptly at the edge of the towering cliffs. Even from this safe distance, one could hear the dull roar of the sea as it crashed against the treacherous rocks below.
"My father never spoke of it, but I stumbled across the story myself when I was researching our family history. Cecily St. Leger was not a chosen bride. She was terrified when she realized what manner of family she had married into. Even though she loved my grandfather, she eventually went mad, and one dark night she fled the castle, heading for the cliffs. No one seems to have been entirely sure if she slipped and fell or if she flung herself to her death."
Kate shivered a little at the grim tale, but she said, "Your grandmother was obviously very fragile. I am not, Val. Even if there really is a curse, I am perfectly willing to take the risk."
"But I am not!" Val said vehemently. "Not with your life."
Kate shot him an exasperated look. "So you intend to live out the rest of your life alone?"
"I have no choice. It is something I have had to learn to accept."
"Oh, Val!" She melted past his guard, coming close enough to cup his face with her hands, forcing him to look at her.
"How can you always be so resigned about everything? You're far too patient and good. Why should you be condemned to such a loveless existence?"
"I don't know. Perhaps because I am only a simple country doctor, hardly the stuff legends are made of."
"Yes, you are. You have always been my hero." Her eyes fluttered closed and he saw she meant to kiss him again. Val managed to prevent that, pulling away, putting the stone bench between them.
"Someday you'll find your hero, Kate. A real one. You are so beautiful, you'll have plenty of dashing admirers."
"I don't want them! I'll use the fools for target practice," she said, pursuing him determinedly around the bench.
"I think it is time we returned to the house," Val said hastily. He started to turn away, but Kate rushed after him.
"No, Val, wait." She appeared to struggle with herself for a moment then conceded, "All right. I understand. I cannot be your wife."
Val heaved a great sigh of relief. He reached for her hand to give it a comforting pat.
"I'll have to be your mistress instead."
Val froze in absolute horror.
"Oh, don't look so shocked. I have never been all that respectable. After all, I am only a bastard."
"Kate—"
"I realize I am not what a man would envision in a mistress, but I am sure I could learn to be more charming and seductive."
"Kate, stop—"
"I'd try to be more ladylike, wear elegant gowns for you, and even if eventually you grew tired of me—"
"Kate!" He seized hold of her shoulders. "How can you believe that I ever would—That I would for one moment consider—Damn it, girl. I don't ever want to hear you talk like this again."
He had never spoken to her so harshly before. She flinched as though he'd struck her, her fierce gray eyes gazing up at him wide and wounded.
"So even if I were to change," she said in a small voice, "you don't think you could love me—just a little?"
Love her? He felt as though she were tearing his heart out. He drifted the back of his fingers down the soft curve of her cheek.
"Kate," he said hoarsely. "I am so sorry."
She stared at him for a long painful moment, then backed away. Being Kate, she didn't burst into tears. She merely whirled around and with a savage oath smashed her fist against the nearest tree with a force that made him wince. She cupped the hand to her, smothering a soft cry.
There was nothing he could do about a bruised heart, but bruised knuckles were another matter. At least being a St. Leger made him good for something. Val limped to her side, reaching for her hand, preparing to do what he'd often done for her as child. Open his mind, open his power, and absorb her aches into himself.
But before he could even start to focus, Kate snatched her hand away.
"Oh, no, you don't," she choked. Even though her eyes blazed with unshed tears, she raised her chin proudly. "This is my pain, Val St. Leger. Not yours! Just—just leave me alone."
She spun away from him and tore off running, but not in the direction of the house. Off through the trees, heading toward those treacherous paths that plunged down to the sea.
"Kate!" Val roared out her name and started to run after her. He took a few halting steps only to have his knee give out. He stumbled, would have fallen if he had not managed to catch at a low-hanging branch.
Sharp pain pierced his leg, but he set his jaw, trying to ignore it. Steadying himself with his cane, he hobbled forward only to realize how useless it was. Kate had already vanished into the darkness. She was as fleet as a young deer. He'd never be able to catch up to her.
A rare surge of anger churned through him, fury at his own blasted helplessness. He longed to slash out with his cane, striking out at the trees, the flowers, anything in his path. But he forced himself to take a deep breath until he mastered the dark impulse. Losing his temper would help nothing. He would still be just as crippled and Kate would be just as gone.
Coming about, he limped back toward the house as fast as he was able, grinding his teeth against the throb in his knee. Kate would be all right, he reassured himself. Even in the dark, she knew that rugged path down to the sea better than any St. Leger, and he would find someone else to go after the girl, soothe her.
That in itself was a bitter thought. He had always been Kate's comforter. When angry or distressed by anything from skinned elbows to when the village brats taunted her for being a foundling, she had ever run to him.
But she wouldn't want him now. Things could never be the same between them ever again. Not after tonight, he thought bleakly.
She was young, he tried to tell himself. She would get over this infatuation she felt for him. It was only that Kate was so passionate, flinging herself at life so hard, yet beneath that tough façade, so vulnerable. It had almost been inevitable that at some point some man would break her heart.
Val had simply never realized that he was going to be the one.
_C HAPTER TWO_
* * *
_T_ HE TIDE WAS IN, foam-crested waves breaking against the shore, dashing against the jagged rocks. Moonlight cut a bright streak across the water, shimmering far out to where the sea became no more than a restless shadow on the horizon.
Otherwise the beach was dark, lonely, and cold, a place where few would have ventured after the sun had gone down. Kate trudged along the water's edge, oblivious to the pebbles poking at her delicate kid shoes. The wind pierced through the folds of her cloak, tangling her hair about her face.
It had been a miracle that she'd managed to race down the path from the steep cliffs above without breaking her neck. But Val had always told her that there were fairies hereabouts that looked after little children and fools.
And she was certainly that, Kate thought, savagely dashing the tears from her eyes. The greatest fool in the entire world to ever think that Val St. Leger could love her. Oh, there had never been any doubt that he cared about her in that gentle brotherly way of his, but that was not at all what she wanted from him.
Even now he was likely distressed because she'd run off and headed down here alone in the dark. But besides Val's arms, the sea was the only place she'd ever been able to find comfort, perhaps because the relentless roar of the waves moved in time with the restless rhythms of her own heart. The sea was so vast, it made her own problems dwindle in significance, and if anyone ever caught her crying, she could always blame it on the salt spray stinging her eyes.
Of course Val had ventured his own reason for why she was so drawn to the shore's edge. In one of her more bitter moments, she'd shocked him by declaring that her mother must have been some hardened trollop who would just as soon have aborted Kate as given birth to her. It would explain her own fierce temper, the ability to lie, cheat, and steal that had helped her survive her early years in London. No doubt she had bad blood in her, and it had to have come from somewhere.
But Val had draped his arm about her shoulders and woven her one of his stories about how he was certain she must be the daughter of a selkie or a mermaid. That was the only thing that could possibly account for how beautiful and brave she was and her fascination with the sea.
Although she had laughed, she had been half inclined to believe him. She'd always believed everything Val told her. So why then did she doubt him when he'd insisted that he could never marry?
Kate felt fresh tears start to her eyes and she rubbed them away. Huddling in her cloak, she blinked hard, trying to focus on the way the waves battered that distant piling of rocks. But it reminded her too much of how all her hopes for this evening had been dashed.
She'd taken such care when she'd readied herself, bathing in rose water, brushing out her hair a hundred strokes. She'd gone after that sweet, childish frock Effie had given her with a pair of scissors, cutting down the neckline until Kate herself had almost blushed. And that was something she never did.
She had been so determined to force Val to see her for what she was, no longer a silly girl, but a woman full grown. For added measure, she'd had her love charm as well, the amulet she'd fashioned herself according to local folklore. Carefully, by the light of a full moon, she'd worked the clay, mingling it with dried heather that grew near the mystical old standing stone and a few drops of her own blood. Before she'd left the house, she'd tucked the small amulet between her breasts near the region of her heart.
For a while everything had seemed to be going according to her plan. She remembered the way Val had stared at her in her daring dress and the gift he had given her. That beautiful necklace. It was not the sort of thing a man would give to someone he thought a child.
Then their lips had met in that kiss. It had been every wonderful thing she had ever expected Val's kiss to be, sweet, warm, tender. Her heart had soared. Something had seemed to be working, either the dress or the love charm...until he had wrenched himself away and immediately begun treating her like a child again. Keeping her at bay, once more spinning out for her that all too familiar St. Leger fairy tale about the chosen bride.
Kate plunged her hand down her bodice and dragged out the small lump of clay, which had started to make her itch. It was clear all the cursed charm had done was give her a rash. Climbing on top of a flattened rock, she hurled the amulet as hard as she could into the dark, churning waters of the sea. She didn't know how she could have been stupid enough to ever believe such a thing would work.
But she had been that desperate. Not only was she fighting the fact that he refused to see her as a woman, she was fighting that damned legend as well. As much as she had scoffed, she had feared the legend from the first time Val had ever told it to her. She had lived in dread of the day when Effie would find Val a bride, fearing it might happen before she was old enough to have the chance to secure him for herself. If a bride was chosen, Kate had been miserably certain of one thing. It surely wouldn't be her, not little Katie Fitzleger, the wretched foundling brat who swore too much, fought too much, and still found a good pair of breeches preferable to a silk gown.
It shamed Kate to admit it, but she had been so relieved the day Effie had announced she could never find a wife for Val. No simpering chosen bride could ever love Val the way Kate did. Merely being with Val had always _gentled_ her, made her acutely aware of her softer, more feminine side. He brought out the best in her. He was her rock, her anchor, and she could never give him up. She just couldn't.
But she was going to have to, she thought with a hollow ache, remembering too clearly the regret in his eyes, the finality in his touch.
_Kate, I am so sorry._
Some might confuse Val's gentleness with weakness, but Kate had never made that mistake. Beneath that kind, patient exterior, the man had a core of steel when he believed himself in the right. Even if she could get him to stop viewing her as a child, there was no getting around that legend. Val would never risk invoking the curse by flouting his family's most cherished tradition. It would be like expecting Sir Galahad to betray his oath to the Round Table. He was too good, too unselfish, too frustratingly noble.
"Damn the man," Kate muttered. "I wish I had never met him."
She regretted the words the instant they were out of her mouth. She'd lived among the St. Legers and their strange magic for far too long to discount the power even of stray wishes.
"I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it," she whispered, peering anxiously up at the relentless night sky. Leaping down from the rock, she walked backward in a tight circle three times.
"Undo, undo, undo," she muttered.
Sinking down behind the rock, she hugged her knees to her chest, clutching the precious memory close to her heart as though malevolent fairies would try to steal it from her. She closed her eyes, willing herself to remember every detail of the day she had come to Torrecombe ten years ago, the first time she had ever clapped eyes on Valentine St. Leger....
Kate huddled down on the floor of the still carriage, tired, battered, and miserable from the endless days of journeying. Occasionally she dared to peek beneath the shade drawn down over the window to shut out the world. A world that she did not like the look of at all in the deepening twilight. Too much open space, and the cluster of stone cottages that comprised the village seemed grim, unwelcoming shadows. And the land that stretched beyond seemed frighteningly vast, dropping off into nothing.
Kate already missed the bustle of London. Life in the foundling home had been bad, too little food, too many beatings. But at least the hardship and dangers had been familiar and understood, while this place, this—this _Cornwall_ , with its rocks, pounding sea, and strangers, was—was—
Kate compressed her lips together, stifling the thought, refusing to admit that anything could frighten her. Craning her neck, she stole another wary glance beneath the shade she'd pulled down over the coach window. A curious crowd appeared to be gathering outside. She caught glimpses of hard chiseled faces as rough as the land, heard the mutterings of disapproval.
"What the devil is going on?"
"The girl won't get out of the coach."
"Oughta haul her out and give her a good switchin'."
"Girl? What girl?"
"Some orphan Miss Effie's taken a notion to adopt."
"A foundling brat? Oh, that will prove to be a great mistake."
Kate's lip quivered and she bit it hard to make it stop. She didn't give a damn what those fools said. It was not the first time she had ever heard herself described as a "mistake." From her earliest years, she had known what being born a bastard meant. No name, no father, no home. A child to be hidden away and ashamed of.
She slunk away from the window, shrinking deeper down between the seats, more determined than ever not to be hauled from the carriage. She'd already driven off the postilion with a hard punch to his nose and bitten through that great dolt of a coachman's hand.
That woman with the silly brassy curls who had adopted her, that Effie Fitzleger who cooed too much and expected Kate to call her "Mama," had attempted to coax her out with a box of sweetmeats. Kate had sworn and flung the tin out into the road. Effie had retreated in terror and now the foolish woman stood just outside the coach loudly weeping.
Kate rubbed her eyes. She was tired, cold, and hungry. Her knuckles were bruised and sore from hitting the postboy. She felt a little like weeping herself, but she would have bitten out her own tongue first. Her back pressed to the bottom of the seat, she waited, bracing herself for the next assault.
When the coach door opened again, it was neither that silly Effie nor the fat bear of a coachman. A strange young man with dark strands of hair falling across his pale brow peered inside.
"Miss Katherine?" he called.
Kate glanced about her to see who the devil he could be talking to. When she realized he had to be addressing her, she scowled. She hated to be mocked and that was what he had to be doing, wasn't he?
"Get away," she growled, brandishing her sore fist. "Before I give you a bunch of fives. No one's dragging me out of here."
"I wasn't going to try. I was going to ask your permission to come inside."
The respectful tone and unexpected request caught her off guard. No one had ever asked her leave to do anything. She stared at him, torn between astonishment and suspicion. He must have taken her silence for consent because, thrusting an ivory-topped cane inside, he prepared to mount the carriage.
Kate flinched back, baring her nails, preparing to claw his face if need be. But his attention seemed completely fixed on his struggles to climb inside. He appeared to be a vigorous enough young man, but it was obvious that simple movement didn't come easy to him. It occurred to Kate he wasn't like the other dandies she glimpsed swaggering about the streets of London, flashing those walking sticks for show.
He really needed his, his one leg appearing stiff and awkward. His mouth tightened with pain, and when he eased himself down on the seat, he breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Kate was intrigued for a moment, wondering what he'd done to injure his leg so badly. She stiffened, reminding herself it was none of her concern. And what was more, she didn't give a fig. When the coach door was closed, shutting him in with her, her initial alarm returned. She braced herself, fearing the coach would set into motion at any minute.
"Say," she cried, "what are you planning to do? Run off with me or something?"
His lips curled. He had an odd kind of smile that touched only half his mouth and looked a little sad.
"No, I only wanted to talk to you."
Talk to her? No one ever talked to her. They either shouted or hit. She particularly did not trust men. She'd seen enough of what was done late at night to the older girls at the orphanage by some of the matron's gentlemen friends. She had been made frightened and uncomfortable by the speculative looks that had been cast in her direction, teaching her quickly that it was in her best interest to appear younger than she was.
Pressing her knees to her chest, Kate curled away from the stranger, trying to look as small as possible. Behind the veil of her snarled hair, she studied him, attempting to figure him out. She'd picked enough pockets in her time to know the difference between a rich man and a poor one.
This fellow wasn't poor by any means. His frock coat and waistcoat were cut of a good cloth but rumpled, as though he'd slept in them. His cravat appeared about to come undone and his sleeve had an ink stain on it.
He was no dandy, that was for certain, but no clerk either or a tradesman's son. So who and what the devil was he? Kate brushed several strands of hair out of her face to get a better look at him. It interested her to note that he had to do likewise. Brushing back his own hair, his gesture was almost a mirror image of hers.
He smiled again and she was caught and held by his eyes. A warm, deep brown, they reminded her of the melting chocolate she'd once pinched from a confectioner's shop. Oddly, she found herself wanting to smile back at him.
She scowled instead. "So who the devil are you, anyway?"
"I'm a friend of your adopted mama's."
A friend? Kate crinkled her nose skeptically. She'd seen enough to know that men and women were never friends. Still, this one looked too young to be that ridiculous Effie's lover. Too young and, at the same time, strangely too old and wise.
"Well, whoever you are, go away," she said. "I don't want to talk. I have nothing to say to a great fool like you."
That should have made him angry, but he merely looked so disappointed, Kate squirmed. But why the blazes should she care?
She fretted her lip for several moments and at last said grudgingly, "What the deuce did you want to talk about?"
"I only wanted to welcome you to your new home."
"It's not my home and I'm not staying here. I'll run away as soon as I can and no one will be able to stop me."
She tipped her chin to a defiant angle, waiting for him to challenge her. He only appeared exceedingly grave.
"I don't suppose that I can prevent you, if you are truly determined to run off. But I shall be very sad if that were to happen."
"Why should you care? Most folks are quite glad to be rid of me. Old Crockett at the foundling home had an extra tote of rum to celebrate. She said she was getting rid of the devil incarnate."
His mouth twitched, but he said solemnly, "This Crockett person was quite mistaken. I daresay she didn't know you as well as I would like to do. You strike me as an intelligent and interesting girl."
Kate frowned uncertainly. If he had told her she was sweet and charming, she would never have believed him. But she knew she was clever, and as for interesting, well—she supposed there was a chance she might be.
She wriggled, beginning to find her position on the floor cramped and uncomfortable. With another wary glance at her companion, she trusted him enough to creep up onto the seat.
He made no move to touch her, his hands resting on top of his cane. There was a calmness about him that she had never known in anyone before. She felt soothed in spite of herself just being near him. She leaned back against the squabs with a tiny sigh.
"You must be feeling very tired after your long journey," he said.
She was, but she wasn't about to admit that to him. She shrugged. "It wasn't so bad. It was even kind of amusing seeing the looks on those other fools at the orphanage when I rattled off in such a fine coach pulled by a grand team of horses."
"Aye, poor fellows."
"Poor fellows," she exclaimed indignantly. "They're the best damn horses you'll ever see."
"Perhaps they are. But it is not good for them to be kept standing about in the night air when they are all lathered and sweating from a long journey. They could get very ill, perhaps even contract pneumonia."
"Horses don't get pneumonia," Kate said scornfully. What kind of fool did he take her for? But she shifted, seized by an uncomfortable memory of one of her many attempts to run off from Mrs. Crockett. She'd fetched up at the Bell and Crown and one of the stable lads there, Tom, had been quite nice to her. Seeing her interest in the horses, he'd let her help water them. And Tom had told her pretty much the same thing as this man. It was bad for the horses to be kept standing.
Pricked by a twinge of guilt, she said, "Then that damn fool of a coachman should get them unhitched and rubbed down."
"Aye, but that would leave the carriage here blocking the lane."
"Then move the whole blasted thing," Kate said irritably.
"With you still inside?" the man countered. "I am afraid you would find being shut up in the carriage house very cold and dark."
"That wouldn't scare me. I'm used to it."
"No doubt you are," the young man agreed softly, though why that should make him appear so sad was beyond Kate. "But you would also be locked in and _that_ I don't believe you would tolerate so well."
Kate flinched in spite of herself. He was right. She hated the sensation of being trapped, locked away. It made her chest feel all tight as though her lungs were being squeezed too hard. But how could this stranger know that?
It was as though he'd climbed inside her head and walked around, understood her as no one else had ever done. It was an uncomfortable sensation and she hugged her arms protectively about herself. The movement caused her sore hand to throb and she winced.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you hurt?" For all of his gentleness, those great brown eyes of his were far too keen, missing nothing.
Kate tried to shrug it off. "It's nothing. I just banged my hand when I hit that blockhead of a postboy."
"Let me see." The young man leaned closer and Kate scooted away, bristling.
"It's all right," he said. "I am training to be a doctor."
Kate wanted to twist away from him, tell him to go straight to the devil. But she couldn't. It was those blasted eyes of his. So warm and beckoning like the flicker of firelight on a cold winter night. She surprised herself by extending her hand toward him, although she kept her fingers tightly curled in a fist.
He took hold of her hand, lightly touching her knuckles until he got her fingers to relax. Then he enfolded her smaller hand entirely in the strength of his own. Kate cocked her head to one side, frowning. What kind of doctoring was this? He was doing nothing but holding her hand.
She should have jerked free, but she found herself lost in the dark light of his eyes, pulled in deeper and deeper until something strange began to happen. The ache in her knuckles began to fade, replaced by a rush of warmth that spread through her veins.
When he finally released her, her knuckles still looked raw, but the pain was gone. He rubbed his own hand and winced as though he were the one who'd struck the postboy.
Kate cradled her fingers and gaped at him. "How did you do that?"
"Magic," he said with a mysterious arch of his brows.
She half believed him and she had never believed in any sort of magic her entire life. "Are you some sort of conjurer or wizard?"
"No, only the great-great-great-grandson of one." His brown eyes twinkled. He had to be teasing her, but somehow she didn't mind. She came very close to smiling. This time when he leaned forward to touch her hand, she didn't try to pull away.
"Miss Katherine, this may be impertinent of me upon such short acquaintance, but I hope you will permit me to offer you some advice. You may well not like it here in Torrecombe and wish to run away. But it is never good to make such a weighty decision when one is exhausted. I know Effie's cook has prepared a fine roast beef dinner. I would be greatly honored if you would come into the house and share it with me."
The mention of food made Kate's stomach rumble in spite of herself. "Will there be a pudding, too?" she asked reluctantly.
"I daresay."
"And some cake?"
"If there is not, I vow I will don an apron and bake you one myself."
Kate felt the dimple quiver in her cheek and she could no longer contain it. She smiled. But it was never her way to surrender without driving a hard bargain. Her gaze fell upon his cane with its fancy handle, which had fascinated her from the first.
"Will you allow me to try that out?" she asked, pointing to the walking stick.
Her request appeared to surprise him, but he nodded. "If you wish, although I doubt you'll find it very amusing."
Because he didn't, no matter how he might conceal how much his infirmity bothered him, Kate realized with a startling flash of insight, perhaps because she, too, understood about putting a brave face on things.
She was on the verge of relenting, but she cast an anxious glance toward the coach window, fully aware of the interested crowd still gathered outside.
He appeared to comprehend her look at once for he said, "Don't worry. I'll get rid of them. No one will bother you. And if you are very tired, I will carry you straight into the house so you won't so much as have to look at a soul."
Kate was astonished at how welcome the offer was. She was bone tired, but she cast a doubtful look from him to his cane. "How can you do that when you can hardly walk your—" Horrified, she checked her blunt words for perhaps the first time in her life, conscious of not wanting to hurt someone else's feelings.
To her relief, he merely winked at her. "You will be very surprised what I can manage to do when I put my mind to it, Miss Katherine." Gripping his cane, he started to reach for the coach door when she stopped him, clutching at his sleeve. Her heart sank, but she knew there was something she had to make clear to him, something he had to understand.
It was even harder to speak when he glanced down at her with those wonderful honest eyes of his. She swallowed thickly. "I—I'm not Miss Katherine. I'm only Kate." Before he could even ask, she added fiercely, "I don't have any other name because I'm a bastard."
She hung her head, waiting for him to scorn her, reject her as so many others had done. Instead he crooked his fingers beneath her chin, obliging her to look up at him.
"That is hardly any fault or shame of yours, my dear." His dark eyes softened, his mouth curving into that lopsided smile that ever seemed to have a tinge of melancholy. "You have been adopted. You will be Miss Kate Fitzleger now."
She hardly cared about that, only how warm his hand felt as he patted her cheek. Then he turned away, struggling to alight from the coach. He was half out the door when he turned to look back at her.
"By the by, my name is Val St. Leger."
"Val St. Leger," she repeated. She thought it the most grand name she had ever heard. As the door closed behind him, Kate let out a long tremulous breath, cupping her own cheek in an effort to imprint the feel of his touch there forever.
Scooting to the window, she lifted the shade and flattened her nose against the glass to see what he would do next. That nebulous sea of strange faces had already begun to disperse, but she was mystified how Val had brought this about. He didn't shout. He didn't threaten. He merely spoke in that calm, quiet voice of his. Maybe he was a wizard's grandson after all or—
Kate's breath snagged in her throat as she realized exactly who and what Val St. Leger was. He was a gentleman, a _real_ gentleman, the kind she had stopped believing existed. When he returned to the coach and opened the door, there was no one left but him and a night scattered with stars. He had handed off his cane to the postboy and stood balanced on his good leg, waiting for her to alight.
Although she inched closer, Kate still hesitated. She had never been able to trust anyone before. What if he just carried her into Effie's house and abandoned her? What if she never saw him again?
"You are truly going to stay and share dinner with me?" she asked.
"Of course."
"And your cane?"
"I promised, did I not?"
A wonderful thought struck her. She released her breath, forming the most daring request of all. "I don't want to be Kate Fitzleger. Would you share your last name with me?"
He only laughed. "Well, Miss Kate, we'll have to see about that."
He stretched his hands up to her with that crooked smile she was already learning to adore. Kate was seized by a peculiar giddy feeling that she would have jumped off a cliff if he had told her it was safe to do so. It took no effort at all to leap down from the carriage and into his arms.
His arms closed around her, far stronger than she would have expected. He cradled her high against him, moving away from the carriage with an awkward, dragging step. But Kate didn't care about that. Nor did she particularly care where he was taking her, to the house that loomed ahead. Pressed so close, she had eyes for nothing but him, his face a mixture of strength and gentleness, the hawklike nose, the sensitive mouth, the thick mane of black hair, the soft gleam of his eyes.
Wrapping her arms tight about his neck, she dared to rest her wearied head upon his shoulder. She had never given much thought to her future before, but she suddenly knew irrevocably what it would be.
She was going to love Val St. Leger forever and ever....
_Forever and ever,_ the wind seemed to whisper with a sad echo. The tide lapped closer to the base of her rock, the cold dark water threatening to intrude on Kate's memories. She scrambled to her feet, trudging back toward the safety of the cliffs. Remembering the day she and Val had met usually afforded her so much comfort, but now it only added to the weight of her misery.
He had kept all his promises to her. He had taken dinner with her, allowed her to play with his cane, stayed until she had drifted off to sleep in the unfamiliar surroundings of her new home. And over the years as she had grown, he had shared so much more, his books, his learning, his remarkable family, and his friendship.
There was only one thing he had ever refused to share: his name. And tonight he had made it perfectly clear he never would.
"Never is an infernally long time, Val St. Leger," Kate murmured, setting her jaw and fighting off a fresh wave of despair. Damn both the legend and the curse. She would not give up that easily. She might have her faults aplenty, a bad temper, no patience, and a complete want of any feminine graces. But no one had ever accused her of a lack of courage and determination.
She would be Val's bride before the year was out, she vowed, though she did not have the slightest notion how she would bring this miracle about. Certainly not through the use of any more silly love charms. The legend of the chosen bride was too powerful for such superstitious nonsense. It would take a far stronger magic to break the legend's hold on Val, the kind of magic no man living possessed.
Then perhaps she needed to seek her answer among the dead.
Kate's breath caught in her throat. She could scarce have said where the notion came from that whispered across her mind. Perhaps it was carried to her by the seductive call of the wind, borne to her on the siren rush of the waves.
Or perhaps it was merely the sight of Castle Leger perched high atop the cliffs behind her. From this distance, the vast manor appeared no more than a looming shadow except for the one tall tower etched stark against the face of the moon, the place where a dreaded sorcerer had once practiced his infamous magic until he met his untimely end. His restless spirit was rumored to have drifted through the old keep for centuries after.
But it was a long time since any terrified servant had reported sighting a spectral presence stalking the ramparts at midnight. Either Lord Prospero had been exorcised at last or he had simply lost interest in haunting Castle Leger. Nothing remained of the once mighty wizard except for his collection of books stored in the tower chamber, ancient tomes filled with such strange and forbidden knowledge, no one had ever been tempted to make use of them.
Until now.
Kate's heart beat more quickly, her hands actually trembling a little at the thought seizing hold of her. She could well imagine how horrified Val would be if he knew what she was contemplating, what he would say to her. He would tell her she needed to forget such a dangerous notion at once and try to forget about him as well.
Forget about Val St. Leger? Oh, no, Kate thought, a tremulous smile curving her lips. All she needed was a stronger spell.
_C HAPTER THREE_
* * *
_T_ HE NARROW stone stairs wound upward into impenetrable darkness, the wind whistling through the arrow slits producing a mournful sound that pierced one to the soul. The ancient tower seemed far removed from the bustling new wing of Castle Leger and the warmth of any human contact.
Heart thudding uncomfortably, Kate crept forward, shielding the candle she carried from the cold drafts of air, trying not to think of all the ghost tales Lance St. Leger had told her. Chilling stories of how he had often encountered Lord Prospero in this very tower, the ancient sorcerer appearing in a burst of lightning, demonic eyes blazing in his hideous countenance.
All more of Lance's teasing nonsense, of course. Now, if Val had been the one to tell her such things, she would have believed him. Her hero never lied and he assured her that _he_ had never seen any ghost.
Val...His dark eyes and melancholy smile seemed to swim before her eyes, haunting Kate more than any phantom ever could. It wasn't the fear of a long-dead sorcerer that caused her footsteps to lag so much as an unexpected attack of conscience.
She felt as though she was about to betray him and his family as well. The St. Legers had all been very kind to her in their different ways. And how was she going to repay them? By plotting to steal their ancient secrets, flout their tradition of the Bride Finder, and practice black arts against the man who had ever been her truest friend.
But she had been left no choice, Kate assured herself. What was the alternative? To dwindle into a foolish spinster like her adopted mother, Effie? To stand aside and watch while Val also lived out his days alone, sacrificing himself to both that infernal legend and his strange power, absorbing the suffering of everyone he met until his very compassion proved the death of him?
If there had ever been a man who needed a woman to love and look out for him, it was Valentine St. Leger. She might not make him the best wife, no perfect chosen bride, but Kate was certain she would be better than no bride at all.
Strengthening her resolve, she continued doggedly onward, taking care not to lose her footing on steps that had been worn smooth by centuries. The stair seemed to spiral upward forever, and just as she began to despair of reaching the end of it, she suddenly emerged into the tower chamber itself. Despite all of Val's assurances, she stiffened, half closing her eyes, bracing herself for an alarming burst of light, a hobgoblin face leering out of the darkness, a dead sorcerer snatching at her with skeletal fingers.
When seconds ticked by and nothing happened, Kate dared to hold up the candle and take stock of her surroundings. She released a long breath, feeling like she had surfaced in another century. The feeble light flickered over a massive bed hung with rich brocade curtains, the dark wood intricately carved with ancient Celtic symbols that appeared as mysterious as the collection of bottles and vials adorning a nearby shelf.
Kate's wondering eyes took in a small writing desk, a heavy oak chest, and a bookcase filled with ponderous-looking tomes, all appearing perfectly preserved, untouched by the passage of time.
She had expected a cobweb or two, at least a little dust. But every piece of furniture gleamed with polish, the bedcover turned partly down as though awaiting the return of the master whose life had ended in fire over five centuries ago.
An unnerving thought, that, and Kate was quick to shrug it off, focusing her attention on what she had come to find, Prospero's store of forbidden knowledge, the sorcerer's collection of spells.
She rushed over to the bookcase and, heedless of any damage to her gown, knelt down on the cold stone floor. Setting the brass candlestick on the floor beside her, she began to wrench one book after another down from the case.
Manuscripts bound long before the age of the printing press, they were all beautifully copied out in flowing scripts, apparently collected from many lands. None of them was written in English, but Kate was not daunted by that fact. Val had a penchant for foreign languages, a fascination he had shared with her over the years. Thanks to his excellent tutelage, she was fairly fluent in French and Spanish, possessed a working knowledge of Latin and Greek, even knew a smattering of Italian, German, and Gaelic.
But translations would take time and she feared she might have little of that. It must be nearly an hour since she'd run off from Val. He would be worried, might even have roused half the estate to go in search of her.
She would simply have to select the most promising-looking text and take it with her. Wiping her moist palms on her cloak, she scanned the row of books again, one of them drawing her attention from the others. Small, slim, so ancient, it appeared likely to crumble at the merest touch.
Kate took hold of the volume gingerly and drew it out into the flickering light. The binding was crude, the leather cracked. It bore no title, only an emblem burned deeply into the cover, the symbol of a ferocious dragon rising up out of a lamp of knowledge, and beneath it a faded inscription in Latin.
_"He...he who possesses great power must use it wisely,"_ Kate translated in an awed whisper, the words not unfamiliar to her.
It was the St. Leger family motto, first adopted by the man who had more reason than any other to know the truth of those words. This had to have been Prospero's particular book, the words no doubt penned by the sorcerer's own hand. Kate quivered with excitement, certain she'd stumbled upon the very thing she sought, the wizard's spell book. Her fingers trembling with eagerness, she started to lift the cover.
_"Put that down!"_
The voice was chillingly soft, seeming to whisper against the nape of her neck, sending an icy shiver down her spine. Kate gave a startled squeak, clutching the book. Her gaze darted fearfully about the chamber, but there was nothing there. Only sinister shadows conjured out of her overwrought imagination. She released a long, unsteady breath, disgusted with herself.
"You are such a goose," she muttered. All the same, she would be better off gathering up the book and getting out of here. Tucking the volume under her arm, she reached for her candle, struggling to her feet.
"Are you hard of hearing, mistress? I _said_ put the book down."
"Oh!" Kate gasped. She hadn't imagined that! The voice slashed at her like the steely blade of a sword. In her fright, she fell back to her knees, dropping both book and candle. The taper rolled away from her, snuffing itself out against the stonework, leaving her in darkness except for what meager moonlight penetrated the arrow slits. Heart banging against her rib cage, she froze, for a moment too terrified even to breathe.
A sharp wind tore through the room. The pages of the book fluttered. The ancient torches set into the wall exploded into flame, sending out a shower of sparks. Kate shrieked, snatching up the book and using it to shield her eyes from the sudden blaze of light.
An eternity passed before she dared lower it and peer up at the alarming specter that now loomed over her. Tall and powerful, he seemed to fill the chamber, his imposing frame clad in a black tunic shot through with golden thread. A scarlet mantle swirled off his shoulders, providing a brilliant foil for his lustrous mane of hair, as black as his finely trimmed mustache and beard. Far from being any hideous demon, he was almost wickedly handsome with his hawklike nose, aristocratic cheekbones, and sensual lips. Just like in the portrait that had hung below in the great hall for centuries.
"Prospero?" Kate croaked as soon as she was able to find her voice.
"You appear to have the advantage of me, milady." The sorcerer gazed at her from his lordly height, his eyes rather exotic, slightly tilted at the corners, dark, compelling. Drifting closer, he extended one hand toward her from his long, flowing sleeve.
His skin was strangely bronzed for a phantom, almost swarthy, his fingers appearing long and elegant. Although she trembled, Kate reached up instinctively to accept his hand, quite forgetting he was a ghost until her own hand passed through him. It sent an odd tingle through her, the sensation unnerving, like being struck by lightning that chilled instead of burned.
Kate snatched her fingers away, shrinking back. The gesture had obviously not been a chivalrous one meant to help her to her feet. Prospero presented his hand again, more imperiously this time.
"My book, if you please," he demanded in a tone that brooked no argument.
Kate clutched the precious volume to her chest, vigorously shaking her head. She didn't know exactly what she had done to conjure this alarming phantom back from the grave, but it must have something to do with the book. If it truly contained that much power, she was not about to surrender it without a fight.
The contest was short-lived. With one languid wave of his hand, the sorcerer wrested the volume from her grasp. Kate emitted a faint cry of protest as she felt the book wrench free, watched it float across the room. Prospero settled the volume atop the writing desk, well out of her reach. Then he turned back to deal with her. His eyes didn't burn with demonic fire as Lance had said, but his narrowed gaze certainly looked capable of reducing a full-grown man to ash. Or one diminutive young woman.
But Kate had never cowered before anyone, not even old Crockett when that redoubtable madam had taken a whip to her. She wasn't about to start now. Heart hammering, she struggled to her feet and declared with all the defiance she could muster, "I am not the least afraid of you."
"No?" He arched one brow in a taunting fashion, stalking closer.
Kate stumbled back a step. "I don't care if you are a dreadful sorcerer," she bluffed. "I happen to be something of a witch myself."
"One who needs to borrow her spells?" he mocked.
"Well, it is not as if you were using that book for anything. It has been years since Lance St. Leger reported seeing you here in the tower."
He continued to move closer, forcing her to retreat until her back was nearly against the wall. But her words appeared to give him pause. "Years?" he murmured. "I thought it more like decades." An odd expression filtered through his dark eyes, something a little pensive, a little sad. But in a flash it was gone, his fierce scrutiny once more trained upon her.
"Now that I bethink me, I do recall seeing you somewhere before. And don't try to convince me it was dancing naked about the fire at some Black Sabbath."
Kate flinched at his sarcasm.
"All right," she muttered. "I'm not a witch. My name is Kate Fitzleger and I am from the village."
"Little Katherine Fitzleger? The young hoyden who used to tromp about here wearing breeches? Playing at swords in the great hall?"
"Aye," Kate replied, unsettled that he should know so much about her, especially since before this night, she had not been entirely convinced of his existence.
Prospero stepped back, his eyes raking over her in a leisurely fashion that brought the blood surging to her cheeks.
"You've grown some," he said appreciatively.
Kate was annoyed to feel herself blush, something she never did. She fumbled, tugging her cloak more tightly about her, only wishing that Val would look at her that way. She was convinced that she could get him to do so, fall in love with her enough to forget everything, his family traditions, the legend, and the curse. If only she could lay her hands on that book. Her gaze traveled to where the volume rested on the corner of the desk.
As though he could read her mind, Prospero shifted to block her view. "And so, milady," he purred. "Lance St. Leger told you all about his encounters with me and yet you were still foolish enough to invade my tower?"
"Because I never believed him. I thought he was just making up tales to scare me. Fortunately, I don't frighten easily."
"So I have observed." Prospero's mouth crooked in a faint smile.
"You are not nearly as hideous as Lance said you were."
"Hideous? By St. George! I'll have the young whelp know I was accounted one of the handsomest men of my day."
And not just a touch vain, Kate thought as she watched Prospero smooth the ends of his beard. An entirely human failing that somehow rendered the great sorcerer far less formidable. She felt the last of her tension ease.
"I am sure Lance didn't mean to insult you. He only described you thus to tease me, something he is very good at."
"Aye, I recall," Prospero said dryly. After a brief hesitation, he asked, "How fares the rogue and his pretty bride?"
"Lance and Rosalind are both well, as much in love as ever. They have a son now, three years old. He was christened John, but everyone calls him Jack."
"How drearily unimaginative," Prospero said, but Kate detected a certain softening in his haughty features. He drifted away from her to pace about the chamber, rustling the curtains of his bed, lifting the lid of his chest as though seeking to reacquaint himself with his surroundings, resurrect old memories. Something any ordinary man might have done after an absence of so many years.
Except that Kate doubted Prospero could ever have been termed ordinary even when he had been alive. An aura of mystery clung to him, his every movement fraught with the arrogance of a conquering emperor. Now that she was no longer afraid, Kate watched him with awe and fascination, wondering where he had been all these years, what dark netherworld he might have inhabited.
There had to be great power in that book of his to bring him storming back here when all she'd done was touch it. If only she could steal one small peek at the contents.
As Prospero inspected his trunk, he fired off questions regarding the fate of the other St. Legers. Kate did her best to answer him in a calm voice, all the while inching away from the wall, nearer to the desk.
"...and Dr. Marius St. Leger moved away from the village last summer. He's taken a teaching position at the medical college in Edinburgh. Lord Anatole's daughters are all gone, too, Leonie and Phoebe both married. And the youngest, Mariah, wed a Scottish laird. The only one left unmarried now is Val."
But not for much longer if she could help it, Kate vowed. Keeping a wary eye on Prospero, she reached for the book.
He moved so quickly her eye scarce registered the fact. She could not have said whether he stalked or flew. One minute he was bending over the trunk, the next he lounged in front of her, resting one hand atop her prize.
Blast him! Kate seethed with frustration. He was only a ghost after all. Surely if she tugged at the book, it would pass right through him. She grasped hold of the binding and pulled. But for a hand that was not corporeal, Prospero's fingers seemed to possess the weight of iron. The book was held fast.
Rather than angered by her audacity, the sorcerer appeared amused. He endured her efforts to pry the book free for several moments until he seemed to grow bored of the game. He made a careless gesture and Kate felt herself lifted off her feet as though plucked about the waist by two strong hands.
She gave a startled gasp as she was propelled backward, then plunked down upon the edge of the bed. Although the sensation of flying had left her a little giddy, she immediately attempted to rise.
One steely glance from Prospero warned her that would be most unwise. She subsided, feet dangling over the side of the bed, glaring at him.
"You appear to be a most single-minded young woman, Mistress Kate," he said. "What is it you think to find in this old book that you want so badly?"
"A spell. Just one little spell."
"What kind of spell?"
She found it difficult to meet his eyes, certain that he would mock her.
"A love charm," she mumbled.
Prospero didn't laugh, but his dark brows shot upward in surprise. "I would hardly think a young lady possessed of your obvious assets would have need of such a thing."
"Well, I do," Kate said miserably. "I've already tried everything else. I even asked him to marry me."
" _You_ actually proposed to this reluctant beau of yours?"
"Yes, and he rejected me."
"I shouldn't wonder, if you looked that fierce. Why didn't you just whip out a pistol and march the poor fellow to the altar?"
"I might have done, but he would probably have just let me shoot him."
Prospero stroked his beard, gravely considering her words, but there was an irrepressible twinkle in his eye. "Granted, the fashions of the world have changed much since my day, but this does not seem to be the best way to go about charming a man."
"Then help me!" Kate cried. "Why can't you open that book and give me a spell to win his love?"
"Because it is always dangerous to use magic to trifle with the human heart."
"You did it. The tales are legion about how many women you seduced using the black arts."
Prospero's brows knit together in a mighty scowl. "It is hardly fitting that a chit like you should know of my liaisons."
"Then you should have been more discreet," Kate retorted. But she mollified her tone, realizing this was not the best way to secure his aid. For all his mockery and hauteur, the sorcerer did not seem entirely unsympathetic to her cause.
"Please help me. You are such a powerful wizard, I am sure it would pose no difficulty for you at all," she said, flattering him shamelessly, shooting him a melting glance from beneath her lashes.
Prospero merely looked amused. "And just who is this young swain of yours?"
"Well—ah," Kate faltered. It would hardly do to explain to Prospero it was his own descendant whom she hoped to bewitch. Far from helping her, the sorcerer would be more apt to send her flying down the tower stairs. "Er, he is no one you would have heard of. Only a gentleman residing here in Cornwall."
"Of good family?"
"Oh, yes." Kate smiled serenely. "Quite as noble as your own."
"Well-to-do?"
"Moderately so. I don't love him for his wealth."
"Ah, a handsome fellow then."
"I think so," Kate said softly. "And brave, kind, clever, generous. He's a perfect gentleman, so noble and—and—"
"Enough," Prospero protested, rolling his eyes. "Please spare me the entire list of this paragon's attributes. I concede that he sounds like a good match."
"You will help me then?" Kate slipped off the bed, daring to approach him again. She abandoned all attempts at guile as she peered up at him, for once allowing her heart to surface in her eyes.
"Please," she whispered.
Prospero stared down at her for a long time, his expression so inscrutable Kate had no notion what he might be thinking. But she remained hopeful until he slowly shook his head.
"No."
"But—"
He silenced her with an imperious wave of his hand. "I make it my policy never to meddle in human concerns."
"That's a stupid policy," Kate said. "I don't see why—"
"However, I will offer you some advice."
"Oh, thank you so much!" She shot him a reproachful look before asking grudgingly, "What advice?"
"You have no need of magic to win this young clod. You simply need to make better use of your own natural charms. Brush the tangles from your hair, mend your manner of walking."
Kate bristled. "What is wrong with the way I walk?"
"Nothing, if you were a captain leading a regiment into battle."
"I walk to get where I'm going. I am not going to mince about like some die-away ninny."
"I never told you to do so. Simply learn to adopt a more elegant manner, carry yourself like a queen."
Kate compressed her mouth in a stubborn line before snapping, "Fine. Then show me."
"Me? I have no time to be giving deportment lessons to saucy wenches."
"You have nothing _but_ time."
His eyes darkened so ominously that Kate feared she had carried her impertinence too far. But his face suddenly relaxed, a silken laugh escaping him.
"You are right about that, my dear. I do have time, all eternity in fact, the devil take me.
"Because heaven never will," he added, a fleeting look of sadness stealing into his eyes, which he veiled at once behind his sardonic expression.
"Very well." He beckoned to her. "Come here."
Kate gaped at him, taken aback. She had only flung the challenge out to him in a fit of pique. She had never expected him to take her up on her angry words. When she hung back, she felt her shoulders seized in the icy grip of invisible hands.
She could not restrain a startled cry as she felt herself marched forward while Prospero barked out commands.
"Straighten your spine. Hold your head up. And take daintier steps! Remember you are a lady, not a squire in training for knighthood."
Kate stiffened, attempting to resist. But as she marched about the room, an idea came to her. A desperate and brilliant idea.
When Prospero snapped at her once more to keep her head up, she cried, "Wait, I know something that might help."
He allowed her to pause and she moved toward the bookcase. Hoping he would not notice the tremor of excitement in her, she snatched up a book of Celtic folklore and balanced it atop her head.
Prospero chuckled, but he nodded in approval.
Back across the room Kate glided, keeping a smile fixed on her face while her heart missed a beat.
The sorcerer tipped his head to one side, scrutinizing her every movement.
"That is better," he said. "You have a natural grace, milady. You could have been born to be a duchess."
Kate pulled a wry face at that, certain she had been born for a far different fate. The gallows most likely. But she rather fancied the idea of being a duchess. She turned, sashaying back over the stone floor, imitating Prospero's own imperious manner, which caused him to laugh.
Kate giggled as well, nearly toppling the book from her head. She was enjoying herself, so much so that she was nearly beguiled into forgetting her purpose. She came to an abrupt halt, reaching up to pluck the volume from her head.
"What's amiss?" he demanded. "You were doing quite well. Why did you stop?"
Kate released an unsteady breath, avoiding his eyes. "It must be getting very late, Effie, my—my mama, will be worried about me. I should go."
She almost imagined the great sorcerer appeared disappointed, but he shrugged, saying smoothly, "Then I expect you had best be gone."
Kate clutched her cloak about her and dipped in a nervous curtsy. "Thank you for my lesson."
"The pleasure was all mine, milady." Prospero swept her a magnificent bow. "Come again sometime and we'll work upon your curtsy."
Kate nodded and sidled toward the door. She held her breath, expecting at any moment to see his eyes narrow with thunderous displeasure. But when nothing happened, she slipped into the passage leading down the tower stairs.
And ran for her very life.
She no longer had her candle; the stairway was all but pitch black. Somehow she stumbled her way to the bottom without tumbling headlong. As she emerged into the cavernous recesses of the great hall itself, her heart banged against her ribs like a blacksmith's hammer against an anvil.
She paused and waited. Still nothing. No roar of outrage, no lightning bolt hurled to reduce her to ashes.
_He hadn't noticed._
Trembling, she dared to remove the book she had secreted beneath her cloak, tracing her fingers over the dragon emblem burned into the cover. During her London days when she had often been obliged to steal to survive, she'd become quite a bold and accomplished thief, frequently robbing old Crockett herself. But she had never imagined that one day she would possess the skill to dupe a five-hundred-year-old sorcerer.
She was good. She was still damned good, Kate thought, suppressing a chortle of triumph. She didn't delude herself she would be able to fool Prospero for long, but she had hopefully bought herself enough time to find the spell she needed and memorize it.
Gleefully clutching the book to her chest, Kate rushed off into the darkness.
Prospero stared down at the book that now rested upon the corner of his desk, a harmless volume of Celtic folklore. His mouth crooked into a smile of wry amusement. The little minx! She was as bold a piece as he'd ever encountered. Did she truly think he, Prospero, would be that easy to trick?
Still, the switching of those books was as pretty a bit of sleight of hand as he'd ever witnessed, and he'd performed many himself in his day. Mistress Kate was quite remarkable. The only thing remaining to consider was how far to allow her to go before he stopped her. And what illusion should he use? A sudden burst of light, a chilling wind, perhaps even a fire-breathing dragon? That might be enough to daunt Kate, teach her both some wisdom and some manners.
But even as he started to raise his hands, Prospero paused, rethinking the matter. Why not just let her keep the book for a while? It was filled with some of his most dangerous secrets, that was true, but he'd penned it in the alphabet of a long-dead language no mortal could hope to decipher.
He smiled to himself, imagining Kate's chagrin when she opened the volume and realized she could not read a word of the book she'd fought so hard to obtain. Likely she'd storm back up to the tower and be impertinent enough to hurl the useless text at his head.
And he was not averse to having her return, he was surprised to realize. She had been like a wild, sweet wind invading his tower chamber, reminding him of things that he'd almost forgot. Of what it had been like to be that young and so passionately alive.
The reminder was both poignant and painful. He was quick to shrug it off, preparing to extinguish the torches and vanish back into the night. He could not imagine what had drawn him back here in the first place.
Not the problems of one lovelorn young woman, that was for certain. He'd never liked haunting Castle Leger. The place was too filled with memories of the folly of his mortal days. More often than not the blasted castle ended up haunting him.
Yet over the centuries he'd frequently been drawn back against his will, usually when great disaster loomed over these reckless descendants of his. Times such as when Cromwell's Roundheads had threatened the castle with destruction or those grim days in the eighteenth century when Tyrus Mortmain had been hell-bent upon murdering St. Legers. Or when Anatole St. Leger had been left orphaned and disillusioned at far too young an age. Or more recently when his rogue of a son, Lance, had permitted the St. Legers' most cherished sword to be stolen, the weapon Prospero had fashioned himself, imbedding a magic crystal in the hilt.
So what the devil was amiss now? Prospero's gaze swept the tower chamber as though the stones of the castle itself might provide his answer. He felt nothing but a troubling silence.
Drifting through the walls, he paced along the tower parapet, staring far out across the night-swept panorama. Even after so many centuries, the rugged beauty of this land, the rocky stretch of coast, the towering cliffs, the sea surging against the shore in all its white-crested mystery was still able to move him.
Search the night though he would, he could find no answer to the unease that had drawn him back. His powers of prognostication no longer seemed what they once had been. Mayhap even a ghost could grow old, Prospero thought wryly.
Although he could not put a name to it, he could still feel it, like a dark ripple in the fabric of the night itself. There was something out there that threatened Castle Leger, this family of his.
Something evil.
_C HAPTER FOUR_
* * *
_T_ _HE DEMONS LURKED in the darkness. Rafe could feel their hot breath, hear the suppressed sounds of their cruel laughter. Heart pounding, he hurled himself after the tall woman who threatened to disappear down the narrow mist-bound street._
"Maman! Maman! Ne me laissez pas," _he cried, catching at her stiff silk skirts._ "S'il vous plaît."
_Evelyn Mortmain spun around to glare at him, her eyes already cold and distant. Rafe shrank back, remembering that she did not like him to speak French._
_"Please, Mama," he faltered, struggling for the right words. "Do not...leave me."_
_She drew back her hand and dealt him a sharp cuff to the ear that caused his eyes to water. "Don't whine like that, Raphael. You know I have no patience for it." She bent down to his level, seizing him by the shoulders._
_"I am returning to Cornwall to destroy the St. Legers and reclaim your birthright, you foolish boy. Now dry your eyes, you will be safe enough here at the monastery with the holy brothers."_
_She brushed her lips fiercely against his brow and turned to leave, oblivious to his panic. Didn't she understand? He didn't care about Cornwall, St. Legers, or birthrights. He only wanted his mother. No one was safe here. Not even the holy monks. The demons were_ _everywhere, red caps tipped over their hideous grinning faces, knives clutched in their hands, waiting._
_"Mama. Please, come back."_
"Don't...don't go." The words rasped through Rafe's throat, stirring a violent coughing spasm that jolted him awake. His eyes flew open as he struggled for breath, gazing about him in wild confusion at the rough-hewn planks of the barn. The fogbound streets with all their hidden terrors faded. He was no longer a terrified boy abandoned in the vast city of Paris, but a dying man flat on his back. His bed was a heap of straw somewhere in a barn near the portside town where he had docked just yesterday.
But even as he recollected where he was, Rafe felt just as frightened, just as lost. He dragged one shaking hand over the sweat-soaked mat of his beard. It was only that cursed dream again. How he despised it and himself for having it. At least this one had not been as bad as some of his other nightmares when those faceless demons actually emerged from the shadows....
He rolled onto his side with a pain-filled groan. He half expected to see night pressing against the barn doorway, but the pale light of early evening still glimmered. He could not have been out that long, although he was not quite sure if he had fallen asleep or lapsed into unconsciousness. He felt so blasted weak, his chest and throat so raw with coughing, he might as well have been on fire.
He dragged himself to his knees, a task that required all his strength. It was the fault of the crystal. The shard seemed to have grown stronger, rendering him even weaker. He longed with all his soul to be rid of the cursed thing.
Soon...soon. Then the nightmare would be all Val St. Leger's, not his. That thought gave Rafe the will to rise to his feet. He staggered into the next stall to complete the task he'd abandoned when he had become too exhausted.
The saddle he'd been forced to drop lay tumbled on its side, the stolid gray gelding munching placidly from a bucket of oats. It twitched its ears, barely troubling to give him a glance as he strained to heft the saddle on its back. He succeeded this time, but the effort left him so spent, he was obliged to lean against the side of the stall, suppressing another coughing spell. The spasm passed. He wiped his brow and turned wearily back to the task of fastening the girth.
"I could help you with that, mister."
The piping child's voice startled him, fraying at his taut nerves. He jerked about to glower at the small figure in the doorway, a delicate-looking boy, no more than eight. Rafe wondered how long the little wretch had stood there watching him. He had small patience for children, even less for being spied upon.
"What the deuce do you want?" Rafe growled.
The child flinched at his tone, but crept a step closer. Earnest blue eyes peered up at Rafe from beneath a mop of unruly white-blond hair.
"I only wanted to help you with the saddle."
"I don't need any help!" Rafe turned back to the horse, assuming the boy would take to his heels. Such a frail-looking whelp. He should have been easily frightened.
To Rafe's surprise and annoyance, the boy lingered, shuffling his feet on the straw-covered floor.
"Rufus is a real good horse," he ventured.
Rafe said nothing, struggling to tighten the cinch. To him, horses had never been anything more than an inconvenient necessity when obliged to travel on dry land.
"You are going to take good care of him now that you bought him, aren't you, mister?" the boy asked with a tiny catch in his voice.
Take good care of it? Aye, until the horse carried Rafe to his destination. After that, the wretched brute could be claimed by the knackers or whoever else happened to stumble across it.
When he didn't answer, the child plucked timidly at his sleeve to gain his attention. "He likes to have a carrot with his oats and—"
"Damnation!" Rafe snapped. "Leave me alone. Can you not see I'm busy? Shouldn't you be in bed or something?"
The boy stumbled back, paling, the freckles standing out on the bridge of his nose. For one moment Rafe thought he saw his own reflection in the child's wounded eyes, the frightened lad he'd once been. He half reached out to the boy, only to check the gesture, subsiding into one of his hacking coughs.
Rafe pressed his hand to his mouth while the boy continued to retreat. The lad stumbled against a woman entering the barn, her black dress and faded apron as homespun as her face. She took in the situation with one thoughtful glance, her gaze traveling from Rafe to her quivering son.
"There you are, Charley," she said, stroking her work-worn fingers through the boy's uneven lengths of hair. "You should be washing up for supper. Get along with you now."
The boy stole one more uneasy glance at Rafe before heeding her gentle command. She watched as the boy vanished across the chicken yard before turning back to Rafe. He braced himself, belligerently awaiting the farmwife's sharp rebuke for his treatment of her son. He was nowise prepared for her quiet apology.
"I am sorry if Charles was bothering you about the horse, Mr. Moore."
Rafe started a little at the name until he recollected that it was the one he had given her when she'd caught him prowling about her farm like an injured wolf. He muttered some vague reply, waiting impatiently for her, like her son, to be gone.
Instead she actually gave him a sad smile. "You see, poor Rufus there belonged to my late husband. He was one of the few possessions my son had left of his father."
And this touching bit of information was supposed to mean something to him? Rafe shrugged, pretending to be inspecting the girth, wishing she would just go away. He tensed when she came closer, easing into the stall to pat the old brute's neck as tenderly as she had touched her son. The stupid creature actually responded to her, lifting its head to nuzzle her arm. The widow...what had she said her name was? Corinne Brewster...Brewer, something like that. Rafe couldn't recall, but it was of no importance.
She was one of those foolish sentimental women he'd never been able to abide. All soft eyes and soft mouth, her unremarkable brown hair bundled beneath a plain linen cap, untidy wisps escaping to straggle about her ruddy cheeks.
"I want to thank you," she said shyly, peeking at him around the horse. "For making such a generous offer for our old Rufus. I know he is not worth such a sum. I feel quite guilty for accepting that much money, but Charley and I do need it rather desperately."
"And I need the horse. The amount is of no consequence to me," Rafe said. Money matters were of little concern to a dying man. He would have stolen the horse if she had not stumbled across him first. It would have been much simpler. But he couldn't afford to raise a hue and cry, risk being captured and arrested. Not when he had so little time left, not when he was drawing this close to exacting his revenge upon Val St. Leger.
"All the same, your generosity is much appreciated," the widow continued. Couldn't the woman shut her mouth and simply go away? Apparently not.
"The farm has to be sold to pay my late husband's debts," she said earnestly, as though she truly expected Rafe to care. "My poor George was never much of a farmer. He was a seafaring man like yourself."
"How the devil did you know that?" Rafe snarled, drilling her with his gaze. Was it possible she had somehow recognized the infamous Captain Mortmain even beneath his shaggy coat of hair and straggling beard? He tensed like a wolf about to spring, his hands clenching.
Although she appeared both bewildered and taken aback by his ferocity, she replied calmly, "It is the way you walk, your rolling gait, like a man who has spent much time at sea. I am sorry if I offended you."
Rafe expelled a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He was far too edgy. He needed to get out of here.
"I have to be going," he muttered, reaching for the gelding's reins.
"Can I not at least persuade you to stay to supper?"
Supper? Was this woman completely mad? Did she have the least inkling of the danger she'd been in but a heartbeat ago? That if she had recognized him, he'd been fully prepared to throttle her to insure her silence?
"Are you always like this?" he demanded.
"Like what?"
"So damn trusting of any stranger that happens by."
She flushed at his sarcasm, but she replied with quiet dignity. "No, I am not. I am usually most cautious."
"Then why did you abandon that caution for me?" he jeered, brushing back his tangle of black hair. "Because of my charming appearance?"
"I don't know why I did," she faltered. "Perhaps it had something to do with your eyes. You looked like a man who needed to—to be trusted."
That had to be about the stupidest thing Rafe had ever heard of. She was obviously quite mad or one of those women pathetically hungry for the attention of any man no matter how disreputable. Either way, he had no time for this.
Tugging on the reins, he guided the horse through the barn door when another of his infernal spasms seized him. This one left him doubled over, clutching his chest, coughing, struggling to breathe.
As he shuddered with the pain, he felt a hand both gentle and unexpectedly strong take hold of his elbow, supporting him.
"Mr. Moore, you really are not well," she said. "You should rest tonight, set out in the morning. I could make you up a bed in the tack room."
Rafe shrugged her off, forcing himself to straighten. He closed his eyes for a moment, able to will the pain away, but it left him weakened. He would never be able to travel hard. Even if he set out now, he'd be fortunate to reach Castle Leger by this time tomorrow eve. Yet he had no choice. His time was running out.
"My business brooks no delay. I must be gone," he said through clenched teeth.
As he struggled to get his foot in the stirrup, she irritated him by hovering near him as though she expected him to fall flat on his face. He half expected it himself. Panting, he managed to lever his body up into the saddle.
Rafe swayed, overcome by a dizziness, which he fought to shrug off. When he was able to focus, he saw the widow staring up at him with worried eyes.
"I do not know what business makes you so desperate to be gone, but I wish you would reconsider, sir." Their eyes met, hers so open and honest, his so guarded, and yet Rafe still experienced a strange feeling she could see straight to his soul, read all the dark purpose there. And she pitied him.
Though it cost him great effort, Rafe straightened, thrusting back his shoulders. He had no need of her pity. If there was one thing he'd inherited from his mother, it was her infernal Mortmain pride. He touched the crystal shard outlined beneath his shirt. Now it seemed he had inherited her madness as well.
He dug in his knees, setting the gelding into motion, taking little heed of Corinne's gentle, "Godspeed."
As he galloped off into the twilight, Rafe knew it would not be God speeding him toward Castle Leger. He was completely in the devil's hands now.
_C HAPTER FIVE_
* * *
_T_ HE RING OF FLAMES leapt higher, showering the black curtain of night with fiery sparks, bathing the ancient standing stone in an unearthly glow. No bonfire had been lit upon the old druid's hill for centuries, not since during the reign of Cromwell when it had been rumored a coven of witches had practiced their hellish rituals before the base of the mysterious monolith.
Only one woman crept about in the flickering shadows tonight, enveloped in a flowing black cape like a slender young sorceress. The wind made a tangle of her gypsylike hair, the heat of the flames painting color in her pale cheeks, reflecting firelight in her intent eyes. Any passerby stumbling upon the scene would have thought he _had_ encountered a witch of olden days and fled for his life.
But as she tossed more twigs into the flames, Kate had never felt less like a terrifying sorceress, more like a trembling child playing with fire. The wind wrestled her for possession of the crackling branches, sending smoke whipping into her face.
Kate choked and backed away toward the shelter of the gigantic stone that towered above her. She wiped her stinging eyes and peered nervously about her, trying to calm herself. The hill provided a breathtaking view, a magnificent vista of the rugged St. Leger lands. But tonight the slope was lost in darkness, the sea far below like some invisible beast, roaring out as it clawed at the land.
Despite the warm folds of her cloak and the blazing fire, Kate shivered. She had never been particularly afraid of the dark before, but it promised to be a wild night. All Hallows' Eve was said to be that time when the veil between this world and the next thinned and disappeared, allowing unquiet spirits to walk abroad.
The night did seem to be alive, the wind moaning through the trees, the clouds streaking eerie shadows across the face of the moon. Something rustled through the heather. A stoat or a badger no doubt, Kate sought to reassure herself. But no matter how quickly she whipped about, heart thudding, she never caught sight of anything.
Any person of good sense would be keeping close to the bonfires of the village tonight. Kate almost wished she had, too, merrily dancing with the others to keep demons and curses at bay for another year.
Instead she was preparing to cast some dark magic of her own. Kate delved beneath her cloak and produced the purloined spell book, half dreading that at any moment Prospero would rise before her in a dark cloud of smoke, wrathfully snatching back his stolen treasure.
It both puzzled and worried her that he had not done so already. She'd had the worn volume in her possession for two days now. Surely he must have noticed the trick she had played upon him. If he'd made no move to reclaim the book, it must be for some mischievous reason of his own.
Perhaps the great wizard had been merely toying with her, allowing her to think she'd carried off something special when she had pilfered nothing more than an ordinary book full of nonsense.
No, Kate couldn't believe that. Stroking her fingers over the dragon emblem burned into the leather cover, she thought she could feel the power that thrummed between the brittle pages, sensed the magic in the strange writings inked out in Prospero's arrogant hand, writings that should have been a complete mystery to Kate.
But she had recognized immediately what they were. The cunning Prospero had chosen to write out his spells in the ancient alphabet of Egypt, hieroglyphics. Kate had Val to thank that she was able to decipher them at all.
She remembered all those long ago rainy afternoons, curled up beside Val near the library fire while he had shared with her his latest course of study. He had peered quizzically at her over the ponderous tome that detailed the discovery of the Rosetta Stone, the tablet that had finally unlocked for scholars the mystery of Egyptian writing.
"I am sorry, my dear," he had said. "I ofttimes get carried away in my enthusiasms. This must all be incredibly boring to you."
"Oh, no," she had cried. How could she possibly make Val understand that although she had spent her youth in the vast city of London, it was not until she had met him that she had realized how narrow those streets were? That it had been his patient teaching and love of books that had opened her eyes to far-off times and places, entire worlds she had never dreamed existed.
"I like learning about the pyramids, and the pharaohs, and the hy-hyroglips."
"Hieroglyphics," he had corrected her gently.
"Yes! 'Tis like learning a special language only you and I understand. As though you trust me enough to share a great secret with me."
"I would trust you enough for anything, my Kate."
How his words had warmed her, she who had been reviled as a thief and a liar from her earliest years, she who had never been valued or trusted by anyone.
_Aye, Val trusts you. To be his true and honorable_ _friend. To respect his family and their customs. To never do anything that might bring him harm._
Kate flinched from the sudden sharp prick of her own conscience.
"But I'm not trying to hurt him," she murmured. What she was about to do was not so very terrible. No different from the other village lasses who sought to work their love charms upon the young men they desired.
_What a dreadful liar you are, Kate Fitzleger,_ she told herself. It was very different and she well knew it. All the difference between tossing a pinch of salt over one's shoulder to ward off the devil and seeking to meddle with the darkest kind of sorcery, summoning up powers that might be too terrible for her to control. If something should go wrong...
Kate glanced at the dancing flames and for one awful moment fancied she saw Prospero's exotic slanted eyes glaring back at her, heard the fearsome whisper of the great wizard's voice.
_"It is always dangerous to use magic to trifle with the human heart."_
Kate gave a frightened squeak and leapt back. She stared into the fire for long seconds before she was able to reassure herself she had seen nothing more than a falling log, heard nothing beyond the hiss of the flames. It was only her overwrought imagination and her too vivid memory of some idle remark Prospero had made.
And yet she couldn't help wondering, as she sought to still her racing heart, exactly what had Prospero meant by that? What was so dangerous about casting a love spell? Kate wished she had pressed him for more information, but it was too late now.
Except that it wasn't. She could abandon her desperate course, let the bonfire die out, scurry back to the village. She could run to Val's doorstep and beg to be let in, like a bedraggled kitten seeking shelter from a freezing storm. Val would see at once that she was distressed, even frightened, but he would not torment her with questions.
He'd merely pull her into the strength of his embrace, tuck her head against his comforting shoulder, and hold her fast.
No, Kate was forced to remind herself. That was not what would happen. After the way she had thrown herself at him the other night, Val would be too wary even to touch her. He'd be kind, gentle with her as always, but he would insist that she go home to Effie.
If she didn't find the courage to go through with this tonight, she would never feel his arms around her again. Tightening her grip on the book, Kate resumed her place before the standing stone like a priestess taking up her position at the altar.
A low rumble sounded through the night as though the sky itself had cracked open to issue her a warning. Kate turned her frightened gaze heavenward, seeing a flash of light upon the far horizon.
It was only a bit of thunder, a distant blaze of lightning, heralds of an approaching storm. She was able to breathe a little easier, although she realized she had not much time before the rains would come, dousing her fire.
"Oh, Val," she whispered. "Please forgive me for this. But you've left me no other choice."
Steeling herself, Kate opened the book.
The taproom at the Dragon's Fire Inn, usually bustling on such a raw autumn eve, was all but deserted. Reeve Trewithan slouched over the worn oak table, nursing the last tankard of ale he had enough coin to purchase. Flecks of foam clung to his grizzled chin, the greasy strands of his unwashed hair slicked back from his broad forehead.
His once stalwart frame showed signs of turning prematurely soft. The paunch of his stomach brushed against the edge of the table as Trewithan swiveled to glance out the window and watch the antics of his neighbors.
Bonfires blazed on the village green, the shadows of dancers silhouetted against the flames as skirts swirled and heavy country boots stomped in time to the fiddles. The music, shouts, and laughter carried even through the walls of the inn. All that capering about merely to drive the devil away from the village tonight, Reeve thought with scorn.
"Parcel of superstitious fools," he muttered, turning back to his drink. He appeared to be the only man in Torrecombe with enough sense to ignore this All Hallows' Eve nonsense. Well, him and the young fellow sprawled across the armchair in the taproom's darkest corner, staring glumly into his whiskey glass.
He was the sort of strapping lad who'd no doubt set the village lasses' hearts aflutter, Trewithan thought sourly. The youth had the kind of heavy, sulky mouth that seemed to make the silly chits all fit to swoon. His coal black hair waved back from his forehead in a widow's peak, his dark eyes fringed with thick black lashes that would have looked better on a wench.
There was no mistaking that prominent hawk's nose or the elegant cut of his clothes. The youth had to be one of those damned St. Legers, though Reeve was hanged if he could remember which one. Not one of the main branch of the family; a distant cousin most likely.
It didn't matter to Trewithan. The rest of Torrecombe might still worship the mysterious family with all their peculiar ways, but Reeve had little use for any of them, especially Dr. Valentine St. Leger. Interfering bastard. Lecturing Reeve, telling him to go gentle with his wife, that bearing another babe too soon might be enough to kill her. Encouraging Carrie to shirk her wifely duties by avoiding Reeve's bed.
That kind of celibacy might do well enough for Val St. Leger. The doctor was practically a monk. But Reeve was a real man and a real man had _needs_.
He took a deep swallow of his ale and nearly drained the tankard, stopping himself just in time. He was all too aware the landlord's beady eyes were fixed upon him. Mr. Wentworth would be ready to hustle him out the door as soon as his last drop was gone.
The innkeeper moved leisurely toward Reeve's table, the portly man's silk striped waistcoat and glossy boots making him look more like some city merchant than the keeper of a country inn.
"Well, Mr. Trewithan, I trust the ale was to your satisfaction," Wentworth remarked.
"I paid for it, didn't I?"
Wentworth rested his well-manicured hands on the back of an empty chair, seemingly oblivious to Reeve's surly reception.
"I was very surprised to see you in here this evening. I thought you'd be out with the rest of the village, joining in the fun."
"If you call that fun, wearing out your boot leather and getting your arse singed dancing around a fire."
Wentworth merely smiled. He nodded toward the gloom-ridden youth in the corner. "It seems that young gentleman shares your views."
"Bah, him." Reeve shot the lad a contemptuous glance. "Foolish whelp. Look at him, gaping into his glass. Who the deuce is he, anyway?"
"Master Victor St. Leger, grandson of the late Captain Hadrian St. Leger."
"Aye, I remember him, a hard-drinking old cove. You'd think he'd have taught his grandson better—that good whiskey like that is for swilling, not just looking at."
"I think Master Victor is only trying to work up his courage."
"For what? Drinking?" Reeve sneered.
"No, for marrying. Do you not pay any heed to the village gossip, Mr. Trewithan? The Bride Finder, Miss Effie Fitzleger, has selected Mollie Grey to be Master Victor's chosen bride. The lad is expected to go propose to the young lady tonight. Unfortunately, I don't think Master Victor is enthusiastic about Miss Effie's choice."
"Can't blame him. Mistress Grey is a scrawny wench. No bosom at all to speak of."
"Large bosoms are not the only thing to be valued in the selection of a wife, Mr. Trewithan," Wentworth reproved him mildly.
No, Reeve thought. There was also stamina to be considered. He hunched his shoulders in a heavy shrug. It was only more superstitious nonsense anyway, this business of the St. Legers and their chosen brides.
All the same, he wished he could have had a Bride Finder to choose his wife for him. Maybe even that silly Miss Effie could have done better than he'd done for himself. Carrie had seemed a good enough choice, a pretty buxom lass. Who'd have ever guessed she'd end up too sickly to perform a woman's most basic functions, birthing babes and pleasuring her man?
Reeve raised his tankard again only to peer with bitter disappointment into the mug. Not even a decent mouthful left. He fingered his empty purse and cast a speculative glance at Mr. Wentworth, but he knew there was no use expecting credit from that quarter. Not like in the old days.
The former landlord of the Dragon's Fire, Silas Braggs, had been a regular scoundrel, a smuggler and thief; some even said a murderer. He had mysteriously disappeared five years ago around the same time as that arrogant customs officer, Captain Mortmain. But for all his wicked ways, old Braggs had been willing to treat a regular customer to a drink.
Mr. Wentworth, who gave himself such gentlemanly airs, was downright mean in that regard. He'd been known to refuse to serve Reeve even when he had the money. "No more tonight, Mr. Trewithan. You've had enough," the sanctimonious bastard would proclaim. "You'd best be saving some of that coin to feed your family, sir."
If he'd wanted homilies, Reeve thought, he'd have taken himself off to the vicar. Swirling the dregs in his glass, he glanced around, wondering if there was any chance that Victor St. Leger might be persuaded to—No, the young man had finally tossed down his whiskey and was stumbling toward the door like a fellow marching off to his own execution.
Reeve sighed. If there was no prospect of another drink, he might as well go, too. As he lurched to his feet and shuffled toward the door, Wentworth cleared his empty tankard from the table.
"Good night, Mr. Trewithan," he called. "Oh, and do give my congratulations to your wife on the birth of her new daughter."
Congratulations to Carrie. _Her_ daughter. As though the blasted woman had done it all herself. Reeve glowered at Wentworth, then let himself out. Grimacing at the bite of the wind, he headed for home. Home to a cottage full of brats, a wailing babe, a sickly wife, and a cold bed.
Feeling much put upon and sorry for himself, Reeve took great care to avoid his merrymaking neighbors and kept to the dark path that skirted around the village. He barreled straight into another person who also seemed bent on avoiding the bonfires, a tall man cloaked all in black, the hood pulled far forward, concealing his features.
Reeve snarled, "Damn you, man. Why don't you push back that hood and watch where you're going?"
He attempted to shove his way past, but the stranger's hand shot out, detaining him.
"Your pardon, friend," a voice rasped from the depths of the hood. "Perhaps you may be of use to me."
Trewithan started to growl that it wasn't his way to be of use to anyone, but something in the stranger's aspect gave him pause. That and the hand that was now clamped about his wrist. The fingers were of an appalling thinness, almost skeletal, yet the man's grip was like iron and just as cold. An inexplicable shudder sluiced through Reeve.
"What—what d'you want?"
"Merely some information."
To Reeve's considerable relief, the man released him. He took a wary step back, rubbing his wrist.
"I am told that Dr. Valentine St. Leger no longer resides at the castle upon the hill."
"Aye, that's right. He's taken lease on a cottage closer to the village. The better, I suppose, to be able to meddle with the marriage beds of honest—"
Reeve checked himself, nervously licking his lips. For all he knew, this unnerving stranger might be an old friend of the doctor's.
"And where would this cottage be?" the stranger asked.
" 'Tis just down this lane about half a mile, close to the shore's edge. Slate House, 'tis called and—"
"Never mind. I remember the place."
"You've been to these parts before?" Curiosity overcame Reeve's unease. He leaned closer to squint beneath that cowl and wished he hadn't.
Soulless dark eyes glinted feverishly, set in a death-white face all but swallowed by a wild matting of beard. Reeve jerked back and stumbled over a rock, falling hard.
He couldn't have said why, but he was seized by a sudden panic. Thrashing about in the underbrush, he scraped and cut his hands. By the time he regained his feet, he was ready to bolt.
But there was no one to run from. He was entirely alone. Reeve glanced about wildly but saw no sign of the hooded stranger. He'd melted away into the darkness as though he'd never been. _Perhaps he hadn't._
"Damn," Reeve whispered. He realized he was trembling, hairs prickling at the back of his neck. Lord knows, he'd never been a superstitious man. But if his neighbors were trying to keep the devil out of Torrecombe tonight, they had better dance a little harder.
Slate House perched near the edge of the sea, the weathered two-story gray cottage melancholy in its isolation, its nearest neighbors the shifting dunes of sand, tufts of sea grass, and gulls that emitted their strident cries. The only light that flickered came from the tiny library at the back of the house, the walls so crammed with shelves, the chamber resembled a small dark cavern constructed of books.
Jem Sparkins lit a few more of the candles, then paraded about the room, making sure the shutters were secured against the blasts of damp salt air.
"I don't much like the notion of leaving you alone tonight, sir," Jem said, stealing a worried glance toward his master seated in the wingback chair before the fire.
Val St. Leger leaned against the cushions, his bad leg propped on a footstool, his cane near to hand. A worn brown shawl lay draped across his lap, warding off the evening's chill, and a book was held open in his hands.
But for the past half hour Val had made little sense of the treatise on herbal medicine. He stared into the hearth, not seeing the warm crackle of flames but instead a wild, moonlit garden, a young girl's desperate eyes as she wrenched away from him.
_"This is my pain, Val St. Leger. Not yours!"_
Ah, Kate. Val suppressed a heavy sigh. He knew full well how the girl behaved when she was hurting. She was like some wounded wild creature, striking out, driving everyone away. But she had never run from _him_ before. It was that thought that cut Val more deeply than anything else.
Kate had been avoiding him ever since the disastrous night of her birthday. Two days. Two whole days. When he had stopped by Effie's cottage to inquire after her, Kate had dispatched a maid to inform him that the young lady was not receiving callers. She had a headache.
A headache! Val would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it if he had not been so worried about the girl. His Kate had never suffered from a headache in her entire life, although...Val rubbed his brow. She was certainly adept at inflicting them upon other people.
"Sir? Dr. St. Leger?"
It took a moment for Jem's voice to recall Val back to his surroundings, away from his brooding about Kate. He glanced up at his lanky manservant.
"Mmm? Did you say something, Jem?"
"Aye, sir. I _said_ I don't much like leaving you alone tonight, especially not on All Hallows' Eve."
"Why? Are you afraid that some hobgoblin is going to come down the chimney and whisk me away?"
Jem's craggy face eased into a grin. "No, sir. I doubt even a ghost would dare trifle with any of you St. Legers. But you've already given Sallie and Lucas leave to attend the bonfires and—and—"
Jem broke off, looking uncomfortable. But it was unnecessary for him to finish. Val understood him well enough.
_Someone needed to stay behind and look after the poor crippled doctor._
It was an unusually bitter thought for Val and he was quick to suppress it. Lord knows, he should have been accustomed to the solicitude his lame leg inspired from his servants, his family, even total strangers. But it still chafed him. The only one who had ever fully understood and had given him no quarter was Kate.
"I think I can manage on my own for a few hours, Jem," he said. "Now you had better be off or you'll miss the bonfires yourself."
Jem opened his mouth to speak again, but Val cut him off, "Thank you, Jem. Good night."
Although Val was the kindest and most patient of masters, his servants knew when he would brook no further argument. Especially a retainer who had been in his employ as long as Jem.
"G'night, sir." Jem shuffled over to the door and let himself out, although he looked mighty unhappy about it.
Val heard the outer door slam, and a heavy silence settled over the library, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the wind rattling the panes of glass, causing the shutters to creak.
Val shifted in his chair. He'd spent an exhausting afternoon tending to patients scattered all along the coast. He had longed for this moment when he would find himself left alone with the solitary comforts of his hearth, his books, a glass of brandy.
But now that he had achieved his goal, he felt strangely restless. He donned his spectacles, attempted to read, only to close the book up again.
The house was perhaps too quiet and empty. Although it was termed a cottage, Slate House was a large, rambling structure, meant for half-a-dozen urchins sliding up and down the stair banister, a cheerful wife bustling about to serve the evening tea. The family that he would never have, Val thought, his mouth twisting ruefully.
Fortunately he didn't own the place. He'd only leased it from his second cousin, Dr. Marius St. Leger. A generation older than Val, Marius had been his tutor, his mentor, like a second father to him. But this past summer, Marius had taken up a teaching position at the medical college in Edinburgh, much to the chagrin of Val's own father.
Lord Anatole had always considered Marius his closest friend and he'd been both hurt and angered by the doctor's decision.
"Cornwall is your home," Anatole St. Leger had raged. "Why the devil would you ever want to leave it and go haring off to Scotland?"
Marius had smiled and given some vague answer, but Val had understood why well enough. The reason still rested perched on the mantel above the fireplace—the objects that practically constituted a shrine to Marius's lost love. A pair of dainty yellowed gloves, a faded hair ribbon, and a fan were positioned reverently before a miniature portrait of a sweet-faced young lady. Anne Syler, the woman who should have been Marius's chosen bride. But he'd defied the St. Leger family tradition, delayed claiming her for far too long. Marius had finally sought Anne out only to have her die in his arms.
Val had no difficulty in understanding why Marius had felt compelled to move away. Too many years of being haunted by Anne's memory, of bearing silent witness to the daily joy of men like Val's father, Anatole, or his brother, Lance, both contentedly wedded to their destined brides, of knowing that such happiness would never touch Marius's own lonely life.
Sometimes Val didn't know what was worse, to have had a chance at true love like Marius and lost it, or to have never had a chance at all like Val himself.
Perhaps one day he, too, would be driven to flee Cornwall, when he was an old man and no longer—
_When?_ Val peered wryly at the spectacles slipping off his nose, the brown shawl tucked across his lap. In a fit of self-disgust, he flung off the garment and set his spectacles aside.
Reaching for his cane, he levered himself to his feet, only to sink back with a sharp gasp at the stabbing pain in his knee. Sucking in his breath, he bent to massage his leg, which throbbed at this touch. He could feel the rock-hard tension in the muscle below the knee and his heart sank, recognizing the familiar warning sign. He was in for another devil of a night. By the wee hours of the morning, he'd be grinding his teeth down to the roots at the pain, tempted to take the laudanum again, a weakness he despised.
Forcing himself to his feet, he limped about the library, trying to work some of the stiffness out. He heard a low rumble in the distance, but he scarce needed that to tell him a storm was imminent. How bloody wonderful to have a knee that acted like a blasted weather predictor.
Val hobbled to the window, opened the shutters, and peered at the gloom-ridden night, the moon but a pale crescent shadowed by the eerie shapes of the shifting clouds. No doubt the villagers would be dancing up a frenzy, waving their pitchforks to chase off any stray witches that might happen to fly past Torrecombe.
He wondered wistfully if Kate was at the bonfires tonight. He hoped that she was instead of moping in her room. She'd always loved the celebration of All Hallows' Eve, wild gypsy that she was, dancing around the flames, her dark eyes flashing, her silken black hair in mad disarray.
Val would have been content to have watched her, delighting in the sheer abandoned joy of her graceful movements. But Kate would never have any of that. She had always tugged at his hands, ignoring his stern protests, insisting that he dance with her.
Pure folly, but he'd never been able to resist the plea on her smiling lips, the firelight shining in her eyes. Somehow she'd been able to make him forget everything, his dignity, his pain, his limp and he'd capered with her about the fire until they'd both been left laughing and breathless.
Over the years they had danced away a lot of demons together, he and Kate. But no more. Never again, Val thought bleakly.
He could accept with resignation the injury to his leg, the fact that for some unknown whim of fate, he was destined to never have a bride of his own. But at least he'd always had the consolation of Kate's friendship.
If he was obliged to surrender that, too, then he might as well be dead.
It was a wild, bitter thought, and Val was quick to swallow it. He refastened the shutters, closing out the night, and turned to limp his weary way up to bed. But as he crossed the entrance hall, the bell mounted outside the front door jangled loudly.
Kate.
Val gripped his cane and felt his pulse quicken eagerly. She often stole from her home to visit him at all unseemly hours despite how he lectured her about the impropriety or the dangers of it.
But the swift hope faded as quickly as it had come. Kate would never have paused to ring the bell. She would have slipped around the house to the library where she knew he'd be and banged at the windows until he let her in.
The only people who ever used that bell were his patients or their distressed relatives seeking his aid.
_"Oh, Dr. St. Leger. You must come at once. You are the only one who can help. The only one."_
"Dear God, not tonight," he murmured. He was so worn down, the pain in his leg flaring in intensity.
When the bell jangled again, Val closed his eyes, wondering what would happen if he ignored the summons. Why could he not do so just this once?
Because of who and what he was. A doctor, a healer, a man uniquely qualified to heal another's pain. Anyone else's but his own.
Leaning hard on his cane, he trudged across the hall and tugged open the thick oak door, letting in the wind and the night.
The hard bulk of a shadowy form hurtled at him out of the darkness. Val emitted a gasp of surprise and alarm, staggering painfully back. The heavy weight all but dragged him to the floor, nearly causing him to lose his grip on his cane. Just as he was in danger of toppling over, the burden shifted, collapsing at his feet.
Heart pounding, Val struggled to recover his balance, slamming the door closed before the wind extinguished the hall lamp. Only then was he able to focus on who had stumbled across his threshold. A man lay sprawled facedown on the oak floor.
His initial shock wearing off, Val felt the familiar surge of energy he always experienced when he was needed. All exhaustion and pain faded. He hunkered down beside the unconscious man. Keeping his weight balanced to his good leg, Val struggled to turn the body over. The hood fell back from a gaunt face obscured by a growth of beard.
Val detected no sign of any wound or injury, but this stranger was clearly in a bad way, his breathing labored, his skin burning. He needed to get the poor wretch into his surgery where he could perform a more complete examination. But how the devil was he to do so? Even on one of his best days, he could never have hefted the man over his shoulder. Despite the stranger's emaciated condition, he was still a tall man, large boned.
He'd be obliged to treat the unfortunate stranger right here on the cold hard floor. Val swore softly, regretting he'd been so insistent about sending Jem Sparkins off.
At that instant the stranger jerked violently, his gaze darting wildly about the unfamiliar surroundings until his burning eyes came to rest upon Val's face.
"Easy now," Val soothed, resting his hand on the stranger's shoulder. "Everything's going to be all right. I'm a doctor. I'm here to help you."
"St. Leger? Val St. Leger," the man rasped.
"You know me?" Val asked in surprise. He peered more intently at the stranger's face, trying to delve past the layer of straggling beard and the changes illness must have wrought in those thin features. There was something about the man's voice, weak as it was, that stirred a chord of memory and rendered Val uneasy.
The man's mouth snaked back into a familiar mocking smile. The chill of recognition pierced Val like an icy blade being thrust into his spine.
"Rafe," he whispered in horror and disbelief.
_"Rafe Mortmain!"_
The storm moved in from the sea. Kate had never seen clouds advance at such a rate, like a black stain spreading across the sky, blotting out all traces of the moon.
The wind threatened to tear the page of the book from her hands. Heart pounding, she struggled to hurry, using the red glow of the firelight to pore over the strange symbols. She had studied Prospero's writings for the past two days, but the translating still did not come easy to her.
_"Come you at night to—to a place of high magic—"_ she intoned.
She stole a glance behind her at the standing stone, stark and massive in all its mystery. Surely she could not have found a place of higher magic than this, nor a better time for casting her spell...All Hallows' Eve.
The wind flipped the page from her grasp and she had to flatten it back into place before she could continue.
_"Place upon the flames the symbol of your heart's desire, the initials of your passion carved upon solid black fire."_
It had taken her some effort to figure out what that meant. Solid black fire? Prospero must have been talking about coal; and the initials of your passion—it had to mean the initials of Val's name. Or so Kate hoped.
Groping in her cloak pocket, she pulled forth a lump of coal on which she had shakily scratched out a "V.S." She hesitated for a long moment, then drawing in a deep breath, flung the coal into the bonfire.
It struck up against a burning branch, sending out a hot shower of sparks. Kate flinched back, clutching the book. The wind whistled in her ears, the flames danced before her eyes. The coal had vanished.
No, there it was, in the very center, the hottest blue-white core of the fire. The flames licked against the glistening chunk of coal. Kate watched for a moment, mesmerized, breathlessly waiting for something to happen. Then she remembered she had not finished the spell. She wrenched her gaze back to the book and continued.
_"Now speak the proper words."_
This was the difficult part. It was one thing to decipher the words to a spell, quite another to figure out how they should be pronounced. One syllable out of place, one misspoken vowel, might well mean disaster.
A loud rumble of thunder sounded overhead, closer now, the wind tugging hard at the book as though the night itself warned her to stop.
"Courage, girl," Kate murmured, fighting to still her unsteady hands. She moistened her lips and closed her eyes.
"M-mithcaril bocurum epps," she whispered.
A clap of thunder shook the cottage windows, the light from the hall lamp flickering over the wan face of the man sprawled in front of Val.
"Rafe Mortmain," he repeated again, still unable to credit his eyes. He snatched his hand from Rafe's shoulder as though he'd reached out to a savage wolf.
A strangled laugh escaped Rafe only to break off into a fit of coughing that shook his entire frame.
"Not—not here to hurt you," he said hoarsely as soon as he could speak again. "You should...see clearly...in no condition to kill anyone, not even myself. No reason to be afraid."
No reason? Val thought. None except that the last time he and Rafe Mortmain had met, they had been locked in a life or death struggle at the Dragon's Fire Inn, the combat coming to an abrupt end when Rafe had flung him down the stairs. And what Rafe had started, his confederate had finished, shooting Val in the back.
If he had been anyone else but a St. Leger and possessed of such unusual healing abilities, Val would have moldered to dust in the family crypt beneath St. Gothian's Church long ago. He had survived, but with no thanks due to Raphael Mortmain.
Rafe might appear weak and helpless, but Val had enough experience to know a wounded wolf could prove more dangerous than any other creature. He felt himself involuntarily begin to retreat.
"Please...Can't hurt you now. Took all of my strength...just to find you. Only came to give you this." Rafe reached beneath his cloak, groping for something.
Val tensed, bracing himself for anything, a pistol, a knife. He was too slow to defend himself when Rafe lurched upward to a half-sitting position and seized his arm with surprising strength.
"Here. Take this!"
Before Val could wrench free, Rafe pressed the weight of something against his palm. Rafe collapsed back, the effort appearing to have drained what little strength remained to him.
"There. 'Tis done," he murmured, an odd look of satisfaction stealing over his grim features.
Val took a moment to steady himself, unnerved by Rafe's assault. Then he slowly uncurled his fingers to see what Rafe had given him.
He froze, his lips parting in awe. Resting in the palm of his hand was a silver braided chain with a small stone attached, a piece of crystal of such unsurpassed beauty, it robbed Val of breath. The shard had been stolen years before, chipped away from the fabulous stone imbedded in the pommel of the St. Leger ancestral sword.
Val dangled the chain, holding the crystal up to the light. It was but a tiny fragment of the original stone, but it glittered with all the cold clarity of an icicle struck by sunlight, sparking a rainbow array of colors off the walls and the rafters of the silent hall.
Stunning, beautiful, mesmerizing.
"Put—put that damned thing away," Rafe croaked, twisting his head to one side as though the glitter of the crystal hurt his eyes.
With great difficulty, Val tore his gaze away from the crystal shard. Reluctantly he fastened the chain about his neck, tucking the stone out of sight. His mind reeled with questions. Rafe had had the stolen fragment in his possession all this time. Why had he now risked coming back to Cornwall to return it? And why to Val? The St. Leger sword belonged to his brother, Lance, as eldest son and heir to Castle Leger. By rights, the stolen fragment did, too. And where the blazes had Rafe been hiding these past five years? What had reduced him to this terrible state?
But one glance at Rafe told Val he would gain no answers to these troubling questions. His eyes closed, Rafe appeared to be sinking into unconsciousness. It didn't take Val's instincts as a doctor or a St. Leger to realize beyond all doubt:
Rafe Mortmain was dying.
Val expected he ought to feel a sense of triumph to see his old enemy brought so low. Instead his heart twisted with an unexpected pity for such a waste of a life. Rafe had once been a vigorous man, intelligent, a commanding presence. If he had not also been a cursed Mortmain, who knows what he might have achieved?
Val reached for his wrist. Rafe's pulse was very faint. His chest rose and fell with a stifled wheeze as though it tortured him to continue breathing. Val noted the tightness about Rafe's mouth, the tension near the eyes, signs of pain all too familiar to Val. He'd experienced them often enough himself.
"Please," Rafe mumbled, the rest of his words incoherent. Val had to lean closer in order to hear him.
"I...I beg you, St. Leger," Rafe's cracked lips whispered close to Val's ear.
_"Kill me."_
Val jerked back in shock. It was not the first time that a patient in such misery had begged Val to end his life. But he'd never have expected such a request to come from the proud Raphael, the last of the once powerful and arrogant Mortmains. It was obvious he was dying in terrible agony, and there was nothing Val could do about it.
Nothing except ease the man's last hours by...Val felt the familiar tingle in his fingers, but he recoiled at the thought.
No! He almost cried aloud. By God, that was too much to ask of any man, even one named for a martyr and a saint, that he should employ his power at all tonight when he was so drained and hurting himself, and that he should aid one who had been his mortal enemy. A Mortmain.
He couldn't do it. But even as Val hovered over Rafe Mortmain, the man writhed. A sob rattled his chest, a single tear escaping the corner of his sealed eye to leak down his beard-roughened cheek.
Val doubted Rafe Mortmain had ever wept in his entire life. Almost involuntarily, his hand closed over Rafe's.
Surely he could do that much for Rafe Mortmain, absorb just a fraction of his pain. Val forced himself to concentrate, blocking out all other sensation except for the pressure of his own hand clutching Rafe's, delving beyond the mere physical contact. He focused harder, mentally dissolving his own flesh, muscle, bone, twisting his thoughts until they nicked like sharp razors at his veins, opening them to let his own strength flow out.
Nothing had happened.
Kate opened one eye and felt the first splash of rain on her cheek. The bonfire seemed in danger of dying, the stubborn lump of coal, immutable in the center of the flames, not even starting to glow.
Kate wasn't exactly sure what she had expected to happen, but certainly a little more than this. She gazed desperately back at the book. Was she mispronouncing the words or merely not saying them with enough conviction?
"Mithcaril bocurum epps," she repeated a little more loudly.
Still nothing. Kate swallowed hard and summoned up all her courage. She flung back her head and shouted into the wind.
_"Mithcaril bocurum epps!"_
There was a brief ominous silence. Then flames shot up, flaring into the night with an angry roar. Kate gave a startled cry and leapt back. A savage clap of thunder rocked the entire hillside, shaking the ground beneath her feet. A jagged streak of lightning rent the darkness, striking at the standing stone in a sizzle of sparks and smoke.
Kate screamed and dove for cover.
Val steeled his spine, braced to receive Rafe's pain, to control the transference.
"Ah, dear God!" Val's eyes flew wide at the unexpected intensity of the sensation. Not a trickle of pain, but a crushing wave of agony rolled through him. Not physical. He might have endured that. But this was different, something ugly and terrifying.
A flash flood of unbearable emotion, rage, bitterness, and despair coursed through him. Gasping, Val fought to regain control and stop the transference. But he couldn't get his hand free. Rafe latched on to him like a drowning man, threatening to drag Val under with him into his own river of darkness.
His breath coming in labored pants, Val's head swam. He yanked harder, striking out at the joining of their hands in an effort to release himself. The crystal fastened about his neck swayed with the violence of his efforts, casting off sparks of light.
A red haze descended over his eyes. He realized he was in danger of losing consciousness and fought harder. He grew weaker by the moment, so weak. He made one last futile effort.
A deafening explosion sounded in his ears, accompanied by a blinding flash. Rafe's grip loosened and Val fell back, surrendering himself to the darkness.
The rain pelted down in icy sheets, consuming the last of the flames in a soft, angry hiss. Kate emerged from her hiding place in the heather, soaked to the skin and trembling. She staggered a few steps forward, feeling bruised and battered.
With dazed eyes, she stared at the ruin of her bonfire, nothing left but a blackened ring of scorched earth. The sky overhead roiled with dark clouds, but the thunder and the flares of lightning seemed to have retreated to a distance.
Kate shivered, turning her gaze skyward. What had she done? She had no idea, only this terrified feeling that she had just loosed something dark and dangerous into the night.
Clutching the sodden remains of Prospero's spell book to her breast, Kate turned and fled for home.
Jem Sparkins managed to reach Slate House just before the rains broke. He bolted into the entrance hall only to find his master sprawled on the floor just inside the front door. A horrified cry breached his lips. His pulse thumping with fear, he bent down by the doctor, shaking his shoulder.
"Dr. St. Leger? Master Val. Master Val!"
There was no response, the doctor's features frozen in an expression so cold and still, Jem thought his own heart would stop. He stroked back the black strands that had tumbled across his master's eyes. His complexion was ice white. He looked...he felt dead.
A blind panic seized Jem, and he fought to control it and remember what little he'd learned while in the doctor's employ. What should he do? Fetch water, brandy? Chafe the master's wrist? No, the pulse. That was it. He ought to check for a pulse.
He reached for the master's hand and pressed his fingers tight to Val's wrist, fearing his worst dread would be confirmed. He would feel nothing. To his astonishment, the doctor's pulse gave a powerful throb, strong and steady.
Then why did Master Val lie there, so stiff and cold? Had he fallen? Fainted? Been attacked by some intruder that had broken into the house? There was no sign that anyone else had been here. Perhaps Master Val's bad leg had given out and he'd stumbled and cracked his head.
Damnation. Somehow Jem had just known that something terrible was going to happen tonight. Perhaps during all of his years working for the St. Legers, some of their peculiar ways had begun to rub off on him.
He raked his hands back through his hair, trying to decide what to do next, when the doctor's eyes fluttered open. His pupils were so enlarged, his eyes seemed almost black, but startlingly clear.
Jem bent anxiously over him.
"Dr. Val? Can you hear me? How badly are you hurt? What happened? Did you fall?"
The doctor shifted his head to stare blankly at Jem. For one awful moment, it was as though Master Val didn't even remember who he was.
Then he murmured, "No, I didn't fall. I was struck by lightning."
Jem's mouth fell open. "Here? In the house, sir? But you are lying in the front hall."
"Aye, so I am," the doctor murmured. "How extraordinary."
Jem studied him with new anxiety as a terrible thought struck him. Perhaps the doctor had had a fit of some kind. After Mr. Peters had had that stroke of apoplexy, the poor old man had never been quite right in the head again.
Even as Jem worried over this grim possibility, the doctor calmly shifted to a sitting position.
"No, sir, please. You had better remain lying still until—"
The master ignored him, bent on getting to his feet. Jem hastened to fetch the doctor's cane. The ivory-handled walking stick was lying but a few yards away. But by the time Jem's hand closed over the cane, Dr. Val was already standing.
"Y-your cane, sir," Jem faltered.
The doctor cast him an odd look and took a few steps, his legs strong and steady beneath him. _Both_ of them.
Jem gaped at him. "Sir. You...your leg. You're not limping. What—what's happened?"
"I don't know. I can't remember. A miracle perhaps." The doctor whipped about, staring at his own reflection in the hall's gilt-edged mirror as though he'd never seen himself before.
"A bloody damned miracle!" the doctor said, flinging back his head.
Jem flinched from his master's sudden burst of laughter. If Dr. Val had indeed experienced some miraculous recovery, Jem knew he should be rejoicing, too. Instead he felt as though he'd stumbled headlong into the middle of a bizarre dream.
The doctor paced the room, his strides growing longer, more confident, until he fetched back up in front of the mirror. Jem thought he caught the flash of something silver dangling from Master Val's neck, but before he could see what it was, the doctor tucked it out of sight.
The doctor raised his bad leg and deliberately stomped his foot against the floor with as much force as he could manage.
"What do you think of this? Eh, Jem?" Dr. Val demanded with another ringing laugh.
"It—it's wonderful, sir," Jem stammered. "But perhaps you should take it a little easy, sit down for a spell. You don't seem quite yourself, sir."
"No, I don't, do I?"
The doctor leaned closer to the mirror, studying his own image with great intensity. His lips snaked back in a way that left Jem chilled.
The expression was far different from Dr. Val's usual gentle smile.
_C HAPTER SIX_
* * *
_T_ _HE VILLAGE was on fire._
_Thatched roofs crackled and blazed, the stonework of cottages crumbling to cinders, the spire of St. Gothian's Church caving in with a mighty roar. Kate clutched the spell book to her chest as the skies rained down fiery bursts of hail. She tugged at the cover of the book, trying to find a spell to undo this dark magic of destruction, but the pages were stuck fast._
_All she could do was run. The lane was so heavy with smoke, she could scarce see where she was going, could only hear the shouts from the angry mob of villagers thundering after her._
_"There she goes!"_
_"She's the one who did this to us."_
_"Witch! Sorceress!"_
_"Hang her! Burn her at the stake."_
_Kate glanced wildly about her for a way to escape, a place to hide, but there was none. Her pursuers pounded closer. She could see the gleam of their eyes through the thick billows of smoke._
_Kate stumbled and fell, snatching at the folds of someone's cloak. She gazed up to find Prospero looming over her. The mob overtook her, rough hands gripping her by the arms to drag her away._
_"Prospero!" she cried._
_The great sorcerer merely stood by and scowled at her. "You should have heeded my warning, milady. It is always dangerous to use magic to meddle with—"_
"No!"
Kate struck out at the hands that seized her, fighting and kicking for her very life. But all she succeeded in doing was tangle herself in the bedcovers. Her eyes flew open and she blinked, a few moments passing before she realized it was no longer smoke, fire, and night weighing against her eyelids, only the calm flood of sunlight that penetrated the confines of her small bedchamber, playing over the rose-patterned wallpaper.
Kate rolled onto her back, giving her heart a chance to steady itself before releasing a deep sigh. A dream. Only another stupid bad dream like the ones that had tormented her since falling asleep. The twisted sheets bore mute testimony to the many demons and angry villagers she had fended off last night. She struggled free of the bed linens and swung her legs over the side.
Her entire body groaned in protest, her head throbbing. She felt as bruised and battered as though—as though she'd been—
_Nearly struck by lightning? Tumbled down a hillside to escape? Ridden home through the cold pouring rain?_
Kate grimaced and forced herself to stand. She stepped over the pile of sodden clothes she'd stripped off and left in a heap, her bare feet padding across the carpet, her white nightgown swirling about her ankles. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she stumbled to the window and hesitated before peering out, half dreading that she would find the village in ruins.
But Torrecombe spread out below her, dozing in the autumn sunshine. The pale light touched the thatched roofs of the cottages, snug as ever. The only traces remaining of yesterday's storm were a few broken branches and the puddles that muddied the lanes. The dancing shadows, the bonfires, and the pitchforks to ward off flying witches were all gone.
It was as though the madness of All Hallows' Eve had never been.
The village was still standing, the countryside had not been rent asunder by lightning bolts. Kate rested her aching brow against the windowpane, her relief crowded out by more anxious emotions. She'd had difficulty in deciphering all of Prospero's notes on the subject of love spells, but what little she'd read had led her to believe that if the spell worked at all, it would be swift and sure, exactly like a bolt of lightning.
Yet there was no sign of Val galloping toward Rosebriar Cottage, so overcome with love and passion for her, he'd break down the door to take her in his arms. The lane below remained peaceful and empty no matter how long she stood and stared.
Perhaps she had misread Prospero's notes. Perhaps the spell did not work that quickly. And perhaps it hadn't worked at all. Kate drew back from the window, seeking out the book she had left perched on the corner of her dressing table. In the calm light of day, the sorcerer's book of spells looked far tamer than she remembered, like a quaint old volume of folklore.
Kate touched the leather cover still damp from the storm. She tried to summon up the mysterious tingles, the anticipation, and even the shivers of dread she'd experienced last night. But she felt nothing.
It was as though the same chilling rain that had doused her bonfire had extinguished any enchantment. She ruefully examined the pages of the book, water-stained, the ink blurring in many places. Prospero would make her nightmare a reality when he saw what she had done to his book. He'd roast her alive, but that hardly mattered.
She had failed. Somehow she knew that. She doubted that she had managed to conjure up anything more serious than—Kate stifled a quick sneeze—a head cold.
After the fright she'd given herself last night, she knew she would never find the courage to tamper with such dark magic again. Who was she to think she could ever have pulled off such a feat of sorcery anyway? Nobody, only a stupid lovelorn girl.
So what was she going to do now? Kate slumped down on the stool by her dressing table, resting her aching head upon her arms, too tired and disheartened even to think.
A sharp rap sounded on her bedchamber door. She tried to summon the energy to bellow at whoever it was to leave her alone but it was too late. The door swung open and Kate retained just enough presence of mind to jerk upright and hide Prospero's book beneath a fichu draped across her dressing table.
But her bedchamber could have been overflowing with spell books and wizards. Kate doubted that the housemaid who burst into the room would have noticed. Nan's starched cap was knocked askew, her placid features extremely harried.
"Oh, Miss Kate. You are awake at last, thank God! You must come down to the parlor at once. Miss Effie is asking for you and she is in one of her terrible states."
_Oh, dear God, Effie!_ Kate thought, holding her head. _Please. Not now._
"Whatever is the matter?" Kate asked.
"That Mrs. Bell has already been here to call, demanding to see Miss Effie before poor mistress was even out of bed and finished with her chocolate."
Kate tensed, her stomach curling with dread at mention of the local seamstress and dressmaker. Alice Bell was the village's most notorious gossip.
"The woman squeaked on you, Miss Kate," Nan went on indignantly. "She told Miss Effie how you were seen sneaking out last night and getting your horse from the stables."
"Oh, damnation!"
"Indeed, miss," Nan agreed with a sympathetic nod, although she flinched at Kate's language.
Kate had to restrain herself from letting fly a string of epithets that would have turned the little housemaid's ears blue. With the commotion of All Hallows' Eve, Kate had hoped that her absence from the village would go unnoticed, especially by Effie who had a marked tendency to lapse into hysterics over the least little thing. Effie had long ago given up efforts to control Kate, preferring to remain blissfully deaf and blind to whatever Kate might be doing.
Damn Alice Bell. Kate would have loved to strangle the woman. If Mrs. Bell had plied her needle with the same skill she did her tongue, Torrecombe would have replaced Paris as the hub of the fashionable world. The woman seemed positively to enjoy distressing poor Effie with reports of Kate's escapades.
As exhausted as Kate felt and after everything that had gone wrong last night, she didn't need this to deal with as well. Her gaze strayed to the window and she felt a strong urge to climb down the old oak tree and escape as she had often done as a child when Effie had nearly driven her to distraction. Plying Kate with dolls, hair ribbons, and dress fittings. Fixing Kate with large sad eyes and bursting into tears whenever Kate had tried to explain she didn't want another blasted doll or new frock. All she had ever wanted was to be left free to run to Val.
Kate winced at the memory. Effie could be rather foolish at times, but she was unfailingly kind and generous. Kate feared she had caused the poor woman more than enough grief over the years. She stole one last longing glance at the window before turning back to the anxious Nan.
"Tell Effie that I will be down directly," she said with a wearied sigh.
Fifteen minutes later Kate descended to the lower hall clad in a plain gray dress that matched her mood. Gone was any hint of the wild gypsy who had danced about the bonfire last night, muttering incantations. She had twisted her unruly black hair up into a haphazard chignon, which she feared gave her the look of an absentminded spinster. But why not? Kate thought bleakly. That seemed destined to be her fate.
She crossed over to the parlor door and braced herself. If only Effie would rant and rail at her, even box her ears. Blows and harsh words Kate could have endured. It was the tears and lamentations she found unbearable.
Gritting her teeth, she turned the knob and crept into the strange world that comprised Elfreda Fitzleger's favorite sitting room. A roaring fire blazed on the hearth and Kate cringed. Effie already had it hot enough in here to roast chestnuts. She could have raised tropical plants if one could have found room for them in the amazing jumble of furniture. Chinese, French Empire, Egyptian, and Hepplewhite pieces all butted against each other like warring nations.
And then there was Effie's collection of clocks, dozens of them mounted upon the wall, crammed upon the mantel, perched upon the étagère. When Kate had first come to Rosebriar Cottage, she had thought the incessant ticking would drive her mad, but she had finally grown so accustomed to it, she barely noticed except when they all chimed the hour in one deafening din.
Some of the timepieces had actually been gifts from grateful St. Legers acknowledging Effie's services as their matchmaker. As incredible as it often seemed to Kate, the flighty Effie was considered to be blessed with mystical powers, the supernatural gift to find each St. Leger his one true love.
But at the moment the Bride Finder lay prostrate on a chaise longue, still clad in her nightgown and wrapper. Effie lolled against the bolster, a tripod table near at hand containing her sal volatile and a crumpled mound of handkerchiefs.
But for all her tragic pose, Kate noted that the parlor curtains had been left open, the better to observe who might be passing by in the lane. Beneath her lace cap, Effie's profusion of golden ringlets was as carefully arranged as always. For someone who had turned forty, Effie's hair showed a remarkable lack of gray, and Kate suspected it was because Effie removed these unwanted strands. She feared that someday Effie was going to pluck herself bald.
For as long as Kate could remember, Effie had refused to acknowledge the passing of years, adopting a youthful style from her gowns to those absurd ringlets. This morning the sunlight pouring through the windows was almost cruel, emphasizing the inroads that time had made in the lines that bracketed Effie's mouth and eyes.
As Kate eased the door closed, Effie shifted toward her with a deep mournful sigh.
"Oh, Kate. Kate," she quavered, stretching out her hand.
Kate had learned a long time ago that the best way to deal with Effie's megrims was to maintain an attitude of determined cheerfulness. She threaded her way through the furniture, snatching up a pillow as she went. Plumping it, she eased it beneath Effie's head.
"Now, Effie, whatever is this all about?" she asked.
"Oh, Kate. Mrs. Bell has been here this morning and she has been telling me the most dreadful things about you."
"Mrs. Bell is a damn—I mean a wicked gossip. You should know better than to listen to her."
"Aye, but she had her information from Mr. Wentworth. Such a fine gentleman, even if he is only an innkeeper. And he s-said—" Effie's lip quivered.
Kate hastily handed her another handkerchief. Effie blew her nose with a loud sniff before continuing, "He said that you s-saddled up Willow and rode away in the middle of the night."
"It wasn't the middle of the night. It was much earlier."
"But you were still gone after dark. How could you, Kate? Running about the countryside unchaperoned at night? Not only was it improper, it was highly dangerous. _Anything_ could have happened to you."
"But it didn't," Kate pointed out quite reasonably. Drawing up a tapestry-covered footstool, she settled herself beside the chaise longue. "You see me here before you quite safe."
But Effie was not to be so easily mollified. "It was bad enough to behave thus when you were still a child," she said, fluttering her handkerchief for emphasis. "But you are a young lady now. Think of your reputation."
"What reputation?" Kate demanded wryly. "Most of the village believe that I must be the devil child of some wandering gypsies."
"Only because you do your best to convince them it's true. If you won't think of your reputation, think of mine." Effie had recourse to her handkerchief again. "E-everyone thinks that I am a t-terrible mother."
"Oh, Effie, no one thinks that. Only that you made a terrible choice of a daughter. I can't think why you ever adopted me."
"Because you were the prettiest, sweetest little girl I'd ever clapped eyes upon."
"Effie!" Kate rolled her eyes. "I was a mother's worst nightmare. I still am."
"No, no dearest." Effie stretched out her fragile fingers to pat Kate's cheek. "It is only that at times you are a little more _lively_ than one could wish."
Kate bit back a smile and gave Effie's hand a comforting squeeze. "I am truly sorry if I have distressed you again. But I had to go out last night. It was necessary."
"Necessary? Child, what could you possibly have had to do in the dark of night that was that important?"
Kate evaded Effie's sad, bewildered eyes. From her earliest years, Kate had been an accomplished liar and Effie was as trusting as a child, far too easy to deceive. Was that what often made it so uncomfortable to do so? Yet telling her the truth in this instance was out of the question. Not unless she really did want to send her gentle guardian off into a fit of apoplexy.
Kate forced herself to give an airy shrug. "You know how I am, Effie. I can't abide just sitting about all the time like a proper little miss, tending my stitching. Sometimes the devil just gets into me and I have to tear off on my horse and be alone."
"Were you alone, Kate?" Effie asked in a small voice.
"Why, yes," Kate said, astonished by the question. "Who else would have been mad enough to go traipsing the countryside with me after dark on All Hallows' Eve?"
Effie ducked her head, fidgeting with the lace on her handkerchief. "Well, you are a young woman now and—and a moonlit ride along the beach can be quite romantic. I used to think so. I was young and rather headstrong once myself you know. I understand how a girl can sometimes be tempted to—to—"
Kate stared at her, for a moment unable to make sense of this halting speech. Then comprehension dawned and she gave an incredulous laugh.
"Dear lord, Effie! You can't possibly be worrying that I had an assignation with someone last night, can you? There is only one man I would ever want to seduce me by moonlight, and unfortunately he is far too honorable to do so. You know that I have always been in love with—"
"No, don't say it," Effie shrieked, sitting bolt upright. She actually clapped her hand over Kate's mouth to still her.
Gently, but firmly Kate eased Effie's hand aside. "My not saying it won't change anything. I love Val St. Leger and I always will."
"Oh, dear God." Effie paled, groping for her bottle of smelling salts. "I prayed you had gotten over that. You never mentioned it anymore."
Kate had stopped mentioning it because the subject always produced precisely this reaction from Effie. Her hands trembled so badly that Kate had to uncork the bottle for her. Effie took a fortifying sniff before fixing Kate with large, pleading eyes.
"This feeling you have for Valentine is just a passing infatuation, Kate. You will get over it. _You must._ "
"So everyone keeps telling me. All because of that stupid legend." Kate forced a smile to her lips, half-wry, half-wistful. "You are the great and wise Bride Finder, Effie. Couldn't you overlook the rules just this once and choose me to be Val's bride?"
Effie looked so stricken at the mere suggestion of such a thing, Kate made haste to disclaim, "I was only teasing. I don't even believe in the legend. And even if it were true, such fairy tales were only meant for golden-haired princesses like Rosalind St. Leger, not for some unwanted nuisance of a foundling brat like me."
"Oh, K-Kate. Please d-don't talk that way." Effie's face crumpled and she dissolved in a flood of tears, making Kate wish she had curbed her tongue. She knew the tenderhearted Effie couldn't bear any reference to Kate's past, the grim foundling home where she'd first clapped eyes on Kate. Sometimes she thought that Effie preferred to believe that she had found Kate drifting in a reed basket like Moses or else tucked beneath a rosebush like a fairy child. Kate wished she could have dismissed all dark memories of her early childhood so easily.
Effie burrowed her face in her handkerchief, weeping softly. Kate watched her in dismal silence for a moment. This was one of those rare mornings when Kate felt like weeping herself, her heart heavy with thoughts of Val, the hopelessness of her love for him. She'd wondered what it would be like to have a real mother to pour out her woes to, to feel wise and loving hands stroke her hair, somehow making everything all better.
But Kate had realized and accepted certain facts about Effie Fitzleger a long time ago. That no matter how many frocks and hair ribbons Effie might shower her with, there were other things that Effie was simply incapable of giving. Kate would always be the stronger of the two. She wrapped her arms about Effie, cradling the older woman against her shoulder, Kate's own eyes dry and tired.
Effie's sniffles subsided and she raised her tear-streaked face, attempting to smile. "I know what is wrong. You simply have not seen enough of the world. We ought to get away from here. We could go to London."
"London?" Kate released Effie, staring incredulously at her guardian. Horrible images tumbled through Kate's mind of dirty streets, rat-infested hallways, and starving children, their faces hopeless and hardened well beyond their years.
"Effie! London is the last place I'd ever want to go."
"I don't mean back to—to that dreadful—" Effie couldn't even bring herself to mention the foundling home. "We would go to the pretty part of the city where my cousin lives. A baronet's wife. She moves in the best of society."
Effie brightened, clapping her hands together. "Oh, do but imagine it, Kate. The theatres, the balls, scores of admirers. A London season, just like we've always dreamed of."
"Your dream, Effie," Kate said gently. "Not mine."
"We cannot always have our dreams, Kate." An odd look flashed over Effie's face, a sad kind of wisdom that Kate had never expected to see in Elfreda Fitzleger's eyes. But it was gone in a heartbeat, replaced by Effie's usual vacant and amiable expression. She chattered on about all the wonderful things that she and Kate would do when they arrived in London.
Kate had no intention of going anywhere that would take her so far away from Val. But she made no effort to interrupt. At least Effie had stopped crying and she was distracted from making any more inquiries about Kate's activities on All Hallows' Eve.
"Kate, you must go and tell John I'll have a letter for him to post this afternoon. And I should go consult with Mrs. Bell. We'll need some new traveling clothes." Effie swung her legs over the side of the chaise longue, looking ready to bolt off at once.
"Perhaps you had better get dressed first," Kate suggested.
Effie glanced down at her wrapper and tittered. "Oh, yes. Silly me. But first be a dear, Kate, and instruct Nan to fetch me some toast and tea. I need a little nourishment. It has been such a trying morning with Mrs. Bell bearing dire tales about my darling girl and that Victor St. Leger."
"Victor?" Kate asked in surprise. "What's he done?"
"Oh, that wicked boy," Effie sniffed. "He'll be the death of me yet."
"But he should have left off plaguing you. You found him his chosen bride."
"Aye, but the ungrateful wretch is not satisfied with my choice. He was supposed to have proposed to Mollie Grey last night. Everyone was expecting him to do so. And what do you think, Kate? The dratted boy never turned up, left the poor girl waiting all night. Mollie was completely mortified. Mrs. Bell told me."
"Mrs. Bell obviously had a very busy morning," Kate muttered, then shrugged. "You shouldn't worry about it, Effie. You found Victor a bride. If he won't have her, it's not your problem. I am sure Mollie will be much better off."
Kate had never had a high opinion of Victor St. Leger. He was nothing but a callow boy, not in the least like his grandfather or his father, both magnificent, hardy sailing men with salt water in their veins and a hundred adventures to their credit. Victor turned green and swooned like a girl if he had to so much as set foot in a rowboat.
But Effie continued to lament, "Sometimes I don't know why I try so hard. I wear myself half to death seeking out the perfect mates for these St. Legers, and they never appreciate my efforts."
"Then don't do it anymore."
"My dear, you simply have never understood. I don't have a choice. I was born to be the St. Leger Bride Finder, just as my grandfather before me," Effie said forlornly. "Destined to find love for others, attend their weddings, while all I ever wanted was one of my own."
"Then why didn't you ever marry, Effie? I am sure you were a pretty young woman." Kate amended quickly, "I mean you still are. You must have had plenty of offers."
"Aye, so I did." Effie preened, reaching up to pat her curls. "I had my share of admirers. But none of them ever captured my heart. If only I could have gone to live with my cousin in London after Grandpapa died. I am sure I would have found someone quite handsome and dashing there."
Effie's face clouded over. "But of course I could not abandon my bride-finding duties here. And now it is far too late."
"You still have a suitor," Kate reminded her. "Reverend Trimble quite adores you. He calls here all the time and I am sure it is not because he entertains any hope of salvaging my soul."
"Oh, that rogue. Such a silly man." Effie turned pink to the root of her curls, a warmth stealing into her eyes. Yet she stubbornly shook her head. "He wouldn't be suitable. A simple country vicar."
"But, Effie, you were a country vicar's granddaughter yourself. "
"Aye, but we Fitzlegers are descended from noble blood, the same family tree as the St. Legers."
An illegitimate branch of that tree. The Fitzlegers had been spawned from one of Prospero's numerous indiscreet liaisons. But there was little to be gained from pointing that out to Effie or trying to persuade her of Mr. Trimble's merits.
"No, dearest," Effie insisted a little too brightly. "It doesn't matter anymore. I have learned to be quite content with my life as it is."
That was utter rubbish, Kate thought. Effie still cried her eyes out at every wedding she attended, and not out of joy for the bride and groom. She should have been married a long time ago to some cheery, sensible man like the vicar, with a house full of docile golden-haired daughters to fuss over, the kind that didn't climb out bedchamber windows in the dark of night.
Kate had never realized it before, but in some measure Effie's dreams had been blighted by that infernal St. Leger legend as much as her own. The thought made Kate a little sad, a little angry, and strangely frightened. Gazing at Effie's fading beauty was suddenly like catching a discomfiting glimpse of her own fate.
Perhaps she, too, was destined to spend her life like Effie, alone and unwed here in this cottage while all these blasted clocks ticked off the minutes of her youth. Maybe if she were fortunate Val would call upon her occasionally like the vicar did Effie. It was too depressing a vision of the future even to contemplate.
Suddenly Kate's need to escape the stifling parlor was overwhelming. She wrenched to her feet. Bending down, she planted a swift kiss on Effie's cheek, clearly surprising the older woman with the unusual display of affection.
"I'll tell Nan to fetch your tea," Kate said gruffly, backing away.
"Won't you stay and have a cup with me?"
"No, I need to get out for a walk."
"Unchaperoned?" Effie cried, her face tensing with fresh alarm. "Oh, Kate. After all we just discussed."
"It is broad daylight, Effie. I'll be fine."
"But wherever will you go, dearest?"
Where? At one time, there would have been only one answer to that question, but now—
"I don't know," Kate said, slipping out the door before Effie could protest further.
Effie clutched her hands to her bosom in pure panic, her heart constricting with an age-old fear. Perhaps Kate truly didn't know where she was going, but Effie did. And she could no longer pretend the situation away or continue to ignore it.
"Oh, she'll end up going straight to _him_ ," Effie moaned. "She still believes she's in love with him."
Just as Kate had done from the time she'd been a little girl. Only Kate was not so very little anymore, and the attraction had finally grown dangerous.
_"You are the Bride Finder, Effie. Couldn't you forget the rules for once and simply choose me to be Val's bride?"_
Kate's lips had been curved in a teasing smile when she'd spoken those words, but oh, the expression in the poor girl's eyes, that sad, wistful look. It was quite enough to break Effie's heart.
"Whatever am I going to do?" she whispered. If only...
But any marriage between Kate and Valentine St. Leger was quite impossible and no one knew why better than Effie.
She buried her face in her hands, realizing she was going to have to find a way to whisk Kate away from Torrecombe and Val St. Leger. Before it was entirely too late.
Kate drew up the hood of her cloak to shield her face from the brisk nip of the breeze. After all the rage of last night's storm, the sea lapped peacefully over the shingle, rendering the coarse pebbles slick and shining. The sun glinted off the water, giving the glassy waves an appearance of deceptive warmth, but Kate knew better.
She kept well back from the water's edge, her eyes trained unhappily on the distant house. Even the sunlight failed to soften the stark lines of Slate House. Surrounded by a low stone fence, it resembled a small fortress, lonely and abandoned by the edge of the sea, the only sign of habitation the smoke curling lazily from the chimney tops.
But the gate had been left open, the worn path leading to the front door beckoning to Kate. She gripped her gloved hands together beneath her cloak, remaining where she was. She hadn't meant to come here. Truly she hadn't. She could not see what good could come of it.
Nothing had changed. She still loved Val to distraction; he could never love her. And not all her wishing, praying, or dabbling in sorcery had altered that fact. But dear lord, how she missed him, the quiet sound of his voice, the calm light of his eyes. Missed him so badly it hurt.
Kate bit down on her lip as she reached a desperate decision. She could never have Val, never be his wife or his lover. Then she would do whatever she had to merely to be with him, to put everything back as it had been before she had kissed him and begged him to marry her.
She would tell Val it had all been a mistake. Everyone was right. What she had felt was only a schoolgirl infatuation, but she had come to her senses. She was over it and they could go back to being friends again.
She was a good liar. Surely she could get Val to believe it. And maybe she could even manage to convince herself.
But before she could put this grim resolution into action, Kate became aware of a horse and rider coming from the beach in the opposite direction. She turned to look, using one hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and her breath snagged in her throat.
Coming from the beach? No, the stallion looked as though it had sprung straight from the depths of the breaking waves and blazing sunlight, its glistening coat the color of sea foam, its flowing mane a silvery gray. As the massive horse churned through the edge of the surf, its powerful forelegs flung up a glistening spray.
Kate squinted hard, but the glare of the sun refused to allow her to make out the details of the rider other than the mad tangle of his black hair. Yet there was only one man hereabouts capable of riding in that reckless neck-or-nothing fashion. Lance St. Leger.
Val's twin brother had always felt very much like Kate's own. Lance had taught her to ride, to fence, often encouraging her more outrageous behavior, much to Val's dismay. One minute stuffing sweetmeats into her pockets, the next teasing and tormenting her by tweaking her curls.
As fond as she was of Lance, Kate felt in no humor to bandy words with him right now. Yet there was no place to duck out of sight on this flat, open stretch of shore. As he thundered closer, Kate raised one hand in halfhearted greeting, only to freeze.
Lance had angled his horse away from the water's edge and he—he—
_He was galloping straight for her._
Had Lance entirely lost his mind? Shock kept her immobilized for a moment. Then with a startled cry, she whirled to flee, hitching up her skirts to leap out of the way.
But she was too late. She could hear the horse hard upon her, felt flying pebbles strike at her cloak. Heart pounding, she tried for one last burst of speed, bracing herself to be trampled.
Instead there was a wild blur of movement. The horse surged past and Kate felt herself seized about the waist and plucked roughly off her feet like a hapless maiden snatched up by some marauding Celtic warrior.
Lance hauled her up in front of him. Kate clutched wildly for purchase, seizing handfuls of his cape, expecting at any minute to tumble back to the ground.
But Lance's arm banded her to him like a manacle of steel. With his other hand, he reined in sharply. The white demon of a horse objected, threatening to buck and rear. But somehow Lance brought the stallion under control.
As soon as she felt it was safe to draw breath, Kate whipped her head up to glare at him.
"Damn you, Lance St. Leger. You could have killed me. What do you think you're—"
The angry words died in her throat. It wasn't Lance's devil-may-care grin she found herself confronting, but another man's entirely. Rich brown eyes were set beneath heavy black brows and above a half-crooked smile that should have been so familiar to her, yet somehow wasn't.
Kate's mouth fell open, her voice cracking in a quaver of disbelief.
_"Val?"_
_C HAPTER SEVEN_
* * *
_V_ AL FLUNG BACK his head and laughed in a way that startled both Kate and the horse. The stallion plunged to the right, on the verge of bolting. Val let go of Kate, reaching both arms around her to grip the reins while she clung to his shoulders, heart thudding.
He steadied the restive brute, although Kate couldn't begin to imagine how. Val would have had to use both his knees, and the impact on his bad leg must be excruciating. Yet she saw no sign of pain tightening his features. He was actually smiling.
"Well, Miss Kate, my long-lost friend," he drawled. "So you thought I was my brother, Lance. Apart only three days and you've already forgotten me."
"N-no, of course not. I was just coming to see you."
"Then why did you try to run away?"
"Why?" Kate bristled with indignation at the question. "Because I thought you were going to gallop straight over me, that's why!"
"You should know better than that. Haven't we always played this game? You rushing to greet me, me scooping you up on my horse."
"Yes, but this isn't Vulcan."
"How perceptive of you, my dear."
Kate's eyes widened. Was Val actually _mocking_ her? No, he would never.
"Where did you get this devil of a horse?" she asked.
"Bought him this morning. From my cousin Caleb. Don't you like him?"
"He's magnificent, but, Val, you shouldn't have."
"Why not?"
_Why not?_ Kate gaped at him, scarce able to believe that she should have to explain such a thing to him. Val had always been so patient and reasonable about his limitations.
"You don't believe I can manage this great brute, do you?" he demanded. "You think the only one who can ride such a spirited animal is my brother."
"Well, I—"
"Let me tell you something, my dear. I was once able to ride as well as Lance. Even better."
There was a bitter edge to Val's voice that Kate had rarely heard, and it took her aback as much as the powerful horse shifting beneath them.
"Perhaps you require a demonstration?" he asked, his mouth thinning.
"No, of course not, Val. You don't have to prove anything to—" But the rest of Kate's words were lost as Val kicked the stallion hard in the flanks. The horse plunged forward, needing little encouragement to tear off into a full gallop.
All Kate could do was hang on, clutching desperately at Val as they headed for Slate House at a breakneck pace. The stallion _was_ magnificent. She might have found the wild ride exhilarating if she hadn't been so afraid for Val, alarmed that he would do further damage to his leg.
Her fear escalated into full-blown panic when she realized the horse's thundering course veered away from the open gate, taking them straight toward the low stone wall. They would never make the jump. Val's knee was too weak, the stallion too damned skittish, herself an added awkward weight.
"Val! Noooo," she cried, but he didn't seem to hear her. He leaned forward like a man possessed, a hard glint in his eyes. The stone wall rushed at them in a dizzying blur.
Kate flung her arms about Val's neck and braced herself. Her stomach lurched as she felt the terrifying lift, the giddy second of weightlessness, and then the awful rush back to the ground.
The stallion's hooves struck the earth hard, jarring every bone in her body. The great white horse stumbled, nearly sending Kate flying from the saddle. For a sickening instant she expected them all to go down in a horrible tangle of breaking limbs and snapping necks.
But somehow Val steadied the horse, holding her fast. The next Kate knew they were halted calmly in the middle of the yard, and it was over. Except for the mad thudding of her own heart.
"How was that?" Val whispered into her ear. "Would you like to have another go?"
"No!" Kate choked. She loosened her death grip on his neck and jerked upright to glare at him. "Damn it, Val! What the blazes has gotten into you? How could you—We almost—You could have—"
But she had never had to scold Val for recklessness before. Usually it was the other way around. Kate spluttered into incoherence, unable even to find the words. She thumped her fist against his chest in sheer frustration.
"Just put me down. Put me down right now!"
Val's brows arched in amusement, but he hunched his shoulders in a lazy shrug and lowered her from the saddle. Kate breathed a sigh of relief as her feet struck solid ground. She felt bruised and shaken all over, not so much from the wild ride or that mad jump, but more from Val's unaccountable behavior. It was like someone had turned the entire world upside down.
She hugged her arms tight against herself to still her trembling. Val leapt down from the saddle and strode over to her. He crooked his fingers beneath her chin and forced her to look at him. At least when he spoke, it was in his familiar gentle tone, his dark eyes warm.
"Forgive me, Kate. I didn't mean to frighten you that badly, although I admit I find a certain poetic justice in it. You have scared the devil out of me often enough, my wild girl."
"Yes, but—" Kate stopped as fresh realization washed over her like a dash of cold water. She stumbled, nearly tripping over her own two feet in her haste to back away from him.
"Now whatever is amiss?"
Kate stared down at his mud-spattered boots. "Your—your leg—" she faltered.
"Aye, I have two of them. A handsome pair, aren't they?"
Kate pressed her hand to her mouth, scarce crediting what she thought she had seen only moments ago.
"W-walk toward me again," she said. "Please."
Val smiled but complied, marching toward her until he towered over her once more, standing nearly toe to toe. Far from having sustained any harm from their wild ride, his gait was even, steady, and strong.
Kate raised dazed eyes to his face. "Val, you—you are not—"
"Not limping like an old bear with its paw caught in a trap? No, it would seem I've been cured."
"But how?"
"Damned if I know, and I don't really care. It happened during the storm last night. As near as I can recall, there was a violent surge of lightning. I think it must have startled me. I fell, hit my head, and blacked out for a bit. And when I came to, this was the result."
Val stepped back and executed a few playful steps of a quick jig.
"Maybe the fairies did it," he said with an exuberant laugh.
Kate fought to contain the sudden tremor that coursed through her at Val's words.
_"It happened during the storm...a violent surge of lightning."_
No, not fairies, Kate thought, with a quiver of excitement. _She_ had done this. She, with all her wild dancing about the bonfire, her clumsy efforts at witchcraft. There could not be any other possible explanation. She had been trying to cast a love spell on him and she had accomplished something far more incredible instead. She had cured him.
"Oh, Val!" Her breath came out in a joyous sob. She flung her arms about his neck in an impulsive hug. Laughing, he lifted her off her feet and swung her about in giddy circles. She clung to him, half weeping, half laughing, until they were both so dizzy, she was certain they'd end up tumbling to the ground.
Val came to an abrupt halt, holding her high against him so that her face was level with his.
"Don't cry, my wild girl," he murmured. "You don't ever have to weep over me again."
"It's just that I am so happy for you." Kate smiled mistily at him.
His arms tightened, holding her even closer, her breasts crushed against him. Val's smile slowly faded. Kate peered at him through the sheen of her tears and her heart suddenly missed a beat.
She'd studied his face so often over the years, thought she knew every expression of those well-loved features. But the look that crept into Val's eyes was new to her. White hot, so hard and intense, it left her feeling breathless and...strangely a little frightened.
But the look vanished so quickly, she thought she must have imagined it. Val lowered her to her feet, his attention pulled elsewhere.
Val's stable hand had come into the yard and attempted to take charge of the white stallion. A slender lad of fourteen, Lucas looked half-afraid of the massive beast. Sensing his timidity, the stallion pulled back, resisting Lucas's nervous clasp on the reins.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Val's face and he strode over to intervene. "Not like that, boy. This is a full-bred stallion, not an old nag like Vulcan. You have to get a firm grip here, show him who's master. And stop acting so scared to death of him."
Val seized the bridle, murmuring in firm tones to the horse. When Lucas still hung back, Val snapped, "Damn it, lad. Come on. Take charge of him."
Lucas crept forward, looking almost as wary of his master as the horse, much to Kate's surprise. She had never heard Val speak so sharply to any of his servants before. He seemed to realize himself how abrupt he'd been. He forced a smile to his lips and tousled the boy's hair.
"If you have trouble handling this great demon, get Jem to help you."
The boy nodded, still looking less than happy with the situation. But soothed by Val's touch, the horse reluctantly permitted Lucas to lead it toward the small stable behind the house.
Val frowned after the boy, then turned back to Kate. He must have read the troubled look in her eyes for he lightened his expression, becoming almost apologetic.
"I suppose I shouldn't have been so short with the lad. The truth is I didn't get much sleep last night. All the excitement, I suppose. And when I realized my leg truly was mended, I was up at dawn, my first thought to roust out Caleb and secure that horse."
Kate managed to nod and smile, concealing an inexplicable stab of hurt. This wonderful thing had happened to Val and his first thought had been to go buy a horse? It was understandable, she supposed. He had borne bravely and patiently with his affliction for years, tolerated plodding along on stolid mounts like old Vulcan.
But she and Val had been friends for a long time, despite the recent awkwardness between them. He might have spared a moment to come and share his good tidings with her.
Yet she couldn't bring herself to reproach him. This was hardly the time to nurse wounded feelings. Not when Val looked so incredibly happy, all traces of that melancholy that had once haunted his eyes completely gone. He stood facing seaward, his legs braced wide apart, reveling in the breeze that teased unruly dark strands of hair across his brow.
"Ah, Kate," he said. "You can't begin to imagine how it feels. To be free of that infernal limp, to be able to walk like a normal man. To be strong and whole again.
"I am fairly bursting with this need to rush out and do all the things I haven't been able to do for years. To ride, to run, to fence again. I used to be good with the foils, Kate. Damned good."
He spun toward her, impulsively seizing her hand. "I simply want to do everything before this miracle up and disappears."
"It won't," she started to say, only to check herself. How could she promise him that? She had no idea of the nature of the spell she had cast on him, let alone how permanent it might be.
Perhaps she ought to tell him exactly what she'd done. But Kate recoiled from the notion. Even if he was a St. Leger, she knew Val would never approve of meddling with dark magic, the use of witchcraft. He'd likely be angry with her and it might completely shatter their newly mended friendship. Val was so infernally noble he might even insist the spell be undone no matter the cost to himself.
And Kate could not bear that. She had never seen Val look so feverish with excitement, his dark eyes aglow. It was as though years had fallen away from him, allowing him to be the kind of wild, impulsive young man that he had never been.
He tugged her along after him, pulling her toward the house. "You and I, Kate. We have got to do something to celebrate."
"Like what?" she asked, struggling to keep up with him.
"I don't know." He came to a sudden halt, looking as though a wondrous realization had just struck him. "Waltzing. I could squire you to a ball, dance with you now."
Kate laughed. "You know I never paid much heed to that dancing master Effie engaged for me."
There had never seemed much point in learning all those intricate steps. Not when she had known she would never be able to dance with the one man she most desired.
"I'll teach you myself," Val said. He stole his arm around her waist and spun her a slow circle that left her feeling strangely lightheaded. Perhaps it was more owing to the nearness of him, the sudden blaze of tenderness in his eyes.
"You remember those fairies I once told you about? That is what we'll do, Kate. We'll go waltzing with the fairies in the moonlight. And we'll drink champagne."
"Champagne." She gave a breathless laugh. "Oh, no. Remember the effect it had on me when I sneaked a few glassfuls at your sister Mariah's betrothal two summers ago?"
"You got a little tipsy, my dear," Val said, playfully waltzing her toward the house. "You were going to regale the company with one of those bawdy sea chanteys my wicked old uncle Hadrian had taught you."
"Don't remind me." Kate groaned. "Fortunately you stopped me from making a fool of myself. Then I think I got sick all over your shoes and you weren't even angry with me."
"How could I ever be angry with you, my Kate? I simply whisked you off home, carried you upstairs and tucked you up safe in—" Val hesitated. His footsteps faltered, his grip on her waist tightening.
"Safe in your _bed_ ," he finished in a strangely altered tone. All gentleness melted from his features and there was no mistaking the intensity of his eyes. But his thick black lashes swept down, veiling the look.
He released her so abruptly, Kate stumbled back a pace. Spinning away from her, he said, "Perhaps you are right. No champagne. Tea would be safer."
He stalked off into the house, not even glancing back to see if Kate followed. She stared after him, confused by his quicksilver change of mood, shaken by her first ripple of doubt.
What if her dark spell had done something else to Val other than transform his leg? Something else like what? Render him madly in love with her? She saw no sign that that had happened, but spells could be highly unpredictable things, working in ways no mortal could understand. She was afraid to guess all she might have done to Val, and she hardly dared hope. All she could do was anxiously follow him inside the house.
After the bright flood of sunlight, the interior of Slate House appeared dark and gloom-ridden. Kate had far preferred calling upon Val at Castle Leger. She had never cared for this isolated house by the edge of the sea, even in the days when Dr. Marius St. Leger had lived here.
The very walls seemed saturated with a pervading loneliness and melancholy, shadows creeping across the floor although it was not that late in the afternoon. She wished that she and Val had remained outside in the sunlight, laughing and talking about waltzing with fairies. Everything felt so wrong, so out of kilter, since they had entered the house. Or had her entire world begun to feel unsettled from the moment Val had first swept her up onto that mad white stallion?
Kate trailed after Val into the library and he closed the door behind them with a soft click. She crept across the carpet, trying to draw reassurance from her surroundings, breathing in the soothing scent of leather and old books. Whether at Castle Leger or at this lonely house, the library was that special place she and Val had always shared, warm, familiar, and comfortable.
Then why was she standing like she'd been turned into a stick of wood? Val strode forward to help her off with her cloak as he'd done from the time she'd been a little girl.
But even that felt disturbingly different. His fingers lingered over the fastenings and he peeled her cloak away slowly, easing it off her shoulders almost like a man undressing his lover.
The image brought a surge of heat to her cheeks. Val folded her cloak and tossed it carelessly across the back of a chair. It was incredible, but she imagined that he'd been able to read her embarrassing thought and was amused by it. His mouth curled back in a faint, almost predatory smile, rather like a wolf regarding his prey.
Val, a wolf? Kate brought herself up short, appalled at the notion. Val St. Leger was the last man in the world who could be thought of in such terms. He had always reminded her of Chaucer's description of the squire in _The Canterbury Tales_ —"a gentle, perfect knight."
That was who Val was and ever would be, and no power on earth, no dark magic, no spell could ever change that. These looks she kept imagining in his eyes were all the product of shadows and her own absurd fancies.
Rustling about the room, Kate struggled for some return to normalcy. The fire in the grate had nearly burnt itself out and she bent down to remedy that, tossing on a few more logs. Val made no move to help her. He strode over to a small cabinet, pulling out a decanter of whiskey.
Kate paused in the act of applying the bellows to stare at him. Val had ever been a temperate man, not much given to drinking strong spirits, especially at this hour of the day. When he caught Kate looking at him, he paused and inquired pleasantly, "Shall I pour you a glass as well, my dear?"
Kate's jaw fell open and she nearly tumbled over into the fire irons. After the champagne incident, Val had vowed he'd never allow her to touch anything but lemonade for the rest of her life, and now he was offering her whiskey?
Numbly, she shook her head.
Val shrugged and returned to filling his own glass. "Would you care to propose a toast for me then?"
"A toast?" Still reeling from this fresh shock, Kate felt unable to think.
"Bad 'cess to all Mortmains?" she suggested weakly. It had been the traditional toast of the St. Legers for generations, the rallying cry against the family who had long been their most deadly enemies.
Val had been the one to teach Kate that toast. Despite his gentle nature, Val had always despised the Mortmains as much as the rest of the St. Legers, perhaps even more so because he had made a study of the family history. He'd recorded every dark incident, every vengeful act of the Mortmains against the St. Legers, including the black career of the last surviving member of the breed, Captain Raphael Mortmain.
"There appears to be a madness, an evil in their very blood, Kate," Val had once told her gravely. "And I doubt that Rafe can overcome that, no matter how much my brother wants to call him friend. Lance's trusting nature makes me afraid for his very life."
Val had been right, of course. Rafe had nearly succeeded in destroying Lance and her beloved Val, too. She could hardly bear to think back to that dark time when she had actually believed Val was dead. Ever since then, she had taken a grim satisfaction herself in hefting her lemonade and drinking to the destruction of all Mortmains.
Yet instead of seconding her toast as he always did, Val seemed reluctant. He frowned into his glass. "That is a rather foolish tradition now, isn't it, Kate? The Mortmains are no longer enough of a threat to waste a good glass of whiskey on. Think of something else."
"Very well," Kate said, a little bewildered by the curt command. "To your miraculous cure then, and to our friendship."
"To our friendship," he repeated, but he didn't seem to like her second toast any better. He pulled a bitter face as he tossed down the whiskey, then promptly poured himself another.
Kate watched him with troubled eyes. She turned back to the fire, using the poker to stir the embers beneath the new logs. Flames licked up, reminding her disturbingly of the bonfire on the hill last night. Despite Val's cure, she was almost starting to wish she'd never laid eyes on that spell book of Prospero's.
"Why did you come to see me today, Kate?"
Val's soft voice sounded directly in her ear. She started, nearly dropping the poker as she whipped around. She was amazed to discover he'd managed to steal up behind her, with her not hearing a sound. She was going to have to grow accustomed to his new quiet way of moving without his cane. Accustomed to other changes as well.
He stepped beside her, leaning one arm along the mantel, looming above her. There was already a difference in the way he carried himself now that he no longer had to rely on his cane. Vigorous, confident, almost overpowering. She felt suddenly shy of him. Shy of Val, her dearest friend, a man she had known for so much of her life. Although she had the fire crackling nicely again, she continued to fidget with the poker.
"Well, Kate?" Val prompted, reminding her of his question.
Why had she come to see him? Now was the time to trot out her lies, stammer out her apologies for the way she'd thrown herself at him the other night, try to convince him that she could be content just to be his friend.
Kate opened her mouth, but the words simply wouldn't come.
"I just needed to be with you," she confessed at last. "I missed you."
"You would have been wiser to stay away."
Kate gave a shaky laugh. "When have you ever known me to be wise? And we are still friends, are we not?"
When he didn't answer, she glanced up at him. A dark brooding look had settled over Val's face, so foreign to his usual steady expression. He toyed with the faded glove, the old fan resting atop the mantelpiece, and the ivory miniature of Dr. Marius St. Leger's long-lost love.
Kate put away the poker. "Val?"
He didn't even seem to hear her at first. When she repeated his name again, he snapped out of his frowning abstraction, a taut smile touching his lips.
"Sorry. I was just thinking I should gather up all this rubbish and send it to Marius since he seems unlikely to return anytime soon." Val flicked one finger contemptuously against the portrait of Anne Syler. "Or maybe I should just chuck it all into the fire."
Kate's eyes flew wide. He couldn't be serious. "But those are Marius's most cherished mementos. All that he has left of—"
"Of a woman who died over thirty years ago. Marius should forget her, find himself some nice little Scottish widow up there in Edinburgh."
"But you always told me that he can't. Anne was his chosen bride. The legend—"
"Damn the legend!" Val slammed his fist with such force against the mantel, Kate leapt back, startled by the sudden flare of anger in his eyes.
He raked his hand back through his hair as though making some effort to contain himself. He stalked away from her, prowling about the room.
"All my life I have submitted to the dictates of that legend, even though it condemned me to an eternity of being alone. I've always had such pathetically simple dreams, to be a doctor, have a wife, children. I could have waited forever for the Fates to tell me who my chosen bride was to be.
"But, oh no," he said with savage sarcasm. "The great Bride Finder decrees that Val St. Leger is never to have a love of his own, never to wed. If he does, there will be the devil to pay. The St. Leger curse will come crashing down on him and his bride's head. Well, I am sick to death of such nonsense!"
Kate clutched her hands together, frozen with shock. She had long wanted Val to repudiate the legend, but not quite like this. Not with such rage and bitterness.
She shrank back as he paced furiously past her again. "I'm sick of all of it, the legend, my stupid family tradition, the cursed power I inherited, even my bloody name."
"I adore your name," she murmured, but he paid her no heed.
"Valentine," he sneered, flinging up his hands. "What the devil kind of name is that for a man? A saint, a martyr surrendering his own life, his own happiness to every other idiot in the world."
Val paused, whipping around to glare at her. "Do you know what I am like, Kate?"
At one time she could have readily answered that question. She was no longer so sure. "N-no," she said.
He stalked across the room and snatched up a piece from the carved ivory chessboard. "I am like this ridiculous little pawn, allowing myself to be manipulated by everyone, this village, my family, a God-cursed fairy tale. Do you know what piece I'd like to be?"
"N-no."
"This one." Val flung the pawn aside, picking up one of the intricately carved horse's heads.
"The black knight?" Kate asked in bewilderment. "But that is hardly the most powerful piece on the board."
"Powerful enough to destroy all opposition until—" Val used the knight to plow through the white pieces, his lips snaking back in a hard smile. "Until I capture the queen."
Kate swallowed, watching in dismay as the hapless chessmen tumbled to the carpet. She was no longer left in any doubt. The change that had come over Val went far deeper than his leg. What exactly had she done to the man?
Val dropped the knight as well, raising his eyes from the board to settle on her face.
"Come here," he said quietly.
When she didn't move, he held out his hand. "Come here!"
Kate hung back, almost afraid to obey him. Afraid of Val? That was surely ridiculous. Forcing her feet into motion, she crept forward until she placed her fingers within his outstretched hand.
He drew her closer and scowled, reaching up to touch one stray tendril that curled by her cheek. "What the devil possessed you to put your hair up that way?"
Kate lifted up one hand herself, self-consciously patting the chignon that she realized was half tumbling down. "It was somewhat tidy before the wind got at it. I thought putting my hair up might make me look older."
"Well, it doesn't. Only more vulnerable." Val trailed his knuckles along the exposed column of her neck, sending a shiver through her. His fingers moved through her hair, plucking out the rest of the hairpins, discarding them until her hair cascaded down over her shoulders.
He eased one hand beneath the wild tangle, cupping the nape of her neck, forcing her nearer until all she could see was the dark glitter of his eyes. Her heart pounded so wildly, she felt unable to breathe. His mouth closed fiercely over hers. Kate's eyes widened, stunned by the heated contact.
_It must have worked after all. Her love spell had worked._
That was her last coherent thought before Val dragged her closer, deepening the embrace. With a muffled sigh, Kate closed her eyes, surrendering to Val's ruthless kiss, his lips tasting of whiskey and heat.
She had begged him to teach her how to kiss on the night of her birthday and he was doing it now with a vengeance, his mouth moving masterfully over hers, tasting, demanding, devouring. With a low growl, he breached the seal of her lips. She was startled by the first feel of his tongue brushing against hers, then strangely excited.
Always quick to learn anything that Val cared to teach, Kate responded, clinging to his shoulders, engaging his mouth in a sweet wild mating. Her heart was pounding so hard, her head swimming. She had never been the sort of woman to swoon, but Kate almost feared she was going to.
Panting, Val drew back long enough to allow her to catch her breath before continuing his passionate assault. He rained kisses across her temple, her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin, as though he could not get enough of her.
"Kate, Kate. My wild girl," he groaned. "I have been such a bloody fool, resisting you for so long."
"T-there is nothing to forgive," Kate managed to stammer out before he crushed her in his arms, molding her body to the hard length of his.
He buried his face in her hair, his breath hot against her ear. "I love you," he rasped. "I have always loved you and now nothing shall stand between us. I swear it."
Kate's heart constricted with joy at the words she'd been waiting half her life to hear.
"Oh, Val, I love y—" But her own declaration was smothered by his mouth. He claimed her lips in another long feverish kiss that left her weak, melting in his arms. Her spell had worked with a passionate fury that even she had never dared imagine.
Never breaking contact, his lips locked to hers, Val swept her off her feet. He carried her over to the settee and plunked her down upon the cushions. He drew away only long enough to strip off his coat and waistcoat. His chest rising and falling with short quick breaths, his face a dark mask of desire, he wrenched off his cravat as well.
Kate watched him in a daze, experiencing a tiny flicker of alarm. But it was quickly forgotten as Val fell upon her, kissing her until her pulse pounded, her blood surged through her veins. His mouth traveled down the column of her throat, and Kate's breath escaped in a blissful sigh. This was all she had ever hoped for, more than she ever dreamed of.
She was hardly aware that he had undone the buttons of her gown until he shoved open the front of her bodice. Kate never wore stays and it was an easy matter for him to unlace the ribbons of her loose-fitting chemise as well, baring her breasts.
A hot blush seared her cheeks and she moved instinctively to cover herself, but Val refused to allow it. He pinned her hands to her sides.
"No, Kate. Let me look at you," he said, raking her with a hot, greedy stare. "You're so beautiful and I want you so damned bad I am like to die from it."
His dark head swooped down, his lips abrading the tender flesh of her breasts, his mouth fastening hungrily over her nipple.
"Oh, m-my," Kate gasped at the lick of heat that rushed through her. She had thought that she knew and understood all about that passion that could flare between men and women, but she had never imagined anything like this. She buried her fingers in his hair, swept away by these new feelings he aroused, the aching need for him to touch her, to keep on touching her in even more intimate ways.
Part of her realized that things were moving much too fast, spiraling out of control. Val had her pinned under his weight, his hand beginning to ease up her skirt. Kate felt a fleeting sense of panic, wondering if she would be able to stop him, even if she wanted to.
But she didn't want to. Especially when his lips found hers again, offering her no mercy, kissing her to the brink of delirium. She could no more have resisted him than she could have flown to the moon. This was her Val, the friend she trusted, the man she adored and had wanted forever.
Trembling at her own daring, Kate eased her hand between them and fumbled with the topmost button of his shirt. But Val's hand closed over hers, forcing her to stop. Levering himself up onto one arm, he stared at her, almost as though he was really seeing her for the first time.
The light burning in his eyes flickered and died.
"Oh, my God," he said hoarsely.
"Val?" Kate quavered, fearing that in her inexperience she must have done something truly wrong. She reached up to touch his cheek, but he recoiled from her in horror. Dragging himself off her, he staggered across the room in his haste to get away. He fetched up against the fireplace, gripping the edge of the mantel so hard, his arms trembled from the force of it.
Her mouth yet warm from his kiss, her skin still quivering from his touch, Kate sat up more slowly, feeling both bewildered and strangely bereft.
She regarded him anxiously. "Val, are you—"
"Get out!"
The harsh words cracked through Kate like the bite of a whip. "W-what?"
"Get dressed and get out of here," Val snapped. He twisted around to glare at her, his hard dark eyes like those of a stranger.
"B-but," Kate stammered, more astonished and confused than ever by the quick shift of his mood.
"Are you hard of hearing, girl? I _said_ fix your gown and get the devil out of here. Now! Before I—" He left the angry threat unfinished, turning his back on her, his hands balling into fists.
Kate flinched, feeling as though he'd just slapped her. She cast him a look rife with all of her feelings of hurt and bewilderment, but she scrambled to obey, the flush of her own passion receding. As she fumbled with the lacing of her chemise and refastened her gown, her cheeks burned. She suddenly felt foolish, embarrassed, and ashamed. As cheap as any London doxy, like the kind of trollop her mother must have been. Spell or no spell, Val St. Leger was still a gentleman. Small wonder that he was disgusted with her reckless and wanton behavior.
Kate did up her last button and said in a small voice, "I—I am sorry, Val."
" _You_ are sorry?" Val turned just enough to frown at her.
"Yes, what just happened was all my fault and—" She broke off, both wounded and appalled when he laughed at her.
A rich booming sound of mirth, but when he finished, it was suddenly her Val looking down at her again. He dropped to one knee beside her, gathering her hands into his own.
"My wild Kate," he murmured. "You are such a little fool. How could you possibly think you are responsible for what happened between us?"
"Because I am." Kate's chin came up, recognizing that indulgent tone of his all too well. "You cannot possibly still be thinking of me as this ignorant girl who doesn't know anything. I have told you many times before, I am far from innocent."
"You are as naïve as a newborn babe." Val brushed a kiss against her fingertips. "You don't even understand how close I came to dishonoring you."
"You could never dishonor me, Val," Kate said.
"Yes, I could. I am just beginning to understand myself what I might be capable of." His expression turned dark and somber. He stood up, and tugged her to her feet.
"Please go now," he said quietly.
She had no choice but to obey when he asked her that way, even though all she wanted to do was stroke his hair, smooth back the troubled look from his brow. When she had been weaving her magic over the bonfire last night, she had pictured only happiness and joy, an end to Val's loneliness and her longing. She had never thought to unleash this turmoil in him, never thought to hurt him. But as usual, Kate reflected, she hadn't _thought_ at all.
Her heart heavy with self-reproach and chagrin, she skirted past Val, trudging toward the door.
"You don't have to leave quite that way," he murmured. "Without a word of farewell or even a kiss good-bye."
Kate's spirits lifted, her head coming up at once. She moved toward him, only too ready to comply. But Val caught her by the shoulders, maintaining a chaste distance between them. He deposited a soft kiss on her brow, then one on her nose, then touched his lips lightly to hers.
His mouth was warm and tender. Kate sighed, straining toward him, and the next she knew she was back in his arms, trading desperate kisses while he held her as though he'd never let her go.
"No!" Val pulled back with a ragged laugh, thrusting her away. "Dear God, Kate, this is pure madness."
"No, Val. It's wonderful," Kate pleaded, trying to cling to him. "I have always loved you and now you love me. What could be wrong with that?"
"Nothing. Everything." He caught both of her hands to hold her back from him. "This has all come over me too sudden. All these changes. I—I need time to think."
When she started to protest, he silenced her by placing his hand to her lips. He ended by tracing the outline of her mouth, the feel of his fingers warm and tantalizing. Kate sighed when he jerked his hand away.
"I will come to you soon, my angel," he said. "I promise."
Before Kate could even catch her breath, Val shoved her cloak at her and thrust her out into the hall. Kate blinked as the door was slammed in her face. As she stood there, dazed, she heard the key turn in the lock.
Merciful heavens. Did Val actually believe it was necessary to lock her out? Maybe it was, Kate thought in dismay. Her skin still tingled with the memory of Val's heated embrace. Even with all her dreams of him, she had never imagined him capable of kissing that way. The man was incredible, and she longed to fling herself back into his arms and finish what they had started upon the settee. Never mind the risk they might run of being discovered by any of Val's servants, creating the most dreadful scandal for both of them.
It was fortunate that even under the influence of a spell, Val was possessed of better sense than she was. At least now she understood what was wrong with him, the reason for his edginess, the unlikely outbursts of temper and the abrupt shifts of mood. Her magic was working on him, but he was nobly resisting with all his strength, still clinging to his scruples and his misguided notions about her innocence.
But she doubted that it was a battle that Val would win.
The poor man had to be already far gone if he was starting to call _her_ an angel. There was nothing the least bit divine about her. In fact, at the moment, she was feeling more like the devil's own daughter.
_"I have always loved you,"_ Val had whispered. _"And now nothing shall stand between us. I swear it."_
Wonderful passionate words, but had that really been her Val talking or only the spell? How could she have done this to him, worked black magic on her dear friend, depriving him of his will, tricking him, trapping him?
No, Kate reassured herself desperately. It wasn't like that at all. She hadn't trapped Val. She had _freed_ him from his crippling pain, from the terrible restrictions of that legend, from a lifetime of being alone.
Everything was going to be all right as soon as Val surrendered and stopped fighting the magic she had wrought. Perhaps all he did need was a little more time to grow accustomed to all these incredible changes. After all, he had promised...
_I will come to you soon, my angel._
"Don't make it too long, my dearest friend," Kate whispered. Swirling her cloak about her shoulders, she touched her hand to her lips, then pressed it against the sealed door, leaving a parting kiss.
By the time Kate returned to the village, she had managed to quell any further misgivings. Fairly tripping along the lane, she lost herself in rose-colored visions of her future with Val. The St. Legers would all object at first, but their resistance would be gradually overcome when they saw how happy she and Val were, how devoted to each other. They would realize that a legend could sometimes be wrong.
Even Effie would beam with pride the day that Kate stood up with Val in St. Gothian's Church. Between her wifely duties, she would find time to do a little matchmaking herself, pairing Effie up with her adoring vicar so that Effie would not be lonely when Kate moved to Slate House.
What a change Kate would make in that dismal place. Throwing open the shutters, clearing out the cobwebs of the past, painting and repapering all the rooms in bright, cheery colors. She would learn to help Val in his medical practice, prevent him from wearing himself out, overusing his power, and working too hard.
On sunny days, she and Val would race magnificent horses down the beach or polish the dust off his foils and practice dueling. On rainy afternoons, she would serve him tea in the library while they pored over some intriguing new volume together. Or spent long leisurely hours making love on that settee.
She was already tenderly presenting him with their firstborn son by the time she reached the bend in the lane leading to Rosebriar Cottage. Kate's footsteps faltered, her fantasies coming to an abrupt end.
A gleaming new curricle hitched to a pair of grays had drawn up before the cottage gate. Both the elegant equipage and the livery-clad tiger who tended the horses looked ridiculously out of place in Torrecombe. Kate bit back a dismayed curse. Her head was far too full of Val at the moment to help Effie entertain any caller, especially this one.
Victor St. Leger picked his way toward the path leading to Rosebriar, taking great care to avoid getting any mud on the toes of his well-polished Hessians. Kate knew the other girls in the village accounted him devastatingly handsome. The fools went on and on about his dark-fringed melting eyes and the sensual curves of his full lower lip. But Kate had always found his perfect features a little too smooth for her taste. Next to Val, he was nothing but a callow boy.
Victor appeared to catch sight of his own reflection in one of the rain puddles and paused to adjust the angle of his high-crowned beaver hat, smooth down the multiple capes of his driving coat. Kate's lip curled in contempt. Poor Mollie Grey. She doubted that Victor would ever propose to the girl until he fell out of love with his own reflection. He was the most idle, useless young man, living off the fortune acquired by his seafaring grandfather and father, usually squandering all his time in the larger towns like Penzance and Plymouth, attending assemblies, balls, and horse races and flirting with silly women.
So what the devil was he doing back here at Rosebriar? No doubt he'd returned to torment poor Effie with more complaints about her plain choice of a bride for him.
"Be damned if he will," Kate muttered. Bristling like a protective terrier, she hitched up her skirts and tore off running. She easily overtook Victor, getting between him and the cottage door.
He muttered an angry imprecation at being jostled, only to check himself.
"Kate," he exclaimed.
If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he sounded glad to see her. But that was most unlikely. They had barely spoken to each other since the fête day held on the St. Leger estate over a year ago. For once Kate had been trying to act like a lady for Val's sake.
Victor had eyed her through some ridiculous quizzing glass and commented that her new frock had too many ribbons. Some of them might have been better employed tying up her wild mop of hair. Kate had sweetly suggested that he'd better loosen his collar. No doubt that was why his head was so swollen. He'd replied that she still possessed all the charming manners of a foundling brat. It shouldn't have bothered Kate to have her hateful background flung in her face by a dolt like Victor. But somehow it had. She had brought an abrupt end to the exchange of insults by cracking the nearest object over his thick head.
At least after that, Effie had stopped insisting Kate carry a parasol.
Positioning herself in front of the cottage door, Kate planted her hands on her hips and blocked Victor's path.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded without any attempt at civility.
One hand tucked behind his back, Victor used the other to tip his hat in greeting. It was an unusually gallant courtesy, at least for Victor to pay her.
"I came to see—"
"Effie's not at home," Kate snapped.
"But—"
"At least not to you. She's already done enough, just by finding you a bride. Mollie's a sweet girl, far too good for a conceited fool like you. You should consider yourself lucky."
"But I am—"
"And even if you don't have the wit to be grateful, you ought to know how your own family legend works. Once Effie declares her choice, it cannot be altered, no matter how much you coax and bully, so you might as well turn right around—"
"Kate, Kate," Victor interrupted at last with a laughing protest. "I have not come to plague Effie, I assure you. I came to see you."
_"Me?"_
He whipped his hand from behind his back, producing a nosegay of delicate pink rosebuds. He extended it toward her with a small flourish.
Kate stared at the flowers as though he'd just offered her a snake.
"What are those for?" she asked suspiciously.
"For you. Take them." He flashed her that smile that usually had all the silly local girls swooning in the hedgerows.
Kate was momentarily nonplussed by the gesture until she realized what Victor had to be up to. She shook her head at him with an incredulous laugh.
"If you think you can turn me up sweet and get me on your side, you really do have maggots in your head. I may believe the St. Leger legend is pure nonsense, but Mollie doesn't. You had that poor girl waiting half the night, expecting that you were coming to propose."
Victor winced, at least having the grace to show some guilt. "I didn't mean to hurt her, Kate. I might not have been happy about it, but I was fully prepared to do my duty as a St. Leger. I was actually within view of her house when I realized I could never ask Molly to marry me, not when I was already in love with another woman."
"And just who is the unfortunate creature?"
"You."
_"What!"_
Victor caught hold of her hand and Kate was far too surprised to prevent him. "I am in love with you, Kate. I should have realized it a long time ago."
"Oh, yes, of course. It must have come over you when I whacked you with my parasol. I daresay I hit you harder than I thought."
Victor made no response to this scornful remark. He tried to carry her hand to his lips.
"Stop that!" Kate said, snatching her fingers away. "Have you entirely lost your mind?"
"No, only my heart. But I hardly meant to declare myself on your doorstep. May I come inside?"
"No!"
Victor sighed. "Then you leave me no choice."
To Kate's consternation, he dropped down on one knee, right there on the cottage path for all the village to see. He laid the nosegay before her for all the world like some ancient Roman making a burnt offering to a goddess. Whipping off his hat and holding it over the region of his heart, he beamed up at her.
"Kate Fitzleger, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
"No, certainly not," Kate said, seizing him by the front of his driving cape and trying to haul him back on his feet. "Do get up before you make a complete ass of yourself and get the knee of your breeches dirty."
"I don't care about that."
He didn't care. Was this Victor St. Leger talking?
Kate glared at him. "If this is your idea of a jest, I don't find it the least—"
"I am totally serious, Kate," he declared in injured tones. But at least she managed to get the fool up off his knee.
"Victor, maybe you need to go somewhere and lie down. You've obviously been out in the fresh air and sun too long. You're not accustomed to it."
"It's not the sun, my dearest heart. It was that storm last night reminding me of your magnificent flashing eyes. That was when I first knew I adored you. It came over me like—like a bolt of lightning."
"That is the most ridiculous—" Kate began, only to falter as the full import of his words struck her. _Like a bolt of lightning?_ Oh, no, surely not. It could not possibly be that—that—
She anxiously scanned his features for some sign that he was teasing, mocking her as he always did. Although his face was filled with his customary arrogance, there was also a sincerity in his eyes that disconcerted her.
Kate was so stunned, she couldn't think, couldn't move. Victor took full advantage of the moment, stealing his arms about her waist. Damnation! He was actually preparing to kiss her right here on the doorstep.
Kate snapped back to her senses, barely managing to get her arms between them in time. "Victor, stop it. Right now."
He paid no heed, straining to draw her closer. "My dearest, darling girl," he breathed. "Say you will be mine."
"No. Are you insane?" Kate cried, struggling to thrust him away, rather surprised to find Victor that strong.
"What about your chosen bride? Mollie, the legend," she went on desperately, trying to bring him to his senses. "If you don't marry her, you—you'll be cursed."
"I would risk anything for one kiss from you." He swooped down, his mouth but a breath from her own. Kate twisted her head to one side and he grazed her cheek instead.
She fought to push him away, but he practically had her pinned to the cottage door.
"Victor, if you don't let me go right now," Kate said through clenched teeth, "you are going to be really sorry."
"Kate," he moaned, pressing clumsy kisses to her temple. "You are breaking my heart."
"No, I am going to break your head!" She gave a violent twist, managed to get one fist up to clip his jaw. Not a hard blow, but enough to make him back off. She then slammed both fists against his chest to shove him the rest of the way. Whirling, Kate bolted for the safety of the cottage.
She slammed the door closed and leaned panting up against it. To her consternation, Victor immediately began knocking and pleading with her through the keyhole.
"Oh, Kate, I am sorry. I didn't mean to pounce on you that way. It is just that I adore you so much. Please let me in so that I can beg your forgiveness."
Kate suppressed a groan. "I forgive you, Victor. Now just go away."
"But I cannot until you allow me to convince you that I will love and cherish you forever. Kate?" When she did not respond, he only hammered louder. "Kate, please open the door."
Kate grimaced, her gaze darting about the empty hall. If Victor didn't stop this infernal racket, he was going to bring the servants running, maybe even Effie. And if her guardian discovered what was going on, poor Effie would likely collapse down dead on the spot.
Kate turned around and cried through the door. "Go away, Victor. Or I—I swear I'll send for your cousin Anatole."
It was a hollow threat. The dread lord of Castle Leger had left Torrecombe only that morning, heading north to visit Dr. Marius. But Victor apparently didn't know that. The knocking ceased. Kate held her breath. After long moments of silence ensued, Kate darted into the parlor and raced for the front window.
Keeping herself well concealed behind the curtains, she peeked out at the young man trudging toward the curricle waiting in the lane.
Oh, please, Kate prayed, let Victor be laughing and nudging his manservant, telling his groom what a grand joke he had just played on Miss Fitzleger. But there was no sign of mirth in Victor's downcast features. His step had lost its swagger as he mounted into the curricle and gathered up the reins from his tiger. She had never seen the arrogant young man look so crestfallen. He cast a wistful glance toward the cottage before driving away. It was as if she had really broken his heart.
Kate closed the curtain and drew back from the window. Oh, God. What had she done now?
Nothing, _nothing,_ she told herself fiercely. What she feared had happened to Victor could not possibly be true, no matter if he did talk about bolts of lightning. It was purely a coincidence.
Her spell had been aimed at Val, not him. It had been Val's initials she had carved on that piece of coal. "V.S." for Valentine St. Leger.
And also for Victor.
No! Kate squeezed her eyes shut tight to quell her rising dread. It was still impossible. She had been thinking only of Val when she had woven her magic. Surely one love spell could not work on two different men, could it?
She was certain it couldn't, but all the same, she had better go have another look at that book. Fleeing from the parlor, she rushed upstairs, nearly colliding with Nan in the process.
"Oh, Miss Kate. Did I just hear someone at the door?"
"No!" Ignoring the housemaid's startled look, Kate bolted past and headed for her bedchamber. Slamming the door behind her, she all but hurled herself at her dressing table, snatching up the fichu under which she had concealed Prospero's spell book.
Or at least she thought she had. Kate frowned, straining to remember, then yanked open the topmost drawer. And then the next one. And the next. From there, she pounced upon her dresser, her wardrobe, her small writing table, her search growing more frantic with every passing minute.
A half hour later and she had torn her bedchamber apart to no avail. Kate sagged down weakly upon the corner of her bed, her stomach sinking. She could hardly believe it.
The infernal book was gone.
Val flung back the shutters. From his library window he watched the sun set over the sea in a fiery blaze, sending out red-gold ripples of light like fingers of blood stretching across the waters. He released a shuddering breath and wondered what was happening to him.
He didn't know, only that it seemed to be getting worse with night coming on. His servants had long ceased trying to rouse him from his self-imposed prison. Even Jem seemed afraid to bother him again, and Val could not blame him. All afternoon he had been snapping and snarling at everyone who'd come near the library, ordering them to get the devil away and leave him alone.
No, he didn't want any tea. He didn't want supper. All he wanted was...
_Kate._
_You bloody fool. Why did you ever let her go?_
Val gripped the edge of the windowsill hard, even now fighting the overwhelming urge to go track her down, carry her back here, straight up to his bed. And why the blazes shouldn't he? It wasn't as though Kate would resist. She'd already shown herself to be more than willing, so eager, so trusting and...God! What the devil was he thinking?
He pressed his hands hard against his brow, wishing he could as easily crush these persistent dark desires. This was Kate he was lusting after, his wild girl, his dearest friend. It was bad enough that he'd already come close to ravishing her this afternoon. Seducing her right there on the settee, nearly robbing her of her innocence, ruining a young woman he would have ordinarily given his life to protect.
The truly hellish thing was that he _still_ wanted her, all consequences and decency be damned. He'd oft heard tell of the other part of the family legend, that a St. Leger male knew when his time had come to mate. It was supposed to be like a fever in the blood, an ache of the soul. Val doubted it could be any worse than the agony he was going through right now, his hunger for Kate, savage in its intensity. And she wasn't even his chosen bride.
There was only one thing he could do. No matter what he'd promised Kate, he had to stay away from her. Val slammed the shutters back into place, as though closing out the night would aid his resolution.
It didn't. He paced toward the door, only to check himself at the last minute, dragging trembling fingers through his hair. What was wrong with him? It was as though his clarity of thought was blurring, every scruple, every sense of right and wrong he cherished starting to erode away. Every raw emotion, every dark desire or thought he'd ever suppressed seethed far too near the surface.
He had no idea what had triggered this descent into madness. It was all tangled up somehow with the miraculous cure he'd experienced last night. Last night...Val dragged his hand wearily across his eyes. He would sell his soul to be able to remember exactly what had happened last night.
He gave a mirthless laugh. For all he knew, maybe he already had traded his soul away for _this_. His fingers crept across his chest, feeling the outline of the chain and shard of stone hidden beneath his shirt. He hadn't even dared to look at the thing all day. But now, with unsteady fingers, he drew the crystal out into the candlelight.
It was only one stolen piece of the magnificent magic stone imbedded in the St. Leger sword. And yet the fragment sparkled with such hypnotic beauty Val couldn't tear his eyes away from it.
How had he come to be in possession of the long missing crystal? Try as he might, he couldn't recall. There could be only one answer. Rafe Mortmain. Yet that seemed impossible. If Rafe had returned to Torrecombe after so many years, he'd left no more trace of himself than if he'd been a ghost.
Did it really matter anyway where the crystal had come from? It was his now. Val caressed the sparkling icicle of stone. It was as though everything he'd ever wanted, ever desired, shimmered in this one small piece of—
No. Val blinked hard, shaken by the direction of his thoughts. His hand closed over the fragment, shutting its mesmerizing glitter away from his sight. The crystal seemed to be exerting some sort of strange hold over him and it didn't even belong to him. By rights, it should be returned to his brother, Lance, the present owner of the St. Leger sword.
Val removed the chain from his neck, surprised and disturbed by how hard it felt to do so. Gripping the crystal tight in his hand, his gaze roved about the library, seeking something to do with it until the morrow. He marched over to his desk and retrieved the small worn purse he kept there. At the moment it was empty of coin, and the chain and crystal fit perfectly inside.
Val yanked the drawstring closed and shoved the leather pouch inside his desk drawer. He'd no sooner done so when it struck him.
The pain. Returning to his leg with a vengeance. A horrible stabbing agony unlike any he'd ever felt, making him grind his teeth to keep from crying out. He gasped, managing to stagger over to the settee before he collapsed. It seemed that his miracle was over.
Yet as he clutched at his throbbing knee, Val suddenly understood. His cure was bound up in that crystal somehow. He needed to get the thing and put it back on. But even as he started to struggle upward, some instinct restrained him. No, touching that crystal again was the last thing he should do.
He fell back onto the cushions, trying to massage his pulsing knee, ease the spiraling pain. My God, it felt as bad as it had when the injury was fresh, that terrible day he'd found Lance lying wounded on the battlefield in Spain. His reckless brother had finally tested his foolhardy courage once too often.
_"Hold on, Lance. I'm coming," Val cried, trying to make his voice heard above the blaze of cannonfire, the groans of dying men. He fought his way through the acrid haze of smoke to where Lance writhed on the ground, blood spilling from the shattered mass of bone that had once been his right knee._
_His heart constricting with fear, Val bent down beside him, fumbling for his medical kit._
_"It's all right, Lance," he soothed. "I'm here."_
_"N-no." Lance was already so out of his mind with pain, he tried to twist away from him. Val reached instinctively for his hand._
_"Leave me alone, damn it." Lance fought to pull away, even in his agony sensing what Val was about to do._
_But Val hadn't even hesitated. He'd focused quick and hard, mentally dissolving his own flesh, slicing open his own veins for this brother he loved so well, bracing himself to share his twin's pain._
_"No, damn you, Val. Don't do it. Let me go."_
_"It's all right, Lance. I can take it," Val said, although he had to grit his teeth. "Just hold on."_
And that was when everything had gone horribly wrong. Val's head pounded, beads of sweat gathering on his brow, the remembrance of past pain mingling with present agony. He'd never understood quite how, but he'd absorbed far more from Lance that day than his pain. Val had taken on the injury itself, transferring his brother's crippling wound to his own leg.
It was the only time in his life Val had ever lost control of his power that way. At least until last night. Val took deep breaths, suddenly experiencing a flash of memory.
He was kneeling on the hall floor of Slate House, bending over someone, trying to help. A man...a man who was dying in terrible agony. Val closed his eyes, straining to remember. A storm. There had been a storm, thunder and lightning. The shard of crystal was swaying, glittering around his neck. Someone was gripping his hand, so hard Val couldn't pull free, couldn't stop the—
God! Why couldn't he remember? The memory dimmed and vanished, the effort to recall hurting him as much as the ache in his leg. Yet it seemed desperately important that he keep trying, as though his sanity, nay, his very life depended upon it.
What had happened to him last night? Something dark and terrible. Something that seemed bound up in the storm, the crystal, and his age-old enemy.
Rafe Mortmain.
_C HAPTER EIGHT_
* * *
_T_ HE HARBOR BUSTLED with activity, dockhands hauling crates and barrels up gangplanks, rugged seamen in search of employment toting their canvas bags. A queue of carriages drew as close to the wharf as possible, passengers supervising the unloading of their trunks.
Even in the midst of such a busy crowd, the gentleman in the navy colored greatcoat drew a stir of attention, especially from the ladies. Possessed of a tall military bearing, he carried himself with a quiet dignity. Wings of silver threaded through his dark hair cropped with a neat precision that became the fine chiseled lines of his face. He looked far too pale to be a seaman, but every lady who saw him was convinced he had to be the captain of one of the vessels. He had that aura of command.
And yet Rafe Mortmain had never felt more uncertain in his life. He wound his way past the line of coaches, his portmanteau clutched in his hand. He kept his gaze fixed forward, avoiding any eye contact and not merely because he was conscious of still being a wanted man.
He felt so damned odd, different and unsure of himself. Like a man who had somehow stumbled from the other side of the grave and found himself thrust back into the land of the living. Which was perhaps exactly what had happened to him.
By all rights, he should have been dead. Why wasn't he? As he pressed closer to the waterfront, Rafe inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh sea air, feeling the strength surge through his limbs. It was a bloody miracle. He should have been wildly rejoicing. Part of him was, the other part felt unnerved.
Something very strange had happened to him on All Hallows' Eve.
How long ago had that been? One day? Two or three? His recollection on that score was extremely vague. He could not even remember how he'd fled the village of Torrecombe or managed to return to Falmouth and retrieve his hidden cache of money and clothes.
His loss of memory should have alarmed him. Yet when he'd awakened this morning at the Red Lion Inn, his chief concern had been the disheveled reflection that had peered back at him from the looking glass. Rafe had never been a particularly vain man, but he had maintained a standard of Spartan neatness about his physical appearance.
Summoning a barber, he had set about remedying the situation at once. At least now he felt almost human again, and better still...Rafe's hand flew to his throat, groping for the familiar chain that should have been there, but wasn't.
The crystal was gone. He had managed to rid himself of the cursed thing, although he was damned if he remembered how. Fragments of memory flashed through his mind of the isolated house by the edge of the sea, Val St. Leger catching him as he fell over the threshold, the doctor bending over him, the deadly gleam of the crystal.
And then nothing. He couldn't remember anything more until his return to Falmouth. Was it possible that with the transfer of the crystal, Dr. St. Leger had perished in his stead? Somehow Rafe didn't believe that, although if he wasn't dead, the doctor would very soon wish he was.
But perhaps the dark magic would not work on him as it had on Rafe. After all, the fragment had come from the St. Leger sword and Val was a St. Leger, an insufferably noble one at that. What was it his friend Lance had always teasingly called his solemn brother? _Saint_ Valentine.
Perhaps evil could never touch such a man. Rafe frowned at his own thoughts. It was as though he was actually hoping the crystal wouldn't harm Val, and that was absurd. He'd plotted this revenge for months. Val St. Leger had always been his enemy and he hated the man, didn't he?
Rafe rubbed his temple, trying to summon up the old rage, envy, and bitterness. But it was as though those dark emotions that had sustained him for years had simply vanished. Just like the crystal. It made him feel like a slate that had been wiped clean. The sensation was eerie, even frightening.
Rafe shrugged off his disturbing reflections, focusing his mind on the present. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun upon the water, he scanned the forest of masts silhouetted against the jewel blue sky until he sighted _The Venturer_ , the merchant ship on which he'd booked passage to the East Indies.
He didn't particularly care where he went as long as he could feel the roll of a ship beneath his feet again, hear the lash of the waves. The seductive lap of the water against the quay seemed to whisper of far-off places, freedom, and adventure, the kind of tug at his soul he had not experienced since he'd been a very young man.
There was nothing to hold him here any longer. Cornwall had never meant anything to him. The inhospitable shore had proved as much of a disaster to him as to all the Mortmains before him, including his own mother. A land of wrecked hopes and disappointed dreams.
This time when he set sail, he would do no looking back. But he was in no haste to embark. _The Venturer_ was not due to set sail until the evening's tide. He had time now. All the time in the world.
Strolling to a small inn near the waterfront, he bought himself a light repast of bread and cheese. He would have been wiser to remain in some cool dark corner of the inn until it was time to sail, but he was tired of lurking in shadows. Unable to resist the lure of the sun, he stepped back into the daylight, reveling in the nip of the sea breeze as it fanned his hair.
Ambling down the narrow cobblestone street, he devoured the bread and cheese, a little surprised at himself. He hadn't had much appetite these last months, but nothing had ever tasted so good to him as this simple meal.
He savored the coarse texture of the bread against his tongue, the mellow taste of the cheese as though it were some delicately seasoned French dish. He could never recall his senses being so keen, so attuned to every pleasure. So conscious of simply being alive.
When he'd finished the cheese, he paused by a barrel that some housewife had left out to collect rainwater. As he washed his hands, Rafe was startled by his own reflection shimmering in the water. After his visit to the barber, he'd had no desire to inspect his naked face, but he studied his image now.
When had he gotten so gray? His once rich black hair was now flecked with silver. Hardly surprising, he supposed, for a man past forty. He was getting older. Except he didn't look it. The removal of that heavy beard had left his face seeming younger, more vulnerable.
_"Mama! Mama, please don't leave me."_
The child's cry cut through Rafe like the cold blade of a knife. He jerked back from the barrel, half fearing he had imagined it, a nightmare echo from the mists of his own worst memories.
_"Mama, please!"_
When the cry sounded again, he whipped about, looking for the source of it. Only yards away, in front of one of those snug row houses that faced the waterfront, a woman in a brown shawl and bonnet was trying to pull away from a small thin boy.
The mother's distress and the boy's grief drew little attention from passersby in the street. Rafe scarce knew why he stopped to stare. He had long ago schooled himself in the art of indifference, especially to the plight of strangers.
Except they weren't strangers. Rafe's eyes narrowed. As unlikely as it seemed, he knew that unremarkable little brown wren of a woman and the fragile boy with the white-blond hair. He'd met them only recently, or had it been a lifetime ago?
In a barn on an old rundown farm just outside of Falmouth. He had a sudden clear image of Corinne Brewer looking up at him with soft, concerned eyes as he struggled to remain upright on that old gray gelding.
_"Godspeed, Mr. Moore."_
Aye, _Corinne Brewer._ That was who the woman was. That foolish trusting widow who'd let him sleep in her barn and sold him her only horse. The frail looking boy was her son. Chad? No, _Charley._
So what were they doing here in Falmouth, obviously faced with separation? Corinne had a small traveling bag clutched in her hand. Not that it was any of his concern. Rafe half turned to go when he became aware of the other woman.
She hovered in the doorway of the house, an older female somewhat better dressed than Corinne, her tall thin frame clad in black silk. Her peppery hair was swept back beneath her white cap in a style as severe as her face.
Corinne hunkered down by her weeping son, trying to dry his tears, but to little avail.
"D-don't go, Mama." The boy's voice broke on a sob. "P-please don't go."
Corinne brushed her fingers through the child's hair, murmuring something. From his position in the street, Rafe couldn't catch what she said, only the tone, sweet and soothing.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Corinne!" the older woman snapped. She swooped down from the doorway. "Let us have an end to this nonsense. Just give me the money and go."
Corinne straightened sorrowfully, Charley still clinging to the folds of her shawl. Corinne handed over what appeared to be a thin purse of coins. Rafe frowned. What the deuce was going on here?
Corinne bent to give her son a parting kiss, but the older woman appeared to have lost all patience. She seized hold of Charley, wrenching the boy from his mother's arms. Corinne's faint protest was lost in Charley's cry. He strained frantic arms toward his mother as he was hauled away from her.
"No! I want to stay with my mama."
Corinne pressed a trembling hand to her lips and Rafe felt himself tense. That black-clad harpy was dragging away her son. Why didn't Corinne do something? What was wrong with the woman?
"What's wrong with _you_ , Mortmain?" Rafe muttered. "This is none of your affair."
He was astonished he even had to remind himself of that fact. He should retreat, head back to the wharf, but he couldn't seem to do it, his gaze riveted. Corinne stared after her son, looking as if her heart was breaking.
But it was the boy's expression Rafe found unbearable as Charley was dragged toward the house. Scared, hurt, and abandoned. The boy's sobs tore at raw places in Rafe that he had thought long ago toughened over.
He felt a strange tightness in his chest and it was as though time itself spun and fell away from him. He was back in that cold street in Paris, small, frightened, and helpless. Brother Jerome's strong hands restrained him as Evelyn Mortmain's coach vanished into the night.
_"Maman! Maman!"_
_"You must let her go, mon fils."_
No! Something seemed to snap in Rafe. Before he even considered what he was about to do, he charged forward. Brushing past Corinne, he headed straight for the other woman and the struggling child.
"Release that boy. Now!"
His ringing command caused both women to freeze in astonishment. Even Charley ceased his frantic struggles to peer fearfully up at Rafe.
"What?" the older woman asked.
"I _said_ let him go."
She stared at him. Rafe discovered that her appearance didn't improve upon closer inspection. At one time, she might have been a handsome woman, but Rafe doubted it. Her eyes were cold, hard, and merciless, an expression Rafe knew well. It was far too like the one he saw in his own mirror.
Quickly recovering herself, the woman subjected Rafe to an icy glare. "Have you entirely run mad, sir?"
Very likely he had. That seemed the only possible explanation for this strange impulse. He certainly couldn't blame his behavior on the crystal. That was gone.
"Release the child," Rafe repeated. "Let him return to his mother."
"Of all the impertinent—" the woman spluttered. "Be gone, sir. Before I summon a constable."
Now there was a threat that should have brought him to his senses. If he still had any. But by this time Corinne had rushed forward to intervene.
She laid a hand on Rafe's sleeve. "Oh, please, sir. I thank you for your concern, but you don't understand. This lady isn't stealing my son or anything like that. She—"
"Good God, Corinne," the woman said scornfully. "There is hardly any need to explain your affairs to _him_. He's a complete stranger."
"No, he's not, " Charley quavered, wriggling free of the older woman's grasp. He scrambled for the safety of his mother's skirts, raising his tear-stained face to whisper to Corinne. "It is Mr. Moore, Mama."
Rafe started at the sound of the assumed name he had given the Brewers. With his appearance so altered, he had never thought the boy would recognize him. But then he hadn't thought much at all when he had come blundering into the middle of this situation.
He was already regretting it, especially when Corinne regarded him with wide, wondering eyes. "Mr. Moore?"
He was loathe to admit that he had been that filthy, unkempt creature who'd slept in her barn, but there seemed little point in trying to deny it. Rafe nodded curtly.
In spite of her distress, Corinne managed a shy smile. "I am glad to see you looking well, sir. You were so ill when you left our farm. I was worried about you."
She had worried about _him_? Rafe's brows arched in surprise and some discomfort. He had never given her a second thought.
"And who pray tell is this Mr. Moore?" the other woman demanded, her cold eyes darting suspiciously from Corinne to Rafe.
"He is the gentleman who bought our old gray gelding."
"He seems to take a rather tender interest in your affairs for such a casual acquaintance, Corinne."
"Which appears to be far more than you are doing," Rafe replied coolly. "Just who the deuce are you, madam?"
The woman gave an affronted gasp, but Corinne spoke up hastily. "This is my cousin, Mrs. Olivia Macauley. I have accepted a position as nursemaid to a merchant's family here in Falmouth. Naturally they will not allow me to have Charley with me. Olivia has consented to my son's living with her. I am sure she will be very kind to him."
"The devil she will. I've seen kinder faces on carrion crows."
Mrs. Macauley looked about to choke. "How—how dare you, sir!"
"And if this cousin of yours is so blasted _kind_ ," Rafe continued, "why did she take your money to look after the boy?" He gestured contemptuously toward the purse that Mrs. Macauley still clutched in her hand.
"Well, I—I could not expect—" Corinne faltered.
"Why not? She is clearly far better off than you."
Mrs. Macauley bristled. "I am not wealthy enough to offer charity to any indigent relative that comes a-begging! Small boys can prove to be very expensive."
"Not in my experience," Rafe said. "In fact, they must come rather cheap. They so often seem to be considered disposable."
Rafe immediately regretted his bitter words because it was Corinne who flinched and not the harpy.
Corinne hung her head. "I don't want to give up my son, Mr. Moore. I simply have no choice."
"Oh, enough, Corinne," Mrs. Macauley said sharply. "I don't have all day to stand here while you chat with this Moore person. Now, do you want me to take the boy or don't you?"
"Yes," Corinne whispered miserably.
"No," Rafe said.
Corinne's eyes flashed to his, clearly bewildered by his persistent intervention. Rafe couldn't blame her. He was damn confounded by it himself.
Mrs. Macauley folded her arms across her thin bosom, her pinched features settling into a dark scowl. "Now I begin to see how the matter stands, Corinne. Bad enough you made such a wretched marriage, eloping with that sailor. You have obviously found yourself another man, equally as low."
"N-no," Corinne stammered, a hint of pink stealing into her cheeks. "I assure you—Mr. Moore isn't—"
"Well, this time I completely wash my hands of you."
"Just as long as you wash your hands of her money as well," Rafe said, snatching Corinne's purse from the woman's grasp. He supposed he should try to set matters straight, point out the truth of his interference in Corinne's affairs. But damned if he knew what it was himself.
As if any explanation would help. The Macauley woman's mind was clearly as narrow as her small, mean eyes. She shot Rafe a killing glare, gave a mighty huff, then stormed into her house, slamming the door behind her.
Any satisfaction Rafe felt in routing the old harridan vanished the moment he saw Corinne's face. She looked pale enough to faint.
"Oh, Mr. Moore," she said. "What have you done to me?"
Rafe flinched from the stricken expression in her eyes.
"Nothing," he said gruffly. "Merely saved you from making a terrible mistake."
"But Olivia is my only relative, my only hope. Whom can I leave Charley with now?"
Rafe had no answer for that. He was distracted by a peculiar sensation, a small warm hand being slipped into his. He glanced down, astonished to find Charley pressed close to his side. He'd all but forgotten the boy and wondered how much he had understood of what had just taken place. Apparently enough to realize he wasn't being left with Mrs. Macauley.
The boy smiled up at Rafe as though Charley thought him some kind of blasted hero.
"How is Rufus, Mr. Moore?" the child asked, dashing away the last trace of tears from his freckled cheeks.
_Rufus?_ What in blazes was Charley talking about? Then Rafe remembered. That wretched horse. Unfortunately he could not recall what he'd done with the beast. Sold it off to some knacker most likely.
"Uh, Rufus is fine. He's in the stable at—at—" Rafe floundered. Disengaging himself from the child's hand, he all but thrust the boy at Corinne. "Here. Take your son."
"Take him where?" Corinne gave a laugh that bordered dangerously on the edge of hysteria.
"Well, er, back to your farm."
"We no longer have a farm! It went to my husband's creditors."
Rafe winced at his own stupidity. Of course, he should have realized that. Why else would Corinne be seeking employment?
"I had it all arranged," she went on. "Charley was to live with Olivia. Perhaps she is not the gentlest of women, but she has a fine house. The position I found pays remarkably well and I require very little. I could have sent money. Saved for Charley's education so he could attend a good school. Become a fine gentleman someday. Maybe even a doctor or a solicitor."
_"And you shall live in a castle, Raphael. Castle Leger, your birthright. I vow you shall have it after I have waded through the blood of those usurping St. Legers."_ The memory of his mother's fierce voice sliced through Rafe's mind.
He glowered at Corinne. "Do you think your boy cares about any of that? A fine house, a good school, all your blasted ambitions for him? Do you really believe any of that could make up to him for—"
Rafe checked his angry outburst, forced to remind himself this wasn't Evelyn Mortmain he was addressing. All he was doing was frightening Charley and pushing Corinne to the brink of tears.
He lowered his voice. "All your son wants is to be with you."
"W-where? In a workhouse or a d-debtor's prison?" Corinne sank down on the front stoop of the house and ducked her head, but not before Rafe saw the first tear track down her cheek. He sensed that she was not the sort of woman to weep before strangers or her young son. Her shoulders shook with her effort to contain it, a hoarse sob breaking past her control.
Rafe flinched at the sound and Charley looked absolutely horrified. He flung himself at Corinne, wrapping his thin arms about her neck.
"Don't cry, Mama. Everything will be all right. I'll take care of you. I can work real hard."
The boy's words only made Corinne cry harder and soon Charley was weeping again as well. Tunneling into his mother's arms, he buried his face against her shoulder.
Rafe took a hasty step back, thoroughly discomfited. He had never known what to do with a weeping woman except to coldly order her out of the room until she managed to compose herself.
But he clearly was the one who should go. He had done more than enough damage already with his misplaced interference. He couldn't imagine what the blazes had come over him. Since when had Rafe Mortmain ever constituted himself the champion of the small and helpless?
He'd always left that sort of noble folly to heroic idiots like Val St. Leger. Aye, this was exactly the sort of situation Saint Valentine would have gotten involved in, only he wouldn't have made such a mess of it. St. Leger was the sort of man who would even try to help his worst enemy.
Rafe's breath stilled at an unexpected flash of memory. He was collapsed on the floor at Slate House in terrible agony. Dr. St. Leger bent over him. Doing what?
Rafe frowned hard, remembering Val's hand closing over his, then a glowing warmth. Rafe had always heard tell the St. Legers possessed strange powers, Val's being an unusual gift for healing. It was almost as if Val had somehow drained him of the anger and bitterness that had long been Rafe's shield. His armor against such things as sad-eyed widows and weeping children.
"Damn you, St. Leger," he muttered. "What the devil did you do to me?"
Shaken by the memory, Rafe felt an urgent need to put as much distance as possible between himself and Corinne and her son. He backed away, mumbling an apology, but Corinne was so lost in her own misery, Rafe doubted she even heard him.
He all but bolted for the street, to the spot where he had dropped his portmanteau when this bout of madness had first overtaken him. He was damned lucky the bag was still there. Scooping it up, Rafe stalked away as fast as he could. Back to the harbor, to the sea and sanity.
Corinne and her son would be fine. She would bring them both about somehow. Perhaps she could even knock at Mrs. Macauley's door and beg that old trout to relent, take Charley in after all, although Rafe felt sickened at the prospect. But it didn't matter. There was nothing more he could do.
Rafe walked faster. He might have been all right if he hadn't felt compelled to pause and look back. Just one quick glance toward Corinne and her son.
Damnation. They were just sitting there on that blasted cousin's doorstep, looking like two castaways cut adrift in a cold, uncaring world. If only Rafe didn't know exactly how cruel that world could be.
His footsteps faltered. He cast a desperate glance at the harbor, all those ships at anchor, the beckoning masts, and the open sea. The only kind of peace and freedom he'd ever known or understood.
He couldn't possibly think of surrendering that, risking his very neck to stay here in Falmouth, to go back and help that woman and her child. Rafe Mortmain had never been that big of a fool.
He took another hesitant step, then came to a complete halt.
"Oh, bloody hell," he groaned. He must truly be mad. Or else possessed by some infernal St. Leger magic.
He gave one last longing look toward the distant ships, then came slowly about. Gripping his valise, he trudged back to where Corinne and the boy sat huddled together.
"Stop crying," Rafe said in that brisk tone he'd always used when rapping out orders on the deck of a ship. "All this caterwauling is not going to help anything."
Corinne seemed to have come to that conclusion herself. She lifted her head, obviously much surprised by Rafe's return. One arm draped about Charley, she used the end of her shawl in an effort to dry her eyes.
Why did weeping women never seem to have handkerchiefs? Pulling a disgruntled face, Rafe fished out his own and handed it to her. Corinne hastily applied the white linen to her own eyes and then her son's.
Rafe picked up her traveling bag with his free hand. "All right. Let's go."
"G-go?" Corinne faltered.
"Aye, you can hardly sit about here forever on the old bit—" With a glance at the boy, Rafe quickly amended his choice of words. "You can't stay on your cousin's doorstep."
He turned back toward the street, not even waiting to see if she would follow. But he soon heard her coming after him, leading the boy by the hand.
"Mr. Moore, please wait. I don't quite understand what you are doing."
"How astonishing. Neither do I."
"But where are you taking us?"
"Damned if I know."
"And Charley's things. They are still back at Olivia's house."
"We'll send for them."
"And I was supposed to report to Mr. Robbin's house today to take up my duties."
"Forget about that. It was never a good idea, leaving your son to go care for someone else's grubby brats. We will have to think of something else for you to do."
"Something like what?"
"I don't know. Stop asking me so many irritating questions." Rafe halted long enough to glare at her in frustration. He noticed that she was barely able to keep up. It was because of the boy.
Charley dragged his feet, beginning to look worn down by all this excess of emotion and upheaval. Rafe understood exactly how the boy felt. He stared at him for a long moment. He had never attempted to pick up a child before, had never felt the least impulse to do so.
After a brief hesitation, he balanced both valises with one arm and awkwardly lifted Charley with the other. He was astonished by how light the child was, even more astonished when Charley melted against him. He wrapped his arms about Rafe, burrowing his face against Rafe's neck. So warm and completely trusting.
Rafe experienced an odd stirring of emotion, all the more disconcerting when he realized Corinne was staring at him.
"Mr. Moore," she said. "You must allow me to ask you at least one more question." She regarded him gravely. The woman was no beauty by any means, but her eyes were not entirely unremarkable. Clear, honest, and genuine. They were quite her finest feature. Rafe grimaced. Which was a damned odd thought for him to be having at such a moment.
He sighed. "What the deuce else do you want to ask me?"
"It is extraordinarily kind of you to want to help Charley and me. But I don't understand why you are doing it. Why did you feel compelled to intervene in the first place?"
_Why?_ How the devil should he know? Rafe rolled his eyes in exasperation, but Corinne stood waiting, requiring an answer.
"Well, because—because—Damn it." He took a deep breath. "Because a boy should never be abandoned by his mother. No matter what the reason!"
Rafe was immediately appalled. It was the last thing in the world he'd meant to blurt out. With those few simple words, he felt as though he'd revealed more of himself to Corinne Brewer than he ever had to anyone in the entire course of his life.
Her eyes widened with sudden understanding, then softened with compassion. She reached out her hand to him, but after all the other unsettling experiences Rafe had recently endured, that gentle touch promised to be one thing too much.
He turned his back on her and strode off down the street with Charley in his arms, leaving Corinne no choice but to follow.
_C HAPTER NINE_
* * *
_V_ AL CLIMBED SLOWLY out of the curricle, leaning hard on his cane to steady himself. One of the Castle Leger grooms hurried forward to take charge of his winded horse. Poor Vulcan was not accustomed to being hitched in the traces, but this morning Val had felt unable to ride even his steady old mount.
It was a most painful contrast to yesterday when he had thundered along the beach on the back of that glorious stallion. But Val didn't suppose he would ever be riding Storm again.
Miracle over. Magic ended. He had brought himself to accept that during the long desperate hours last night. But the most difficult part still remained...telling Kate. He blamed himself bitterly for all that he had allowed to happen yesterday, all those long passionate kisses, those fiercely whispered words of love. Now he was going to have to break her heart all over again.
_But why? You know it doesn't have to be that way. You know how easily all the magic can be restored. Just put the crystal back on._
The voice seemed to whisper so softly and persuasively in his head. Val felt his fingers creeping toward the buttons of his greatcoat. The crystal rested snug in the small pouch, tucked deep in his waistcoat pocket where his watch should have been. It would be so easy to—
No. Val drew his hand back, resisting the lure of the fragment as he'd been forced to do all last night. It was a little easier in the cold, misty light of morning, but not much. Val didn't begin to understand the peculiar properties of that small fragment of glittering stone, only its effect on him. Mesmerizing, seductive, in some odd way as addictive as opium. The sooner he handed the crystal over to his brother, to be placed in the St. Leger coffers, the better it would be.
Val limped toward the new wing of house, but it was the older portion of the castle that seemed to shadow his every step, the ancient stone keep with its battlements and high towers. His heart had always swelled at the sight of it before, Castle Leger, his birthplace, his home. Over five centuries of tradition and legend.
But this morning he felt overwhelmed, almost crushed by his heritage. He hastened his steps as best he was able, heading up the worn path that led through the gardens. He was not the only one up and stirring this early. They kept country hours at Castle Leger and Val spied his mother already hard at work among the flower beds.
Madeline St. Leger had never been the sort of fashionable lady to languish upon a settee while her servants took care of everything. His mother had often reminded Val more of a medieval chatelaine, busily attending to all the domestic arrangements of her lord's castle, but most particularly her well-loved garden.
She was bundled up in the sensible worn blue coat she reserved for her gardening on chilly days, a simple straw hat tied in place over her head with a scarf. Her hair had once been so fiery red, she'd been known as the lady of flame, but the color had softened with the passing years to a regal shade of silver.
Yet Madeline St. Leger was one of those women whose serene beauty could never fade, her eyes as brilliantly clear and green as they had ever been. Her face lit up with joy as Val approached and she straightened to greet him.
"Valentine!"
Though it cost him a sharp twinge in his knee, Val forced his leg into an elegant bow. It was a courtly ritual observed since the days of his boyhood, when he and his brother had played at being Round Table knights and his mother had been his only lady, the queen of Castle Leger.
"Good morrow, Your Highness," he murmured.
"Good morrow, Sir Galahad." Madeline St. Leger dipped into a playful curtsy. But when Val reached for her hand to carry it respectfully to his lips, his mother snatched her fingers away, scrubbing them against her old coat.
"Oh, no, my dear, you don't want to be doing that. As you can see, I have been busy grubbing in the dirt, as your father calls it."
She stretched up on tiptoe to deposit a kiss on his cheek instead. Although she continued to smile, she studied his face and Val shifted, uncomfortable. His father was the true St. Leger, the one possessed of supernatural gifts of perception, but it was his mother's gentle probing gaze Val often feared, her eyes that saw too much he wished to conceal. He knew she had to be observing the signs of his sleepless night, perhaps even more. All the ragged edges left by whatever had happened to him on All Hallows' Eve, the frayed ends of memory that he still did not seem able to knit back together.
He avoided her gaze by bending down to retrieve her basket for her. And sucked in his breath at the sharp stab of pain. Damnation, his leg had gotten worse. Or did it only seem that way after yesterday, that all too brief taste of freedom?
Gritting his teeth, he handed his mother her basket. If she noticed anything amiss, she was wise enough not to comment on it.
"It is so good to see you, Valentine," she said. "Your father was complaining only the other day that you do not come home often enough now that you have moved so far away."
Val sighed. He was tired. He was hurting. That made it difficult to respond with his customary patience. "So far away, Mama? I have moved only to the other end of the village."
"But you know how your father is, my dear."
"Aye, I verily believe if he could have, Father would have kept his entire family at Castle Leger forever with the door nailed shut while he guarded us like a fierce old dragon."
His mother chuckled. "I never thought of your father that way. But I suppose he is very dragonlike."
"No doubt that is why he has gone north. To roar and breathe fire at poor Marius until he agrees to return to the safe folds of Torrecombe."
"I fear so. Your father and Marius have always been more like brothers than cousins. I daresay Marius will be glad to see your papa even if he does roar a trifle." His mother smiled, but her eyes were rather wistful. "It is quite absurd, I know. Your papa has been gone only one day and the man frequently drives me to distraction. Yet I do miss my dragon most terribly whenever he is gone."
Of course she did, Val thought. Even after thirty-three years of marriage, Anatole and Madeline St. Leger remained devoted to each other, as passionately in love as ever, the embodiment of the St. Leger legend. No, they _were_ the legend, matched through the offices of that wisest of Bride Finders, Septimus Fitzleger, Effie's grandfather.
Two hearts brought together in a moment, two souls united for an eternity. Just like Val's brother, Lance, and his bride, Rosalind. His cousin Caleb and his wife. All his sisters and their husbands and a score of other St. Legers.
_Aye, all of them so happy, so content. And where is your share of this lovely fairy tale? Do you think any of them even notice how lonely and miserable you are? You might as well be invisible to your own family._
The reflection was bitter, disturbing, and Val rubbed his hand wearily across his eyes, fighting against it.
"Valentine?"
He lowered his hand to discover his mother peering up at him, for once unable to hide her concern. "My dearest, I keep getting this odd feeling. Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing," Val said. Too quickly, he realized. He forced a smile to his lips. "I am merely a little tired this morning. Not quite myself."
_What a lie that is. The problem is you are far too much yourself. Too patient, too resigned, too crippled. By both your blasted leg and that cursed legend._
The thought was so dark with anger, Val was shaken. It was almost as though he could feel the crystal pulse through his pocket, piercing him with suppressed rage. He had to get rid of that cursed thing. _Now._
"Mama, is Lance anywhere about this morning?"
"Why, yes. I believe he is in the study."
"Good. I have something particular I need to speak to him about." Val bent stiffly to brush a kiss against his mother's brow. Then he stumped quickly away before she could ask any of the anxious questions he saw clouding her eyes.
Madeline watched Val's retreat, feeling deeply troubled. A mother was not supposed to have favorites and she adored all her children, her roguish son Lance, her three very different daughters.
But she had always reserved a special corner of her heart for this quiet son of hers, her Valentine, who from his earliest years had shared her passion for books, her love of learning. She'd watched him grow from a sweet-tempered boy to a man remarkable for his gentle strength and courage, his boundless compassion.
She and Val had always been so close. This was the first time he'd ever lied to her, Madeline thought with dismay. No matter how he sought to deny it, she knew there was something very wrong with her son.
Val handed off his greatcoat to one of the footmen and made his own way toward the familiar study at the back of the house. Gripping the handle of his cane, he moved with even greater difficulty, the mere effort of getting down the hall exhausting him.
It was as though the crystal grew heavier with every step he took, the closer he came to surrendering it. How ridiculous, Val thought. He was surely starting to let his wearied imagination get the better of him. It was only a stone, a tiny fragment of stone.
All the same, he felt obliged to rest a moment, leaning against the study door. His knock was feeble at best, and when he received no response, he simply turned the knob and eased it open.
The study was a darkly masculine chamber paneled with sturdy English oak, the walls lined with hunting prints. Lance sat hunched over the desk at the far end of the room. Stripped down to his waistcoat, shirtsleeves thrust up out of the way, he looked slightly harried this morning. Perhaps because he was laboring over a letter, never one of his favorite tasks. He'd always preferred conducting estate business from the back of a horse.
He was so absorbed by his work, he didn't even glance up, affording Val a rare opportunity to study his brother. Lance rarely stayed put in any one place that long, even to have his portrait painted.
He'd once been a wild rogue, a restless soldier, a notorious rakehell, although marriage and fatherhood had done a great deal to tame him. The smile that had devastated so many women was entirely reserved these days for Lance's much adored wife, Rosalind.
But other than that, Val could only marvel at how little Lance seemed to have changed. Val might be feeling every one of his thirty-two years and then some, but Lance appeared as young and vigorous as ever. The pale light streaming through the long windows outlined his broad shoulders, the muscular strength of his bared forearms.
It made it difficult for Val to remember they were twins. Although not identical, they shared the same dark hair, dark eyes, and the infamous St. Leger hawk's nose. Lance was the elder of the two, born near midnight on the thirteenth of a cold dark February while Val had made his appearance during the early hours of the next day, trailing after his lusty brother even then.
Had he ever been anything more than a pale copy of Lance St. Leger? Val wondered. His brother was the very picture of a hale and hearty man in his prime, which was what Val should have been, too. If things had been different...
Val fingered the outline of the crystal hidden beneath his waistcoat.
_If Lance hadn't been so reckless that day in Spain, so careless of his own life, you would never have had to use your power to save him. He's the one who should have ended up lame, not you._
But Lance had never asked for such a sacrifice from him, hadn't wanted it. It had been Val's own choice and he'd never regretted it, would do it all again in a heartbeat, anything for the brother he'd always loved and admired...wouldn't he?
Disturbed that he could even question such a thing, Val rapped again on the open study door, a little harder this time.
"Lance?"
His brother looked up at last, a broad grin creasing his handsome features.
"Val! This is an agreeable surprise."
"Is it?" Val murmured, and flinched as Lance leapt up and bounded across the room. He wrung Val's fingers in a hearty handshake, followed by a brisk clap to the shoulder.
He was fond of his brother, Val told himself, damned fond. But there were days when Lance's exuberance exhausted him, made him all the more aware of his own affliction. Days like this one.
"You are the very man I've been needing to talk—" Lance broke off, frowning as his gaze raked over Val. Never as tactful as their mother, he blurted out, "Damnation, Val. What have you been doing with yourself? You look like the very devil."
"Thank you," Val muttered. "It's good to see you, too."
He eased away from his brother, hobbling toward the nearest chair, a stiff upright wingback. Suppressing a grimace of pain, he lowered himself onto the cushion.
Lance trailed after him. "Blast it all, Val. You've been up again all night, tending to patients, haven't you? No doubt using your power—"
"No, I bloody well haven't." Val cut him off before he could launch into the familiar lecture Val too often received from members of his family, even from Kate. He was tired of it.
No one knew better than he how dangerous the excessive use of his power could be. But he had not used his unusual St. Leger gift since—since—
Like a flash of lightning, the memory cut through his mind. Rafe Mortmain's desperate eyes, the man's fingers crushed around his.
And like a flash of lightning, it was gone.
"I was not attending any patients. I merely..."
_I was merely in pure torment last night, fighting off the urge to seduce my dearest friend._
Now there was a confession that would astound his brother and the entire village, Val thought wryly. Their noble doctor, their Saint Valentine lusting after a woman.
"I merely had one of my bad nights," he finished. Usually Val made a great effort to conceal any painful episodes from his family, especially Lance. Lance had experienced enough guilt over the injury to Val's knee and that was the last thing Val had ever wanted.
But he was feeling too raw, too exhausted this morning to spare his brother's feelings. Lance perched on the corner of the desk, peering down at him with a worried frown.
"I have been hearing some unusual reports about you, _Saint_ Valentine."
"Oh?" Val forced himself to smile, to respond in the manner they'd always adopted from the time they were boys, teasing and tormenting each other over their unusual names.
"And just what have you heard, _Sir_ Lancelot?"
"Caleb told me you bought his white stallion."
"Aye, so I did. What of it?"
"What of it? Val, that horse is pure demon."
"And you don't think I can handle him."
"Well, it's not that exactly," Lance hedged.
But that was precisely what it was, Val thought, feeling the more irritated because he knew his brother was right. He couldn't handle the stallion, not in his present state.
"You don't have to worry," he said. "I have quite come to my senses and mean to be rid of the brute. Would you care to take him off my hands?"
Val was surprised at how grudgingly he made the offer. In fact, he almost choked on it.
_Because Lance already had everything. He was oldest son, heir to Castle Leger, married to a beautiful woman, father to a handsome little boy. He didn't need that incredible horse as well. Val's horse..._
Val pressed his hand over the region of his waistcoat pocket. It was almost as though he could feel the crystal pulse beneath his hand, and he sought to crush the dark sensation. He'd never envied Lance before, never allowed himself to do so. All the same, he felt relieved when Lance rejected his offer.
"You probably should just return the stallion to Caleb," he said, "I have more than enough horses and my lady would not welcome such a wild addition to my stables. Rosalind strongly objects to me risking my neck, especially now when we've had such good tidings."
When Val regarded his brother questioningly, a smile spread across Lance's face, a tender light springing to his eyes.
"Rosalind is increasing again."
"Oh. Congratulations." Val was dismayed that he couldn't manage to infuse more warmth into his voice. He was genuinely pleased for both Rosalind and his brother and yet...
He supposed he would be obliged to attend her as he had done at the birth of young Jack, absorb Rosalind's pain. When her labor was done, Val would feel battered, exhausted, but Lance would proudly lift his new offspring into his arms.
The son or daughter Val would never know, the joy he would never feel. As Lance and Rosalind gazed adoringly at each other and their babe, he would just limp from the room, forgotten.
The stab of resentment came sharper this time, harder to quell. Val ground his fingertips against his eyes. He needed to hand the crystal over to his brother and get the devil out of here.
Reluctantly he eased the pouch from his pocket. He managed to spill the chain into the palm of his hand, quickly closing his fingers to avoid looking at the crystal. Even doing that much required great effort from him. He actually felt beads of perspiration gather on his brow.
Surrendering the stone to Lance was more difficult than he'd ever imagined. How could he hand over the long-missing crystal without offering awkward explanations, without bringing up the name that had ever created friction between him and his brother?
Rafe Mortmain. The man Lance no doubt still persisted in regarding as a friend. The man Val had always recognized as an enemy. What good would it do to stir up all that old hostility when Val couldn't even recall what had happened on All Hallows' Eve?
Perhaps if he waited until he could more clearly remember—
And perhaps he was only manufacturing an excuse to hang on to this damnable stone a little longer.
Val took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Lance, there is something urgent I have to tell you, something I have to give..."
But to his intense frustration, he realized his brother wasn't even listening. Lance had leapt up, settling briskly behind the desk once more, reaching for his unfinished letter.
"There is another reason I am glad you called today, something else I have to discuss with you."
"That's fine, Lance, but first, if you will allow me a moment—"
"Victor has already been here to call upon me this morning."
Val expelled an impatient sigh. Giving up the crystal was already hard enough and Lance certainly wasn't making it any easier. He didn't have the slightest interest in Victor St. Leger, but he knew how single-minded Lance could be.
"So what did the boy want?" Val asked wearily.
"You're not going to believe this. He wants to marry Kate."
"What!" Val stared at his brother, certain he could not have heard him right. "You have to be jesting."
"I wish I was."
"But he's supposed to marry Mollie Grey. She is his chosen bride."
"Something that Victor has apparently forgotten, but it is not entirely surprising. Mollie is a sweet but rather plain girl. And in case you haven't noticed, our little hoyden Kate has grown to be an astonishingly beautiful young woman."
Oh, aye, he'd noticed all right, Val thought grimly. That was both his joy and his torment.
"Victor was here on the doorstep at the crack of dawn," Lance continued with a grimace. "Literally throwing down the gauntlet. He came to inform me as head of the family in Father's absence that as far as Victor is concerned, the legend can be damned. He is completely besotted with Kate and will have no other woman but her."
Val sagged back against the chair, his mind reeling at Lance's words. Under other circumstances, he might have admired Victor's foolhardy courage. The lad was certainly showing more spirit than he had ever done, Val reflected bitterly. But this was Kate that the stupid boy was talking about. _His_ Kate.
Val clutched the crystal hidden in his fist, overcome by a savage stirring of jealousy, the like of which he had never known. He drew in a deep breath, struggling to fight against it, to remind himself that Kate wasn't his. She didn't belong to him and she never could.
But for damn sure she didn't belong to Victor either. Although Val didn't know what he was so worried about. He forced himself to relax, saying with a shrug, "It hardly matters whether Victor fancies himself in love with Kate or not. She'll send him packing fast enough."
He expected Lance to agree heartily with him. When his brother merely looked grave, Val exclaimed, "Good God, Lance. You cannot possibly imagine that Kate would ever encourage that conceited puppy?"
Lance frowned. "Frankly, I don't know."
"But Kate despises Victor. She always used to threaten that she would march him onto one of his grandfather's ships one day and force him to walk the plank."
"And Kate also used to say she was going to marry you. Fortunately she appears to have outgrown both foolish notions."
A foolish notion? That Kate would ever want to marry Val, would ever love him that much? And yet Lance didn't seem to have much trouble imagining that Kate could fall for that young dolt Victor.
Val swallowed hard, barely managing to suppress his bitter thoughts as Lance continued, "Victor is very handsome and quite charming with the ladies. He has already made an alarming number of conquests among the village lasses."
"But not Kate. Never Kate," Val said fiercely.
"I hope you are right." Lance reached for the quill to finish his letter. "In the meantime, it seems prudent to send Kate away, out of the path of temptation."
"Temptation? What temptation?" Val began contemptuously only to check himself as the full import of Lance's words sank in.
"Send Kate away? Where?"
He waited with strained patience while Lance inked out another line on his letter before answering. "To London. You know Effie has always wanted to take Kate there. She has a cousin in Mayfair who she hopes can introduce the girl into society."
"That's only Effie's damn fool notion. Kate has never wanted a London season, and it is not as if Effie could even afford such a thing."
"She can't. That is why I am writing this letter of credit. To place the funds at her disposal."
Val stared at his brother. Lance could not possibly be serious. Ignoring the sharp protest from his knee, Val shoved to his feet. Bending over the desk, he watched anxiously as his brother scrawled his signature across the bottom of a very official-looking letter. A letter that threatened to sweep Kate out of his life forever.
"Damn it, Lance," he said. "You can't do that. You can't help Effie to take Kate away from—from—"
_From me,_ Val nearly blurted out.
He gripped his cane, striving to contain himself. "From Torrecombe. Kate would be miserable in London. You don't know how she feels about that place, what it was like for her there."
"No one is talking about returning the girl to the foundling home. She'd be lodged in the finest part of town, attend balls, dinners, the theatre."
"As if Kate would care for any of those things. All she would feel is exiled, driven out of her own home, cast aside as though she was unwanted again. And all because some damn fool boy fancies himself in love with her."
Lance glanced up, his brows arching in mild surprise at the vehemence of Val's protest. Val lowered his eyes, unable to meet Lance's gaze, feeling a little ashamed as he realized it wasn't Kate's welfare he was considering at all, but his own.
He couldn't bear to lose her...even though he had no right to keep her either.
Lance regarded Val gravely. "It is not merely because of Victor that the girl should go. There is Kate's own future to be considered as well. There is little for her here in Torrecombe. London would be the best place for her to make a good marriage, which is something you yourself have always wanted for her, isn't it?"
"Of course," Val mumbled. Aye, back when he had been a noble and self-sacrificing idiot. Before yesterday when he'd known what it was like to hold Kate in his arms, feel her sweet breath mingle with his as he'd claimed her lips in kiss after kiss.
Ignoring the pain to his leg, he paced off several agitated steps, clutching the crystal so hard, the fragment bit into his palm. He'd had to give up everything else that had ever mattered to him in his life. But damn it, he wasn't giving up Kate. He loved her and—and—No! It was only the crystal clouding his mind, confusing him.
He forced his hand to relax so the shard stopped pressing against his flesh. But it made little difference. It was as though the crystal had already done its work, breaking down his defenses, cracking the shield that he'd placed around his heart to keep him from ever facing the truth. That he wanted Kate, needed her, and loved her beyond all reason, beyond fear of any curse or legend.
It was all he could do not to reach down and snatch the letter from his brother, shred it to bits, fling the pieces into Lance's face.
The urge was so intense he had to turn away until he regained command of himself. Putting the distance of the room between them, Val limped over to the fireplace. He leaned up against the mantel for support, fretting the crystal between his fingers.
He was only dimly aware when a knock sounded at the door, a footman arriving with a message for Lance. When the servant departed, Lance stood up, rolling down his sleeves and shrugging into the frock coat he'd left draped over a chair.
"I am sorry, Val. I forgot that I promised Father's steward that I would ride out with him this morning to look at some storm damage done to the tenants' cottages."
Val tensed, not trusting himself to look around as Lance came up to stand behind him.
"Look, old fellow," he said. "Don't worry about our little Kate. I am sure Victor will come to his senses soon enough and Kate will do just fine in London. But there is one thing you could do to help."
"And what is that?"
"You could talk to Kate yourself. Persuade her that it would be in her best interest to go. She always listens to you."
Val stiffened, completely incredulous. Bad enough that Lance proposed to send away the only woman Val had ever cared about, the only one he would ever love. But on top of all that, Lance actually expected Val to help him do it. Lance with his perfect marriage, perfect love, perfect life.
In that moment Val almost felt like he hated his brother, but he gritted his teeth and nodded. "I'll do what I can."
"Good man." Lance patted his shoulder.
Val clenched the crystal, barely able to stop himself from whirling around and smashing his fist into his brother's face. He felt relieved when he heard Lance retreat, only wanting him to be gone.
But Lance hesitated on the threshold. "Oh, lord, Val. I am sorry. I almost forgot to ask. Was there something particular you wanted to see me about?"
Val nearly choked on a bitter laugh. Wasn't that just like his brother? To finally pluck his head out of his own blasted affairs long enough to notice that Val might need something. And always when it was too damned late.
Because...Val suddenly realized, staring down at his tightly clenched fist...he could no more have surrendered that crystal now than he could have cut off his own arm.
"No, there's nothing," he said hoarsely.
He waited until the door closed behind his brother, until he was quite certain Lance had gone, before he unfurled his trembling fingers and allowed himself to look at the crystal.
The shard sparkled against his palm, its mesmerizing beauty seeming to pierce his very soul, refracting images deep in his mind. Terrifying images of Kate mounting into a carriage, vanishing down the road, not even pausing to say good-bye.
Or worse still, Kate melting into Victor's arms.
No, she would never do that, Val told himself fiercely. She loved him. She always had. Only yesterday she had clung to him, scarce able to get enough of his kisses. She would have allowed him to make love to her right there on the library settee.
Yesterday he had been very much Victor's equal and more. Young, strong, vigorous. Today he was hunched over his cane again, more pathetic than ever. But he had the power to change all that resting right here in his own hand.
Val caressed the crystal fragment, wondering why he continued to resist its magic. True, it had a strange effect on him, but it waxed worse only at night. Why shouldn't he wear the thing, take advantage of the relief it would offer, at least during the day?
He dangled the chain, the crystal twisting, turning, and glittering before his eyes. In that instant, he experienced a flicker of sanity, a realization that if he ever put the thing on again, he wouldn't be able to take it off. That he would prove a danger not only to Kate, but also to everyone else around him.
And yet if he didn't use the crystal, he was going to lose Kate. Forever.
The crystal flashed, dazzling his eyes, and the brief glimmer of sanity faded and was gone.
Val eased the chain over his head, thrusting the crystal beneath his shirt until the fragment rested over the region of his heart. Ice hot. The crystal froze. It burned. Like lightning, striking off a shower of sparks.
Val gasped, doubling over at the sudden force that rushed through him, nearly bringing him to his knees. He clutched at both his cane and the mantel for support, his vision blurring.
The entire room seemed to spin around him and he closed his eyes, feeling as though he was about to faint. And then just as suddenly it all stopped. Expelling an unsteady breath, he opened his eyes. And straightened, feeling the unearthly surge of power beating through his veins, his leg once more strong and sturdy beneath him.
Val glared at the useless cane clutched in his hand. With slow deliberation he raised it then cracked it against the stone of the fireplace. Again and again, taking a vicious satisfaction when the cane finally splintered in two.
He flung the pieces to the carpet, then whirled about, storming over to the desk. He snatched up the letter Lance had written and rent that apart as well.
No one was taking Kate away from him, he vowed. Not Effie or his brother. And as for this so-called rival of his...Val's lips snaked back in a savage smile.
He would deal with Victor himself. One way or another.
_C HAPTER TEN_
* * *
_B_ UNDLED IN HER CLOAK, Kate slipped out the kitchen door of Rosebriar Cottage. With a wary glance back at the house, she scurried through the garden. Unlike the lovely wilderness of blossoms at Castle Leger, the much smaller gardens at Rosebriar were confined behind a high stone wall and consisted of tidy flower beds bordered by neat walkways and a small pond stocked with bright-colored carp.
It offered few opportunities for concealment other than the ancient apple tree and the summerhouse at the back of the property. Kate slunk behind the tree. With another nervous glance behind her, she produced the object she had kept hidden beneath her cloak.
Yet another floral offering from that lunatic Victor. Kate grimaced at the bouquet, then hurled it with all her might over the stone wall. She was gratified to hear the light tap of hooves, followed by a bleat.
What a blessing it was that their nearest neighbor, the Widow Thomas, kept a goat that would eat anything. But all the same, Kate thought with a deep sigh, she could not keep this up much longer.
Victor appeared to have made a remarkable recovery from her rejection of him yesterday and he had been driving her to distraction ever since, deluging her with embarrassing love letters, bad poetry, and flowers left deposited on her doorstep. Kate had managed to burn the letters and poems before anyone saw them. The flowers she had been tossing over the fence. But if she didn't find a way to discourage Victor soon, the entire village would become aware of his pursuit of her.
Kate found it a bitter irony that the man she didn't want couldn't seem to leave her alone while the one she did appeared to be successfully resisting her magic. Val had not kept his promise. He had not come anywhere near her either last evening or this morning. But until she found someway to—to unbewitch Victor, perhaps it was just as well.
But how the devil was she going to do that without the book? Kate wondered, stepping out from behind the tree. She had spent most of last night searching to no avail, her alarm waxing stronger by the minute. She had experienced that book's terrible power firsthand. It was far too dangerous to be left floating around where it might fall into the wrong hands.
Maybe it already had.
Kate went cold at the thought, but she soothed herself with the reminder that the book would be useless unless one knew how to decipher ancient Egyptian. And even if a thief was that clever and realized she possessed such a wondrous book, no outsider could have slipped in and out of her bedchamber undetected in broad daylight.
Nor could she believe that anyone in the household would have taken it. The retainers at Rosebriar were all innately honest. Kate had closely questioned all the servants, but none of them had seen the book she described, let alone touched it. As for Effie, Kate hadn't bothered asking her. The only books Effie ever noticed were the ones containing plates of the latest fashions.
But if the book hadn't been stolen, moved, or borrowed, what did that leave? It couldn't have just sprouted legs and walked away, could it? Considering that it was a magic book, perhaps it could.
Kate almost wished she could believe that. It would be so much better than the prospect that faced her. If she couldn't find the book, she felt obliged to seek out Prospero and tell him the truth. Not only had she stolen his spell book, she had lost it as well.
What would the outraged sorcerer do to her? Suspend her headfirst over the moat, chain her up in the oubliette, turn her into a toad? Maybe that would be a blessing considering the shambles that she had made of everything, casting a love spell on not one but two men.
She trudged back toward the house, head bent low, peering behind every rosebush, hoping that she might have just dropped the book, that it would somehow miraculously reappear.
Absorbed by her search, she paid no heed to the low thud of something dropping to the ground, the rush of footsteps behind her, until two hands circled her from behind, covering her eyes. She gave a startled gasp.
"Guess who?" a masculine voice murmured in her ear.
She didn't have to guess.
"Victor!" Kate said through clenched teeth. Recovering from the fright he'd given her, she struck his hands away, whirling angrily about to face him. "What the blazes are you doing here?"
Victor's high-crowned beaver hat had nearly tumbled off in his climb over the wall. It sat at a crooked angle over his brow. He swept the hat off the rest of the way, flourishing it in a magnificent bow.
"I have come to prostrate myself at your feet again, my princess," he announced grandly.
Kate's anxious gaze trained back on the house, fearing at any moment one of the servants or even Effie herself might walk out into the garden.
She seized Victor by one of the multiple capes on his driving cape and dragged him in the direction of the summerhouse. The folly was constructed after the fashion of a Grecian temple and was more open than Kate would have desired. But at least the mock pillars offered some concealment.
Unfortunately, Victor drew entirely the wrong inference from her actions.
"Kate," he said huskily, stealing his arms about her waist, his lips straining toward hers.
With a frustrated growl, Kate gave him a mighty shove, sending him staggering back. "If you ever try to kiss me again, I swear I'll—"
"But, my dearest Kate—"
"I am not your dearest Kate, so you just keep your distance. For mercy's sake, don't you realize that my guardian sometimes uses the sitting room at the back of the house? She could look out the window at any moment and see us."
Victor sighed, but gave up his efforts to embrace her. He tossed his hat down on a stone bench, then leaned back against one of the pillars, folding his arms.
"I appreciate your scruples, my love. But I daresay Effie will know all about us very soon anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"Only that I have already been to call upon Lance St. Leger this morning and I told him that I intend to marry you."
"You what!"
"I thought it for the best to declare my intentions at once and quite openly."
"You bloody idiot!" she snarled, advancing on him. Victor abandoned his nonchalant pose, retreating a few steps.
"But, my love, after what you said to me yesterday about my cousin Anatole, I could not have you thinking that I am a coward, that I am afraid to inform my own family of my adoration for you."
"It's _me_ you should be afraid of," Kate said, clenching her fists.
Although Victor flinched in anticipation, he did not even attempt to raise his hands to ward off a possible blow. "Go ahead. Strike me then," he murmured. "Any touch from my Kate is better than none at all."
Kate raised her fist, longing to take him up on his offer. She had hoped to cure Victor before anyone found out about his ridiculous infatuation for her. And now he had gone and told Lance. What a disaster.
But she realized that hitting Victor would be like hitting the village idiot. The man was completely moon mad and it was all her fault. Kate lowered her hand, her anger fading.
"Please, Victor," she said. "Just go home and give me a few days. I promise you that somehow I will make everything all right by then."
"You'll marry me?" he asked, his dark eyes lighting up.
"No!" Kate stormed away from him, heading back to the house. No doubt Lance would be descending upon Rosebriar Cottage soon after Victor's extraordinary pronouncement. Kate needed to get to Effie first, find some way to explain things so her poor guardian did not go off into complete hysterics.
But Kate did not get very far before she felt Victor's hand upon her arm, holding her back. "No, Kate, please don't go."
She tried to shake him off, but he clung firmly. Kate came to an abrupt halt, twisting around to scowl at him.
But it was not Victor, the arrogant rake, the elegant dandy, facing her. Rather it was a young man looking as shy and uncertain as any boy experiencing his first love. And that somehow made all of this so much worse.
"Please," he said. "I know I have begun badly. If you would just allow me to speak with you. Only for a few moments."
Kate squirmed. Talking to Victor, offering him any sort of encouragement at all, was the last thing she wanted to do. But she was the one who had inflicted this torment upon him. She supposed she owed him something.
Reluctantly she followed him back into the summerhouse. At least he kept a respectful distance this time. Clearing his throat, he offered her a diffident smile very different from that blinding flash of teeth he aimed at most women. "Kate, I know you have every reason to despise me. In the past, I have never been particularly kind to you."
"Oh, well." Kate shrugged. "As to that, I suppose I haven't been exactly—"
"No, please. Let me finish. It was very wrong of me to tease you about being a foundling, even cruel. I don't know what caused me to behave so ungentlemanly. Perhaps it is the way you always looked at me with such complete contempt."
"Victor—"
"Not that I didn't deserve it," he rushed on. "I realize that I am not the sort of bold rugged man you could admire, the kind of man my grandfather was. But I could change, Kate. I swear it. I would do anything for you."
"Oh, Victor, please," Kate groaned. She hadn't thought it possible to feel any worse about all this than she already did. But Victor was teaching her the true meaning of guilt.
His dark eyes were heart-wrenchingly earnest as he continued, "I know how you adore the sea. My family owns many ships. I could take you sailing clear around the world."
"No, you couldn't. Even getting into a dinghy makes you seasick."
Victor paled at the thought, but he squared his shoulders manfully. "I have heard that even the great admiral Lord Nelson sometimes suffered from seasickness, and he managed at Trafalgar. What is a paltry war compared to my love? For you, Kate, I could learn to conquer anything. And there is something else I could do. I could use my St. Leger power on your behalf."
When Kate regarded him blankly, Victor beamed. "You didn't even know I had any, did you?
"I am ashamed to admit I have always taken pains to conceal my special ability, selfishly not wanting to be importuned. But I possess the unique gift to divine what has happened to people who have disappeared. And I would be only too happy to employ my talent to help you."
"Thank you, Victor. I appreciate the offer, but there is no one in my life who has gone missing."
"Not even your mother?" he asked softly.
"Effie? She is in the house, likely taking her afternoon tea."
"I don't mean Effie. I mean your real mother."
"Are you trying to tell me that you—you could—"
"Yes." He gathered both of her hands into his own. "All you would have to do is look deep into my eyes, let me delve into your memory all the way back to the moment of your birth until I saw your mother's face. Then by concentrating a little more, I could tell you where she is right now, whether still alive or where her headstone lies."
Kate eased away from him, shaken by what he offered. She studied his face, sure he had to be making all this up, seeking yet another way to impress her. But she read only sincerity in his eyes, the certainty that he could do exactly what he promised. He was, after all, a St. Leger.
But to locate her mother for her, after all these years—Kate felt her heart miss a beat. She tried to remind herself that she had never cared who her real mother was, didn't in the least want to know.
But that was only a lie, another of her fierce denials, her way of thrusting aside anything that had the potential to hurt her. Of course she had wondered about her mother, had ridiculously hoped that one day she might even discover there was a perfectly good reason why she had been left to die in that wretched foundling home.
And now here was Victor St. Leger, of all the unlikely people, offering her the truth.
Kate fretted her lower lip, then reached out to place her fingers back in his. She lost courage at the last minute, snatching her hands away.
"N-no," she said with a shaky laugh. "I really don't want to know. I am sure my mother could not have been a particularly pleasant person."
"If she was your mother, Kate," Victor insisted, "then she had to have been an angel."
"Angels don't abandon their little girls. Nor do they give birth to wicked creatures like me."
"You are not wicked. You are completely wonderful." Victor smiled at her, his eyes glowing with such adoration Kate could bear it no longer. Whatever the consequences, she had to tell him the truth.
"Victor, you are not really in love with me."
"I most certainly am—"
"No, you are not. The truth is..." She sighed, then blurted out, "The truth is I cast a spell on you."
"You certainly did. You have bewitched me completely."
"Ohhh!" Kate sighed in pure frustration.
Before she could stop him, he stole his arms about her, drawing her into his embrace. "I adore you, Kate. Please let me prove to you how much. I would willingly die for you."
_"That could easily be arranged."_
The icy voice came out of nowhere, startling both of them. Kate twisted around, disconcerted by the sight of the man silhouetted in the doorway of the summerhouse, his dark hair swept carelessly back from his face, his black cloak falling to his knees. His shadow seemed to stretch across the stone floor, looming over both of them.
"Good God," Victor said. "Is...is that—"
"Val," Kate murmured, feeling a little awed herself. She had never realized that he could appear quite that formidable and overpowering. A strange dark glint in his eyes, he stalked toward them in a slow, deliberate way that sent an inexplicable shiver through Kate. He looked almost... _dangerous_.
"Val," she faltered. "What—what a surprise. I was not expecting you."
"That is perfectly evident, my dear."
Kate flushed, suddenly remembering Victor still had his arm about her waist. She scrambled away from him. "Victor was just—that is, he was merely—"
"I can see quite well what he was _merely_ doing." Val's gaze narrowed ominously on his cousin.
The young man stood gaping, clearly struggling to take in the startling changes in Val. But he recovered enough to sweep an elegant bow.
"Hullo, Val. You are looking amazingly fit. What have you done with your cane?"
"Smashed it. Into a thousand bits," Val said softly, looking very much as though he wanted to do the same thing to Victor.
Victor gave an uncertain laugh, apparently thinking that Val was jesting. Kate had a sinking feeling he wasn't.
"Uh, Victor was just leaving," she said hastily.
"No, I wasn't."
She shot the young fool a warning glare, but he stubbornly ignored her. "I can guess why you have come, Val. Very likely Lance sent you here to reason with me. But I intend to marry Kate and nothing you can say—"
Victor broke off with a gasp as Val seized him by the front of his cape.
"I am through _talking_ ," Val snarled.
Kate watched openmouthed as he slammed his cousin back against one of the pillars.
"I've wasted most of my life reasoning with fools like you. So I'll make this plain and simple. You stay away from Kate."
Victor's eyes fairly popped from his head. "But—but, Val," he stammered. "I assure you, my intentions are completely honorable."
"Damn your intentions!" Val gave him a savage shake, banging his head against the stonework. "You ever touch Kate again and I'm going to kill you."
Going to? Kate thought in alarm. Val looked ready to do it right now.
"Val, stop it. Let him go," Kate cried. Never in her worst dreams had she ever thought she would be obliged to protect anyone from Val St. Leger. She rushed forward to tug at his arm.
"Val, please."
He glared at her, but he loosened his grip at least enough for Victor to stagger away from him. Victor rubbed the back of his head, regarding Val with reproach and bewilderment.
"Damnation, Val. What the blazes has come over you?"
"Me? What the devil has gotten into you, _boy_? To ever think I would stand aside and let you have Kate."
"No, Val, please, you don't understand," Kate said. "Victor doesn't really mean any of this. He—"
"Yes, I do," Victor said. "I love you and I fail to see what concern it is of his."
"Because she is mine, damn you. _Mine._ She always has been, always will be."
" _You_ are in love with Kate?" Victor asked, incredulous. "But—but you are too old for her."
"Too old, you strutting puppy? Would you care to put that to a test?" Val strode menacingly toward Victor. Victor stumbled back a pace.
"Val, I am warning you. Keep your hands off me. I don't want to hurt you."
"Oh, don't worry about my decrepit old bones." Val gave Victor a rough shove.
"Don't do that, Val, or—"
"Or what?" He shoved Victor again. Harder.
Kate could scarce believe it. It was like Val was trying to force a quarrel on his own cousin.
"Stop it, Val," she pleaded, grabbing for his arm. "Leave him alone."
Her intervention only made everything worse. Val shook her off and drove his fist into Victor's face.
Victor went down hard, sprawling on the stone floor. He lay there, dazed, clutching his eye. With a dismayed cry, Kate rushed to his side.
"Victor, are you all right?" She reached down to help him up, but he struck her hand away.
He struggled to his feet, now as flushed with anger as Val. "Damn you, Val. If you weren't my cousin, I would demand that you meet me for this."
"Don't let that stop you."
"Fine. Name your seconds and choose your weapons. Pistols or swords."
"It makes no odds to me. You choose how you want to die."
"Stop it! Both of you." Her heart thudding with alarm, Kate thrust herself between the two men. They looked ready to fall upon each other like a pair of snarling dogs. This was fast becoming a nightmare. Her spell seemed to be escalating more out of control by the moment.
"Go home," she said to Victor, pointing sternly in the direction of the gate. "Get out of here right now."
Victor's angry eyes flashed toward her in disbelief. "You want me to go? But he is the one who started all this."
"I don't care. It is you I want to leave."
"Then...then you are choosing him over me?"
"Yes, of course I am."
Victor paled, looking more hurt than when Val had struck him. Kate felt she could almost see the dreams shattering in his eyes. She had not meant to be that blunt, that cruel, but she was desperate to have him gone before anything worse happened.
Snatching up his hat, she thrust it toward him and said more gently, "Please, Victor, just go home and put a beefsteak on that eye before it completely swells shut. I promise you by tomorrow you will have forgotten all about this."
He regarded her for a long agonized moment. "If I can't have you, I don't give a damn about tomorrow."
He wrenched the hat from her grasp. Victor jammed his hat on his head and strode off down the garden path without another word, his shoulders ramrod stiff, trying to appear dignified and proud. All he succeeded in doing was looking young, hurt, and humiliated.
Kate felt heartsick over what she had done to him, but she reassured herself that Victor would be all right. Just as soon as she found a way to lift the spell from him. She was far more concerned about the man who loomed in the summerhouse behind her.
If she had thought Val edgy yesterday, he seemed ten times worse today. He had taken to pacing, clenching and unclenching his fists in an effort to control his rage. Until that moment, Kate had never realized just how much she relied on Val's quiet strength, his steady presence. She was the one always losing her temper, doing something outrageous.
Seeing him this much out of control made her feel strangely lost, even a little frightened, the way she had been before she had ever met him. She huddled in the doorway of the summerhouse until Val came to an abrupt halt, whipping around to glare at her.
"Stop staring at me as though I've grown another head."
"I—I'm sorry," she faltered. "It is just that I have never seen you so—so—"
"So what? So angry? Oh, yes, heaven forbid that Saint Valentine should ever lose his temper. Even when I find the woman I love dallying with another man."
"But you don't understand. I wasn't. I—"
"Tell me, Kate. What did you do? Rush straight from my embrace to his? Is that why I haven't seen you since yesterday?"
"No!" Kate cried, both wounded and astonished by the sheer injustice of the accusation. "Don't you remember? _You_ told me to go away, to wait until you came to me."
"Since when have you ever done what I told you?" He bore down upon her and Kate shrank back instinctively. He seized her by the arms. "I give you fair warning, my girl. If I ever catch you near that young fool again, I will shoot him right between the eyes."
"You can't do that. You don't like pistols and St. Legers aren't supposed to fight each other. Even I know that. _The St. Leger who sheds the blood of his own kin is himself doomed._ "
"I'm already risking one curse by loving you. What the devil does one more matter?"
He hauled her against him, his mouth clamping hard down on hers. Kate had longed for the feel of his arms about her, the sweet pressure of his lips against hers, but not like this. It was a kiss that spoke more of anger and possession than love, his lips breaching hers, invading her with the heat of his tongue.
If any other man had treated her thus, Kate would have boxed his ears, kicked him in the shins. But with Val, she was too shocked to resist, stiffly submitting to the ruthless embrace.
When he drew back at last, the look in his eyes was so wild, her heart thudded, half fearing what he meant to do next. He stared down at her for a long moment, then blinked once, twice like a man snapping out of a trance.
He released her, the terrible light in his eyes replaced by an expression of horror.
"Kate, I—I am so sorry," he said hoarsely. "I didn't mean to—Did I hurt you?"
"N-no, of course not," Kate denied, although she did feel bruised and considerably shaken. "You know I am not that fragile."
He reached out, only to draw his hand back as though he were afraid to touch her again.
"I thought I could control it," he muttered, tugging at the neckline of his cloak almost as if something threatened to strangle him.
Control _it_? What did Val mean by that? His temper? His forbidden passion for her? Kate had no idea. But she found the anguish, the bitter self-reproach that darkened his features nigh unbearable.
Her own fears forgotten, she brushed aside those few stubborn tendrils that tumbled across his eyes.
"It is all right," she murmured.
"No, it isn't." Val caught her hand and put it away from him, refusing to accept her comfort. "I almost hurt you and Victor. Dear God, I felt like I could have killed him and enjoyed doing it. When I found the two of you here together, I was seized by such a demon of jealousy."
"But, Val, you have absolutely no reason to be jealous of Victor."
"Don't I?" His dark eyes searched her face.
"Of course not. How can you even ask such a thing? You know it is you I have always loved."
"Aye, but he's very handsome and certainly a good deal younger than me. Closer to your own age."
"Pooh! I am far older than Victor. I am sure I must be, oh, at least twenty-six."
"More likely not a day over sixteen," Val retorted, but at least she succeeded in coaxing a smile from him, a shadow of his old familiar smile, that wry half-quirking of the lips she had always so loved.
He looked once more like her Val, and she melted toward him with a tiny sigh of relief.
"How could you be so foolish?" she chided gently. "As if the years between us have ever mattered. I have never been any dewy-eyed young miss. Sometimes I think I was born old."
"I know that, my dear, and it is something I have always wanted to change for you."
"How? By keeping me a girl forever?"
"No." Val cupped her face between his hands, tracing the tender area beneath her eyes with the pads of his thumbs. "By banishing the shadows, all the bad memories of your youth, those terrible days in London."
Bending down, he pressed a fervent kiss to the top of her head. "Oh, Kate, the last thing I ever want to do is give you more bad memories, more nightmares."
"As if you ever could."
"I wish I was as sure of that." He stared down at her, a brooding expression stealing into his eyes. "I do love you, Kate. But if you had any sense at all, you would run from me, just as fast as you can."
But since he accompanied those extraordinary words by holding her close to his heart, Kate was not unduly alarmed. She burrowed her face against his greatcoat that smelled of fresh salt air and of Val, the ink that frequently stained his fingers, the leather of his books.
"Why would I ever want to run away," she asked, "when I have spent most of my life running to you, shamelessly pursuing you? Why, I even—"
"Even what?" Val prompted when she hesitated.
_I even resorted to witchcraft to win you._ Kate swallowed hard, knowing she ought to tell him what she'd done. Considering what had almost happened with Victor, her spell had taken a rather dangerous turn.
When she tipped up her head to look at him, his eyes blazed with such love, such passion, her breath caught in her throat. Everything she'd ever wanted from him, ever dreamed of, seemed to shimmer in his gaze. But it was more than that which held her silent.
It was the thought that out of everyone, Val had been the first to believe in her, to find some good in her. If he ever realized how truly wicked and selfish she really was, she might forfeit his regard, his respect, forever. And that would be more unbearable than losing his love.
She swallowed hard and avoided his question by hugging him fiercely and kissing him instead. His arms tightened around her. Val no longer seemed to be making much effort to resist the dark magic she had woven.
His mouth melded to hers until he was kissing her with a passion that amounted to desperation. Kate kissed him back, feeling equally as desperate, burying all her fears, her doubts in the heat of his embrace. His mouth moved hungrily over hers, her lips devoured his.
She clung to him, feeling like they were two lovers hovering on the brink of some violent storm. This love, this passion between them, was supposed to be so wrong, forbidden. Then why did it feel so right?
Val's hands roved over her back, exploring the curve of her hips, the swell of her bottom, cupping her against him. The endless layers of clothing between them proved a frustrating barrier, but she was still aware of the full extent of his arousal. It filled her with a dark excitement.
Her lips parted before his fierce onslaught and she moaned softly when his tongue engaged hers in a wild mating. Val could have tugged her to the floor of the summerhouse and made love to her then and there, and Kate felt as though she would not have been able to resist.
It didn't matter if they ran the risk of being seen from the house, even if the entire world was watching. Just as long as Val kept kissing her, kept holding her this way, Kate felt as if nothing could ever go wrong.
She uttered a faint protest when he broke the heated contact, his ragged breath mingling with hers.
"What a mad, reckless creature you are, Kate Fitzleger," he said with a shaky laugh. "I suppose if you are going to risk being cursed for any St. Leger, it might as well be me."
"There is no curse. And even if there was, I wouldn't care. I'd risk anything to be with you, even my life."
"Don't say that. If something were to happen to you, I believe I would run mad. If I were to ever lose you—"
"You won't."
"Ah, but you don't understand what that stupid Victor has done by going to my brother, insisting he intends to marry you. Lance wants to send you away. To London."
"Oh, Effie has talked about that for years."
"But this time it is serious, Kate. It's going to happen. Lance is providing the money."
Kate's eyes widened in surprise. She had always considered Lance St. Leger her friend, the teasing, often provoking older brother she had never had. And now Lance was willing to pay to be rid of her. She felt a sharp stab of hurt.
"Why would Lance do a thing like that?" she asked.
"To keep you out of harm's way. To protect you and Victor. Prevent you from invoking the St. Leger curse."
The curse. That infernal legend again. Kate stifled a groan, wondering if she was never to be free of it. She firmed her lips into a stubborn line.
"Well, it doesn't matter what Lance is planning. I simply won't go."
"You have no idea how determined my brother can be."
Kate frowned, knowing that was true. Lance St. Leger could be the most playful and easygoing of men. But if he had the notion he was acting for someone's own good, he would be downright ruthless. She had no difficulty imagining Lance abducting her, carrying her off to London by force if he thought it necessary.
She raised troubled eyes to Val. "So what do you suggest I do?"
"To keep you from being sent away? There is only one solution." Val smiled at her. "I will simply have to marry you as soon as possible."
Marry her? Kate's heart skipped a beat. She had waited forever for Val to say those words and she should have been overjoyed. Part of her was. She flung her arms about his neck, exchanging another long, enthusiastic kiss. But she was immediately sobered by the realities of their situation.
"I suppose we shall have to elope," she said.
"Elope?" Val scowled. "No, by God. You shall have a proper wedding, my Kate. With bridesmaids, ribbon favors, and a beautiful gown."
"Oh, Val, you know I have never cared about such things."
"But _I_ care that you should have them." His words were tender enough, but the set of his jaw was grim, an almost martial light springing to his eyes. He looked ready to take on his family, the entire village if need be, for the privilege of leading her down the aisle at St. Gothian's.
Usually it was Kate who had always been stubborn, defiant, and Val the calm, sensible one. Kate was beginning to find this reversal of roles more than a little disconcerting. She eased out of his arms, attempting to reason with him.
"Being married here in Torrecombe might prove very difficult. Without your family's approval and my guardian's consent. I am not even sure we could persuade Reverend Trimble to perform the ceremony."
"Oh, he'll be persuaded."
Something in Val's tone made Kate wary. "You are not planning to give him a black eye, too, are you?" she asked anxiously.
"Not if the man is reasonable."
Kate found Val's quick laugh far from reassuring. But before she had time to argue with him, he seized her by the hand, tugging her down the path toward the house. "Come, we shall begin right now by finding Effie and demanding her consent."
Kate hung back in alarm. Val confront Effie in his present unpredictable humor? He would terrify Kate's poor guardian out of her wits.
"No, Val, please. You must allow me to break the news to Effie alone. You know how she is."
"Aye, a stupid, meddling, foolish wench."
Kate froze, deeply shocked. Granted, Val certainly had reason to feel some anger toward Effie. As the St. Leger Bride Finder, she had completely failed him. But Kate had rarely ever heard Val speak with such bitterness, such harshness toward anyone, not even his great enemy Rafe Mortmain. It disturbed her more than any of Val's erratic behavior thus far.
"I know Effie can be very trying, but she is also the kindest, most tenderhearted creature imaginable. As you yourself have often told me," Kate reminded him. "I have caused her enough worry over the years. I don't want to distress her more than necessary."
Val's lips thinned. He looked annoyed, but he shrugged. "Very well. You may deal with Effie yourself as long as you promise to meet me later."
"Where?"
"By the church. We shall go speak to the vicar. It hardly matters if Effie refuses her consent. You are well above age, by your own accounts. What was it you said you are...almost thirty?"
Kate tried to smile at his teasing, but everything suddenly seemed to be moving much too quickly, threatening to slip out of her control. She needed a moment to—
She blinked in pure astonishment at her own thought. Kate Fitzleger trying not to be too impulsive? Wanting time to pause and reflect? Exactly which one of them had been changed by that spell she had cast on All Hallows' Eve?
Val was so adamant, she had little choice but to agree, although she pleaded for a little more time. The missing spell book heavy on her mind, she said, "There is this small matter I need to attend to first."
"Very well." Val paused by the garden gate. Gathering both her hands into his, he kissed first one and then the other. "We shall meet this evening, but don't be late. It grows dark early and I don't want you coming to me after the sun has set."
"There is no problem with that. I have frequently walked through the village after dark. It is certainly safe enough here in Torrecombe—"
"I said _no_!"
The unexpected fierceness of his tone took Kate completely aback.
Val gripped her hands. "Let me make one thing clear to you, Kate. Under no circumstances are you to come near me after the sun has gone down."
"W-what?" Kate stared at him, incredulous. He could not possibly be serious. "And what happens when the sun goes down? Do you turn into some sort of monster?"
But he didn't respond to her jest, his mouth hard and unsmiling, that unnerving intensity in his eyes.
"I mean it, Kate. Until we are married, stay away."
"But—"
"Damn it, girl! For once do as you are told." His grip on her hands tightened almost painfully. When Kate winced, Val relaxed his grasp, moderating his tone.
"Just promise me, Kate."
"A-all right. I promise," Kate said reluctantly, although it still made not the least bit of sense to her.
"Good." Val kissed her one last time, an embrace that left her breathless and trembling. Then he was gone.
Kate clung to the garden gate long after he had vanished, her heart in complete turmoil. She was betrothed, actually betrothed, to Val St. Leger. Her mouth felt bruised and tender from his kisses, her body still flushed with a warm glow. Then why did another part of her feel so cold, even a trifle afraid?
Val was behaving strangely, even for one under the influence of a love spell. His passion was incredible, more than she had ever imagined. But so were his outbursts of temper, his flashes of bitterness. His eyes burned with equal parts desire for her and torment. Like a man who was at war with his own soul.
Perhaps Victor St. Leger was not the only one who needed to be released from her spell.
But the mere thought of surrendering Val filled her with despair, brought a painful lump to her throat. Kate was quick to reject the notion. She couldn't give up now, not when she was this close to becoming Val's bride, to finding some measure of happiness at last, not just for herself, but for both of them. Hadn't Val himself said that he would run mad if he were to lose her?
_Aye, of course he did. What did you expect him to say? You have bewitched him as much as you did Victor._
Kate struggled to quell her doubts, the icy voice of her conscience. No, everything would be all right as soon as she and Val were safely married. He would settle down, become more like himself again.
If he was edgy now, a little erratic, it was only because her sorcery had gone slightly awry. She had made him angry and jealous over Victor. Once Victor was released from her spell, all would be well. Or at least so Kate sought to convince herself.
The difficulty now was in finding a way to straighten out the disaster she had created. Unfortunately, with the spell book missing, there was only one person in the world who could help her do that.
Kate shivered. That is, if the great sorcerer didn't reduce her to a pile of ashes first.
_C HAPTER ELEVEN_
* * *
_D_ ARK CLOUDS HUNG over the ancient tower, the air heavy with the scent of an impending storm. Even the sun appeared to have wisely hidden itself away as Kate mounted the rough stone stair spiraling upward through the tower's thick walls.
The cold gray light filtered through the arrow slits, rendering the passage full of gloom and shadow, even more forbidding than it had been upon her first visit. Kate picked her way forward with care, wishing she could turn back.
Perhaps if she were fortunate, Prospero would have vanished back to that strange netherworld he inhabited between hauntings. Kate despised herself for the cowardly hope. She needed him to be there, needed his help.
But what the devil was she going to say to him?
_"Remember that spell book you forbade me to touch? Well, uh, I sort of borrowed it anyway and—and then I sort of lost it."_
Kate cringed. She was stumbling over explanations even in her own mind. When she finally confronted Prospero's enraged stare, no doubt she would be reduced to total incoherence.
But she forced herself to keep going, her heart skittering a nervous beat when she realized a light glowed from the chamber above her. As she cleared the last step, she peered across the threshold.
An eerie fire blazed upon the vast stone hearth. The flames burned with a blue-gold intensity, but they threw out no heat, the room so damp and chill, Kate shivered. The phantom blaze did cast an extraordinary amount of light, illuminating every corner of the circular chamber, the intricately carved bed, the shelves of mysterious vials, the books, the small writing desk. A medieval sanctum that remained suspended in time as much so as the man who hovered by the tower windows did.
Kate's breath snagged in her throat when she caught sight of the sorcerer. Prospero lounged in a reclined position, one elbow bent, his hand propping up his dark head as he perused some ancient text. The firelight bathed him in a golden glow, highlighting the blue-black sheen of his hair and beard, picking out the iridescent threads in his velvet tunic.
He looked for all the world like an idle knight whiling away a gloom-ridden afternoon by engaging in some scholarly pursuit, his swarthy skin, broad shoulders, and muscular legs making him appear as solid and real as any man. Except for one small detail.
_Both Prospero and his book were floating in midair._
He did not even trouble to glance up at Kate's entrance, although she was quite certain that he was aware of her presence. She crept forward, feeling as timid as a beggar maid about to approach a mighty king.
"P-Prospero?"
Her voice came out in a quaver and Kate had to force herself to speak up. "My lord?"
Prospero glanced up from his book at last, his dark eyes glinting through the thickness of his lashes. "Mistress Kate."
Kate had the curious feeling he had been expecting her all along, that he was not entirely displeased to see her again. She feared that would change fast enough as soon as he discovered the nature of her errand. The sorcerer closed up his book, drifting to his feet to sweep her an elegant bow.
"And to what do I owe the honor of this visit? Have you come for more deportment lessons?"
"N-no. I—I needed to tell you that I—" She broke off, her gaze riveted by the book he clutched, a small, slender volume with a cracked leather binding. A book that looked disconcertingly familiar. She stepped closer, all fear suddenly forgotten. She stared in sheer disbelief at the dragon emblem emblazoned on the cover.
The missing book of spells! It had been neither lost nor stolen. Somehow it had sprouted wings, flown straight back to its master. Kate was so giddy with relief, she almost thought she would faint. Then relief was swiftly replaced by indignation.
She glared accusingly at Prospero. "You took the book from my room. You—you knew I had it all along."
Prospero bowed his head in mocking acknowledgment.
"You might have told me so instead of retrieving the book in that underhanded way, letting me think it had gone missing."
"I sought to recover my stolen property and neglected to inform you? How remiss of me," he drawled. "I do crave your pardon, my dear."
"Do you have any idea how worried I was? How distressed I have been ever since All Hallows' Eve?"
"Aye, it was indeed a distressing night. Strange reports abroad of some half-wild gypsy girl lighting a bonfire near the old standing stone. Then that terrible storm. Enough to give one bad dreams, perhaps of lightning bolts, the village afire, mobs of angry villagers pursuing one through the streets. Brrrr." Prospero gave a mock shudder.
Kate gaped at him, wondering how he could have known about her nightmare. From the wicked gleam in his eye, the answer was far too obvious.
"It was _you_. You were responsible for my dream."
Prospero polished the nails of one hand lightly against the front of his tunic. "Just another of my modest talents. The ability to fashion dreams, send them drifting through the night to intrude upon someone else's slumber."
"How could you do such a cruel thing to me?" Kate exclaimed. "That dream you sent me was horrible."
"I had hoped it might teach you a lesson about tampering with the black arts. But apparently not, since here you are again." Prospero rolled his eyes in long-suffering fashion. He noticed that she was taking far too tender of an interest in his book and held it well out of her reach.
"Oh, please," Kate said. "I _need_ that book, need your help more now than ever."
"As I have already informed you, my dear, I make it a point never to meddle in human concerns."
"You meddle all the time. Whenever it suits _you_ to do so." The retort escaped Kate before she could stop it. The last thing she wanted to do was anger him.
Prospero stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into a reluctant smile. "True enough, but I do try to steer clear of any matters of the heart. So if you have come to plague me yet again for that love spell—"
"No, no! I only need your help to undo the spell I already cast. Or at least part of it."
"The spell you cast?" Prospero looked mightily amused. "I fear you are suffering from delusions of grandeur, milady."
"I tell you that I _did_. Using your book."
"Impossible. You couldn't even begin to decipher my secret writings."
"Secret writings? Piffle! Those are Egyptian hieroglyphics and I assure you many scholars have been able to translate them for years."
The sorcerer appeared thunderstruck. His jaw actually fell open. He clamped it closed, looking as though he didn't know whether to be more amazed or affronted that mere mortals now shared in his knowledge.
"So you _were_ able to read my book?"
"Easily. Well, not entirely," Kate amended. "I must have misread part of it, or my incantation would not have gone so terribly wrong. I didn't manage to cast my love spell on just one man, but on two of them."
Prospero stared at her, then burst out into a roar of laughter, the rich masculine sound filling the tower chamber. His eyes shone with a mingling of mirth and admiration.
"You managed to bewitch two men with one spell? On your very first try? Brava, milady."
"It is not a matter for congratulations," Kate said. "You have no idea how horrible it is, being pursued by two men, having them threaten to fight a duel over you."
"Most women would find that delightful."
"I am not most women!"
"I am fast coming to realize that." Prospero's eyes gleamed with frank appreciation.
"Now the man I love is jealous, and the other man, the one I didn't want, is quite brokenhearted by my rejection of him," Kate said. "I never wanted to hurt anyone. All I wanted was to be loved."
Prospero must have perceived the full measure of her distress for his mirth faded, his expression softening.
"My dear Kate. Likely you blame yourself over nothing. Casting such a spell would be most difficult even with the aid of my book. Isn't it just possible that these two swains of yours became smitten with you without the aid of any magic?"
Kate sighed. How she would have liked to believe that, not about Victor, of course, but Val. To think that Val had fallen naturally in love with her, truly did adore her so much that he was willing to defy his family traditions, the St. Leger legend itself.
But she shook her head, knowing better. "I fear I am not that charming. Even my own mother did not find me that loveable. She gave me away."
"So did mine."
Startled, Kate's eyes flew to his face. "You? You are a bastard, too?"
"Aye. In more ways than one. Or so some of my former mistresses would have been happy to inform you."
His dry jest could not entirely conceal a rare of flash of vulnerability, some remembered pain similar to her own. His eyes locked with Kate's and for a brief moment, she felt as though they shared some inexplicable bond. Prospero quickly hooded his gaze, stalking away from her.
The phantom firelight played across his handsome face, stroking shadows upon his hawklike profile. He lapsed into silence as though lost in deep reflection, and Kate realized he was actually considering her request, contemplating coming to her aid.
She held her breath, afraid to speak, fearful of tipping the balance against her.
"So exactly what would you like me to do?" he asked.
"Not a great deal. Only help me to undo the spell."
_"Only."_ Prospero gave a dry laugh. He cast her a long, inscrutable look. "Remove the spell from both men?"
"No, of course not. Only the one I bewitched by accident."
"Then you would still pursue this other reluctant swain of yours? You must love him greatly to risk so much, to even consider invoking such dark magic again."
"I do," Kate cried. "I'd risk anything, even life itself, to be with him."
"If I were yet mortal, I could almost envy him," Prospero said softly.
A ghost could not properly be said to sigh, but a sound close to it escaped Prospero's lips. "All right," he conceded at last. "I will see what I can do."
"Oh! Thank you." Kate was so grateful she could have flung her arms about the sorcerer's neck and kissed him. She came close to acting on the impulse and Prospero must have realized it.
"A lovely thought, milady," he said with a wry smile. "But quite impossible."
Kate blushed furiously.
"And please remember that I have promised nothing. I said only that I would try."
"But surely you will succeed. A great sorcerer such as yourself and with all your experience with love spells. What about all those women you seduced?"
"It was not love I ever sought from women, only lust. And I assure you it requires no magic to induce that."
Cracking open the spell book, he proceeded to riffle through the pages. Kate hovered near his shoulder, torn between hope and dread, fearing he would demand to know the names of the men she had bewitched.
If he were yet to discover she had been practicing her dark magic upon St. Legers, Kate doubted the sorcerer would remain so amiable. But to her relief, he asked no questions other than requiring her to point out the exact spell she had used.
Prospero perused it briefly, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Very well," he said. "I think I might know a way to undo the magic. Return to me in one month's time."
"A month!" Kate could not conceal her dismay. "I was hoping you could do something right now. Can you not proceed a little faster?"
Prospero's brows arched upward in a haughty line. "Even I cannot speed up the movement of the heavens. If there is to be any hope at all of altering your spell, it must be done at the same phase of the moon you originally cast it."
"Oh." Kate sought to swallow her disappointment. But an entire month! Anything could happen in that time.
"I will be fortunate if Vict—I mean if my two, er, swains have not killed each other by then," she said.
"You must do your best to keep them apart."
"And just how am I to do that? It is a very small village."
"You are a very resourceful young woman. I am sure you will think of something."
Kate started to protest further, but saw clearly that it would do no good. Prospero closed up the book and drifted over to the hearth. With one graceful gesture of his hand, he caused the fire to flicker and die. No charred wood, no ash remained. The flames had been fueled by a multifaceted chunk of crystal very similar to the one set into the hilt of the St. Leger sword, only much larger.
Even with the blaze gone, the crystal continued to pulse and glow as though possessed of some strange life of its own, sending out fragments of rainbow-colored light intense enough it seemed to pierce the very walls.
Her own worries momentarily forgotten, Kate trailed after Prospero to stare down at the glittering stone in awe.
"What is that thing?" she asked.
"Part of an experiment I did when I was yet alive, a little dabbling in alchemy."
Prospero bent down and lifted the crystal from the hearth, cradling it in his long supple fingers. The light it radiated was so brilliant, Kate flung up one hand to shield her eyes.
"This piece was once part of a much larger crystal I had created, but something went awry. There was a terrible explosion and when the smoke cleared, only a few chunks remained. One portion I imbedded in the hilt of my sword to be handed down to my descendants. This one I kept for myself."
He held the stone closer for her inspection and Kate stared at it, half mesmerized, the stone's beauty at once seeming to be so warm, so cold. She stretched out her fingers to touch it.
"Don't do that!"
The sorcerer's sharp warning caused her to snatch her hand back.
"Is it dangerous then?" Kate asked.
"It could be, especially if I were to drop it, causing it to break again. I have noticed that each fragment that snaps off from the whole tends to become more unstable. The smaller the piece, the more unpredictable the magic can become, even deadly."
Kate shivered, taking a wary step away from the sparkling stone. And to think that Prospero had upbraided her for tampering with dark magic.
"Why did you even seek to invent something so dangerous?" she asked. "I suppose like most alchemists you were trying to find a way to transform lead into gold."
"No, I never had any use for gold. I had all the fortune I required, all the power."
"Then what? What were you seeking?"
"Immortality. I wanted to live forever." Prospero's lips pulled back in an ironic smile. "So take great care, my young friend, about using magic to chase your dreams. You might just end up getting what you wished for."
Kate frowned. Was he warning her to abandon her stubborn pursuit of the man she loved? Or were Prospero's words merely meant to be a sad reflection on his own fate?
She was given no opportunity to question him further. He stalked away, waving her off with an imperious gesture of one hand. He clearly considered her visit at an end. Prospero packed the mesmerizing stone away, locking it in the velvet-lined depths of an ancient chest.
With the crystal shut away, the chamber plunged into semidarkness. Was it truly growing that late? Or was the gloom merely owing to the gathering storm clouds outside? Kate remembered her promise to meet Val at the church, his strange words of warning.
_"Under no circumstances are you to come near me after the sun has gone down."_
Taking a hasty leave of Prospero, she tugged up the hood of her cloak and scurried back down the tower stairs. She managed to steal away from Castle Leger without awkward encounters with any of the servants. Keeping to the shadows, she struck out on the well-worn road that led back to the village, unaware that she was being observed by a phantom figure perched high atop the castle walls.
Prospero drifted along the tower ramparts, peering down from his lordly height, wondering what devil possessed him. He had allowed himself to become involved with few mortals over the centuries he had haunted Castle Leger.
So why now? Why this one? What was it about the girl that so moved him, he who had long ago cleansed himself of any human emotions? Was it her spirit, her courage, her passion? The ruthless fashion she pursued her dreams and damned all costs? So many bitter and sweet reminders of his own folly, the reckless way he had lived his own life.
"I must be quite mad," he murmured. To have ever agreed to help her, especially when he had more pressing worries. That sense of foreboding that had first drawn him back to Castle Leger had not lessened, only deepened with the passing of days.
The nagging presentiment persisted. Only now it seemed to be centered more and more on Kate. Something threatened the girl, something beyond a foolish miscast love spell.
_Something evil._ Yet try as he might, Prospero could not fathom what it was. It was like a heavy curtain had been drawn before his eyes, refusing to be parted. All he could do was watch as Kate vanished down the darkening road, a small, fragile figure who appeared to be rushing headlong into the eye of the storm.
And for all his vaunted powers, Prospero felt quite helpless to protect her.
_C HAPTER TWELVE_
* * *
_V_ AL PROWLED along the low stone fence that surrounded the churchyard, his black cloak snapping at his heels, a sharp wind whipping his hair across his eyes. He brushed it back impatiently, eyeing the lane behind him, all but swallowed up in the evening gloom.
The village appeared deserted, everyone having retreated to their own firesides, fastening their shutters tight against the impending storm.
So where the devil was Kate? Blast the girl. She had already forgotten her promise to meet him before night fell. Dark clouds shifted across the sky, threatening to steal away what little day remained, and Val could feel the tension in him coil tighter.
He struggled to calm himself, staring up at the church that loomed over him. It had ever conveyed to Val an aura of gentle peace and strong faith. St. Gothian's was a simple stone structure erected in the shape of a cross.
But it had also been built over the site of an old druid altar, and it was the pagan part of the rugged land beneath his feet that called to Val this evening. The wind tearing through the trees whispered to him of barbaric warriors invading the quiet village. Men who had no need of vicars, who would have charged in and simply taken the women they wanted.
Val felt his own blood stir, his body growing hard.
Maybe he had no use for a blasted clergyman either. All he needed was the maiden with gypsy black hair and quicksilver gray eyes, her breasts firm, her thighs soft and welcoming. She'd challenge him with that teasing smile and he would fling Kate over his shoulder, carry her off to—
Val pressed his hand against his eyes, struggling to check the lust-filled images that flashed through his mind. He tugged at the chain fastened around his neck. It was the crystal prompting these dark desires, rousing the more primitive part of his St. Leger blood.
God knows he should have gotten rid of the thing, especially after what had happened this afternoon, the way he had attacked Victor, been so rough with Kate. The stone was weakening him, breaking down his lifelong barriers of reserve, decency, and honor.
But as his fingers inched beneath his cloak, he was seized by a sensation of defiance. No, damn it! The stone wasn't weakening him. It was making him stronger, more powerful than he had ever been.
His crystal, his magic now, and he could control it. At least as long as some daylight remained. Val moistened his lips, nervously studying the sky. Perhaps it would be wiser if he did not wait for Kate. He would go see the vicar himself, arrange for this marriage while he was still able to keep his thoughts focused more on nuptials and less on simply dragging Kate to bed.
Val vaulted over the low stone wall that surrounded the churchyard, his boots striking the earth with a soft thud. The rectory was positioned in the little lane behind the church, and Val cut across the cemetery to reach it.
Some found the graveyard eerie even in full daylight. But Val had been a doctor for too long, was too familiar with death to have any fear of it. He strode on, barely noticing the memorials to souls long fled until he was struck with the first chill. Like icy fingers grasping him by the nape of the neck.
Val's flesh prickled, his footsteps faltered. The cold seemed to rush up out of the ground, seeping through his boots, chilling him to the marrow of his bones. He glanced around to find himself in the oldest, most neglected part of the cemetery, many of the stones around him so old and broken, it was like being surrounded by a jagged row of dragon's teeth.
Most of the names were worn and faded. He could no longer read them. It didn't matter. Val knew well who owned this part of the graveyard, which rested so unquiet beneath his feet.
The Mortmains, his family's most ancient enemies.
He stumbled back as though he could feel their evil reaching out to infect him even from beyond the grave. When his boot struck up against a headstone newer than the rest, Val let fly a startled oath. Despite the fading light, the name on this marker was still clear.
_Evelyn Mortmain_
_1761–1789_
When Val had been a boy, he recalled how indignant he had been that this creature should even be laid to rest upon St. Gothian's holy ground, this evil woman who had schemed to murder both his parents and nearly succeeded. She had come to a violent end and she had deserved it. Like all the Mortmains before her.
Val wanted to stride on, avoid this part of the cemetery as he'd always done. But he found himself unable to move, unable to stop staring at her headstone. It had never occurred to him before, but Evelyn Mortmain had been full young when she died.
Not even thirty. Such a waste of a life, spent on hatred and vengeance, all gentleness set aside, all love forgotten.
Val was completely unprepared for the wave of bitterness and grief that washed over him. It clogged his throat, constricted his chest, and brought a furious stinging to his eyes. He blinked hard, shaken to realize he was all but weeping. Weeping for a Mortmain, wanting to mourn over her grave almost as if she had been his own mother. But it wasn't his pain, his sense of loss he was feeling.
_It was Rafe Mortmain's._
How the devil was that possible?
Val stumbled back, sagging against the rough wooden bark of an oak tree. He passed a trembling hand over his face, once more straining to remember what had happened on All Hallows' Eve. A night so much like this one with its wild winds, thunder rumbling in the distance.
Except something dark and terrible had happened that night. Rafe had been ill, dying. Val had tried to help the man, used his power, reached out his hand and—and something had transferred between him and Rafe, something more than that crystal. Something that left Val with the terrified feeling that—He shuddered.
The feeling that his soul was no longer entirely his own.
Val was missing.
Kate paced along the lane, trying not to be unduly alarmed. His new white stallion was tethered to the lych-gate by the churchyard, looking like some phantom horse in the dying light, tossing its silvery mane, pawing restively at the ground.
Val would never have abandoned the horse like that, not with a storm coming on. He had to be around here somewhere, but she had already called in at the parsonage. She was so late, she thought Val might have gone to consult the vicar without her, but Mr. Trimble had merely been astonished by her inquiry.
Dr. St. Leger? No, he had not seen the gentleman all day.
Nor had anyone at the Dragon's Fire Inn. Or at Rosebriar Cottage. She'd hoped to find that Val had grown impatient with waiting for her, had gone to her home to fetch her. But he hadn't.
So where was he? Val couldn't have simply vanished into thin air. He wasn't Prospero.
Kate peered once more down the darkening lane, fretting her lower lip. She wasn't the only one who was worried. Jem Sparkins was out searching for his master, too. It seemed that Val's presence was urgently needed at Slate House by one of his patients.
"And it just isn't like the doctor to go off this way without telling anyone," Jem had told her, his broad brow furrowed with concern. "I don't mind tellin' you, Miss Kate, that Master Val hasn't been acting at all like himself lately."
That was the understatement of the year, Kate thought grimly. She had not even been able to meet Jem's honest eyes, knowing full well who was responsible for the change in Val.
She'd realized that he had been behaving strangely when he'd left her earlier today. She should have never let him go, Kate berated herself. Now Jem was off searching the outlying lanes past the village and Kate needed to do something besides pace in front of St. Gothian's, wringing her hands.
It was then that it occurred to her that she had never looked inside the church, perhaps because it was the last place she would have thought of going herself. She peered dubiously at the small stone building. It looked far too dark and silent for anyone to be inside, but she might as well check. It was better than standing here waiting for Jem to return.
She slipped past the low stone fence and hurried up the few steps to the front door. The massive oak portal creaked in protest when she eased it open, and the interior of the church itself did not seem any more welcoming.
She crept through the tiny vestibule and peeked into the nave. The place looked far different on a storm-ridden evening than it did on those serene Sunday mornings she squirmed on the pew beside Effie. The altar, the pulpit, and the magnificent relief at the back of the church were all but lost in the solemn shadows cast by what little light did still filter through the latticed windows.
"Val?" Kate called in a hushed whisper.
She met with no response other than the heavy silence. Kate half turned to go, and she might have missed him entirely but for the sudden flare of lightning that lit up the nave's interior.
She spotted him huddled over in the very front pew, his head bowed. Kate thought he was lost in earnest prayer until she hurried down the aisle, moving closer. Then she realized that his hands were clenched together more in desperation than devotion and he was trembling.
"Val?" She touched him lightly on the shoulder. He started as though she had struck him.
His head jerked up and even in the dim light, she could see how pale he was, his eyes two dark hollows. He looked almost...frightened. But Val had ever been so brave in that calm, quiet way of his. She had never known him to be afraid of anything, and that thought alarmed her more than anything did.
"What is wrong?" she asked. "Are you all right?"
He answered her by hoarsely murmuring her name, flinging his arms about her waist, burying his face against her cloak. He held her so tight, as though he would never let her go, as though she were his last link to sanity.
Kate hugged him fiercely, stroking his hair, trying to murmur soothing words of reassurance although she had not the least idea what was wrong and her own heart clenched with fear.
He released her at last with a deep shudder. Kate sank down on the pew beside him, brushing back the disheveled lengths of dark hair from his face, anxiously studying his countenance.
"My God, Val, what is it? Are you ill?"
"No," he muttered.
She didn't believe him. She pressed her hand to his brow. His skin felt clammy and cold, but he brushed her fingers impatiently aside.
"Don't fret over me, Kate. Remember, I am the doctor. I think I would know if I was unwell."
"Then tell me what is wrong. You look as if you've seen a ghost."
He gave an odd mirthless laugh. "Perhaps I did, but it was not a ghost that belonged to me."
His answer made no sense. He was alarming her more by the minute. He straightened, smoothing back his own hair. Taking in a deep breath, he appeared to make great effort to regain command of himself.
When he turned back to her again, he seemed more himself. He even forced his lips back into a semblance of a smile.
"Stop looking so worried, Kate. I merely grew tired of waiting for you and came in here to rest. Where the blazes have you been?"
"I am sorry I was late. My errand for Effie took longer than I expected."
Errand for Effie? Kate winced, ducking her head. She hated lying to Val. She seemed to be doing far too much of that lately.
He crooked his fingers beneath her chin. His hand was steadier now and he forced her to look up at him, his own eyes narrowing.
"You weren't with _him_ again, were you?"
"W-with who?" Kate faltered. Was it possible that Val somehow knew of her meetings with Prospero?
"With that young fool Victor. That's who!"
"Oh. Of course not." Kate relaxed, partly relieved that her secret was safe but dismayed to discover that Val still feared she might betray him with another man.
Val had always trusted her before. He was one of the few people who did. Was this what being in love did to a man, rendered him so dark and suspicious? Or only a man unfortunate enough to fall in love with Kate Fitzleger?
If Val continued this jealousy, it was going to prove a long, grim month until she was able to get that spell removed from Victor. Kate knew no other way to reassure Val other than to fling her arms around him, pressing her lips to his.
But he thrust her away from him and stood up abruptly.
"You had better go before the storm breaks."
His actions disturbed her as much as his words. She didn't want to leave him, not like this with everything seeming all wrong between them. But she remembered that Jem Sparkins was also scouring the village for Val.
"You have to go, too," she said. "Jem has been looking all over for you. Mrs. McGinty's grandson came to Slate House to fetch you out to her farm. He says his grandmother has taken a very bad turn."
Kate slipped out of the seat, fully expecting Val to go rushing past her, hastening off as he always did when someone needed him. She was surprised when he didn't move. He just stood there.
When he noticed her staring at him, his lips thinned and he hunched his shoulders in a faint shrug. "Mrs. McGinty always claims to be in a bad way. There is nothing wrong with the woman except for a touch of rheumatism and loneliness since her husband died. Neither one of which I can cure."
"But you usually do go out to sit with her for a while, bear her company."
"It is not my company she desires. She wants only what they all want from me."
When Kate regarded him in confusion, he flung up his right hand.
"This!" he said bitterly, splaying his fingers before her eyes. "My cursed power."
Kate was unable to conceal her dismay.
"What? Have I shocked you now, Kate?"
"Yes. I—I mean no," she stammered. "It is just that I have never heard you speak of your power that way. You always seemed to consider it a—a—"
"A gift? A blessing? Maybe at one time I did before—before—" He didn't complete the thought, pacing down the line of pews, running his hand along the worn wood and scowling.
"Do you know how old I was the first time I discovered I possessed such a strange power?"
"No." Kate was surprised to realize she didn't. She thought she knew practically everything about Val St. Leger, but this was something they had never discussed.
"I was only six years old." He slapped the palm of his right hand on top of a pew for emphasis. "Playing at seek and dare with Lance in the gardens at Castle Leger. I never found him but I found one of our butler's children crying beneath the azalea bush.
"Little Sally Sparkins. It seemed she had scraped her elbow and she had these enormous tears spilling down her cheeks. I only wanted to comfort her, get her to stop weeping, so I touched her hand.
"She only cried harder and I didn't know what else to do, so I clutched her hand harder, wishing with all my might I could make her stop hurting, and then something strange happened. My palm began to tingle."
Val flexed his hand, staring down at it as though he was reliving the sensation. "It felt as though my very veins were opening up and then there was this incredible rush of power. The next thing I knew Sally had stopped crying. Of course my own elbow hurt like the very devil for a while, but that didn't seem important.
"That little girl looked up at me, her eyes shining with such gratitude, such awe. And I felt it, too. To possess such a power, Kate, to be strong enough to absorb someone else's pain, to bring such relief to another human being, especially one you care about, one that you love."
Val's face softened, his eyes filling with the wonder he must have once felt. But the expression vanished as quickly as it had come, his mouth turning down.
"I don't know what has gone wrong," he said. "Maybe I am just not strong enough anymore or maybe there have finally been too many butler's daughters, too many Mrs. McGintys, too many hurting people beating a path to my door.
"And always the same cry. 'You must help me, Dr. St. Leger. Please, take the pain away. You are the only one who can do it. The only one.' "
Val pressed his hand against his eyes.
"Lord, Kate," he said. "I am so very tired of being the only one."
Kate started toward him, longing to comfort him, but she hesitated, fearing he might only push her away again.
He lowered his hand, his eyes filled with such despair, it tore at her heart. "I have never admitted that to anyone before. Not even myself. Now I suppose you will realize that I am not quite the hero you have always believed me to be."
Kate's throat constricted. She rushed toward him and flung her arms about his neck. "Oh, Val, how can you say such things?" she choked. "Don't you realize you are quite simply the best man I have ever known? Everything I have ever learned about kindness, goodness I have learned from you."
He held her close, murmuring into her hair, "I haven't felt particularly kind or good lately. I have changed, Kate. Something terrible has happened to me and I don't quite know what it is."
No, but she did, Kate thought, winking back bitter tears of self-reproach. She had done this to him with her reckless pursuit of her own dreams, forcing him to fall in love with her, weaving her dark spells, never stopping to think what the cost might be to Val himself.
She had to release him, let him go, and even now her wicked, selfish heart recoiled at the thought.
"Val..." She took a deep gulp. "What if everything could be put back the way it used to be?"
"What do you mean?"
She lifted her head, hardly daring to look up at him. "What if time could be turned back somehow to the way everything was before All Hallows' Eve? Back to when we were just friends."
Val frowned. "You mean back to being crippled, to sacrificing myself to everyone else's needs, to having no hope of ever being able to love you?"
His lips tightened. "I'd rather be dead."
His words should have reassured her. They left her chilled instead. She clung to him and he held her tight. Outside the thunder rumbled, the lightning flashed as the storm moved closer. Rain started to drum against the stained-glass windows.
It was going to be a dark tempest-tossed night, the sort of night that could make any man believe in legends and curses, reminding Val of his heritage. As if he needed any reminders standing in a church where most of his ancestors had been laid to rest beneath the stone floor.
His gaze tracked to the vestibule where he knew the lady Deidre had been buried, or at least her heart, the only part of her that had remained after those villainous Mortmains had finished with her. Val had long felt a kinship with his unfortunate ancestress, and the connection only seemed stronger now.
Both of them healers in their own different ways, both of them falling in love with someone not chosen by the Bride Finder, and both of them murdered by Mortmains. Val could not accuse Rafe of taking a knife or a pistol to him. He could still not recall precisely what Rafe had done.
But he was left with this sense all the same that Rafe had indeed done him in, that some slow poison was spreading through his veins and it was only going to get worse.
Was it merely a Mortmain's vengeance or the St. Leger curse at work? Val had no idea. He longed to protect Kate while he still had some vestige of sanity left. He had heard that the lady Deidre had managed to save her lover by giving the man a potion that had caused him to forget her.
Even if Val had known how to brew up such a potion, could he have brought himself to give it to Kate? Val stared down at her, feeling her warmth, breathing in her light feminine scent. Could he ever bear for his wild girl to simply walk away, forget him forever?
No, he was no longer capable of such a sacrifice, Val thought in despair. He simply wasn't that noble anymore. Maybe he never had been.
He bent to kiss her. He knew the precise moment when day faded for good, plunging them into darkness. He felt the last vestige of his control slip away from him.
"Oh, Kate," he moaned. "You should have kept your promise. You should have stayed away."
Her only answer was to kiss him more fiercely than ever. And he was lost, all remaining thoughts of honor, the legend, and even marriage slipping from his mind. All he wanted to do was get Kate into the nearest bed.
Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her out into the storm.
_C HAPTER THIRTEEN_
* * *
_R_ AFE TRIED to hasten through the narrow streets, the rumbling skies warning him that the rain could break at any moment. But there seemed to be no hurrying the gray gelding. The horse plodded along as though every step was going to be its last.
Rafe had given over riding the poor brute and taken to leading it instead, muttering imprecations under his breath and wondering why he'd spent the better part of his day searching for the wretched beast, why he'd paid almost double to reclaim it.
The horse jobber he'd originally sold it to had wondered that as well.
"You want to buy back this here old bag of bones?" he had chuckled. "Lord, sir, I think you must have pixies playing tricks with your brain."
No, not pixies, Rafe thought dourly. A St. Leger. Whatever madness had induced him to rescue this broken-down horse was the same one that had made him assume protection of a widowed woman and her little boy. Whatever strange magic Val St. Leger had worked upon him on All Hallows' Eve.
The wind whipped fiercely in between the buildings, causing the inn sign to creak, a shutter to bang up against a window. Men clutching their caps, women huddling beneath shawls shoved past Rafe, scurrying for shelter as a loud crack of thunder sounded. The old horse, usually so docile, spooked at all the commotion.
It didn't attempt to rear on its haunches. There wasn't enough spirit left in the animal for that. But it did whinny and pull back on the reins, refusing to move, as stubborn as any mule.
Rafe tugged futilely, wanting to swear and lash out at the recalcitrant beast. He had never been that good with horses. But something about the terror he saw flaring in the gelding's soft liquid eyes brought him up short. He found himself stroking the horse's muzzle, murmuring soothing words.
"Easy old fellow. It's all right—"
What name was it Charley had given to the old brute?
"It's all right, Rufus," Rafe crooned. "Nothing to be afraid of. This little squall isn't going to be anything. Why, you should have seen some of the tempests I sailed through when I came 'round the cape—"
Rafe brought himself up short. He couldn't believe it. He truly had lost his mind. He was actually talking to a horse, and the astonishing thing was that it seemed to be responding. Between his coaxing and petting, he galvanized Rufus into motion again.
The horse trotted obediently after him the rest of the way to the inn yard. It had always been Rafe's custom to hand over the reins of his horse to the nearest ostler without a second look back.
But he felt compelled to linger, make sure the horse was being well cared for. He watched Rufus being rubbed down, fed an extra measure of oats. As he gave the gelding a final pat and turned to walk away, he almost imagined he saw a spark of gratitude in the gray beast's eyes.
It gave him a strange feeling tight in his chest. He had never been the sort of man before to win the trust of a horse, let alone a woman and a little boy. As he strode off through the darkness, his pace quickened as he approached the lodging where he had left Corinne and Charley.
A simple pair of rooms on the topmost floor of the inn. Not the finest place Rafe had ever stayed in his life, but not the worst either. He glanced upward and saw the candle shine flickering through the windows, like the beacon in a lighthouse leading a weary sailor past jagged reefs, guiding him safely home.
_Home_...Rafe frowned over the word, astonished that its use would even occur to him. There had never been any place in his life that he would have called home unless it was the deck of a ship. Why should he apply it now to a pair of dismal rooms in some backstreet inn?
He took the wooden stairs that stretched upward two at a time, trying to dismiss his haste as mere relief to escape the oncoming rain. Not because he was anticipating the look on Charley's face, Corinne's smile, when he told them he had recovered that wretched horse.
Not pausing to knock, he burst into the lodging, realizing belatedly that the door should have been barred until his return. That had been the last thing he had cautioned Corinne to do when he had left. He'd have to scold her for that later, but for right now...
Rafe's gaze tracked eagerly around the small threadbare sitting room. A cozy fire blazed on the hearth, filling the room with warmth. There was no sign of Corinne, but Charley sat curled up in a faded wingback chair pulled up to the window. Rafe crossed over to him.
"Charley, I fetched Rufus to the stables. Do you want to come and—" He broke off, noticing that the boy's head lolled to one side, his light-colored eyelashes resting against his smooth flushed cheeks. The child was fast asleep.
Rafe was conscious of a ridiculous feeling of disappointment. He bent down and lightly shook Charley's thin shoulder. The boy's only response was a low mumble. He shifted away from Rafe's hand, curling his body to the other side of the chair.
A low chuckle echoed from the other side of the room. Rafe turned to see Corinne silhouetted in the shadowy recesses of the doorway that led to the bedchamber.
"I am afraid nothing short of cannonfire can rouse Charley," she said. "He's a very sound sleeper."
"So I see." Rafe felt disgruntled and slightly embarrassed that he had been caught even trying to wake the child.
"He's been sitting by that window all afternoon, waiting for you. We were both worried that you would be caught in the storm."
Worried about him? Rafe frowned. He ought to tell her that he wasn't accustomed to concern, nor was it his habit to give an accounting of himself to anyone.
Instead he surprised himself by saying, "I am sorry. My errand took longer than I..."
The words died in his throat as Corinne moved closer. She must have used the opportunity of Rafe's absence to wash her hair, for it spilled loose about her shoulders. The tendrils were still damp but the rest of it had dried to a soft sheen, the firelight picking out golden highlights among the warm brown strands.
She had always kept her hair bundled up beneath a cap. He would never have imagined it to be so long or so silken. As his gaze roved over her, he made another startling discovery.
She had a long brown wool shawl flung about her shoulders, but beneath it she was already prepared for bed, attired in no more than her nightgown. Rafe had certainly seen women clad in far less and women a great deal more seductive than Corinne.
Why the sight of her en déshabille should have disturbed him so much, he didn't know. He averted his eyes and muttered, "If the boy is that exhausted, I suppose we should get him to bed."
Corinne nodded. She brushed past him to lift Charley into her arms, but Rafe refused to allow it. The boy was too heavy for her, and carting Charley off to bed would give Rafe something to do other than stand and stare at the boy's mother.
He eased Charley out of the chair. He was like a dead weight in Rafe's arms, the boy's white-blond head flopping against his shoulder. Rafe half envied Charley his deep repose.
Had Rafe ever known such untroubled slumber, even when he had been a boy himself? He doubted it. He'd spent too many nights listening to his mother entertaining her gentleman friends far too near his small cot.
Even after Evelyn had abandoned him at the monastery, Rafe had known little peace. At the age of eight, he'd already been far worldlier than the holy brothers, far more aware of the dangers of the revolution exploding outside their door. The night the red caps had broken into St. Augustine's brandishing their knives, Rafe had been the only one awake.
The memory of that night usually filled him with such horror, he suppressed it. Now thinking about it brought him only a deep sadness that the world could be such a dark and evil place.
His arms tightened protectively about Charley as he lowered the boy onto the bed in the next room, Corinne following them with a candlestick. Rafe was going to ease the child beneath the coverlet when she stopped him, holding up the lad's nightshirt.
It had never even occurred to Rafe that the child would need to be stripped out of his clothes, a task that seemed more daunting than climbing a tall mast to mend a torn sail in a fierce wind.
He was glad enough to step back and allow Corinne to attend to the chore, marveling at how well she managed. The child was as limp as a rag doll and yet Corinne had him disrobed in a trice, her hands efficient and gentle. Charley barely stirred as she tugged the nightshirt over his head.
She eased the boy back against the pillow, brushing a tender kiss against his brow, her long brown hair tumbling forward to mingle with the child's golden curls. There was an innocence, a vulnerability about the pair of them that stirred a chord of fierce protectiveness in Rafe.
The emotion felt as disturbing and unfamiliar to him as borrowing another man's clothes. Rafe started to retreat from the bedchamber when Corinne stretched out one hand to stop him.
"Oh, please, Mr. Moore, I know this will sound foolish to you, but Charley was hoping you would tuck him up tonight."
"The boy's fast asleep. How will he even know?"
"He'll likely ask me in the morning, and I couldn't lie to him."
Of course she couldn't. Rafe doubted that Corinne Brewer had ever lied to anyone in the entire course of her life.
He glanced dubiously from Charley to Corinne waiting by the bed. She had such hopeful trusting eyes, the sort of eyes that could have compelled most men to do any idiotic thing she asked. Rafe was only astonished to discover they could have the same effect on him.
He moved forward reluctantly, his hands feeling awkward as he dragged the coverlet up to the boy's chin. He tucked the blankets around the boy with the same neatness and precision he would have used trimming a sail. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Corinne suppress a small smile.
Rafe stared down at the small head slumbering upon the pillow. He'd never particularly liked children, especially not a boy like Charley, so small and fragile. And yet Rafe already sensed a quiet strength in the lad, a generosity of spirit, and a proud determination to take care of his mama. He was a gentle boy who would likely grow up to be a strong man, compassionate, honorable, and good.
A man like Val St. Leger.
Rafe didn't know why thoughts of Val should keep creeping into his mind or filling him with such a sense of guilt. He threaded his fingers clumsily through Charley's babe-fine strands of blond hair until he remembered that Corinne still observed him.
She observed him far too much, Rafe thought, with that honest gaze of hers. He drew away from the child and stumbled from the room.
He paced to the window in the sitting room. The rain bled dark lines of moisture down the pane, flares of lightning illuminating the stable yard below, trees bending in the wind.
Rafe had always liked storms at sea, enjoyed the feel of a deck bucking beneath him, pitting himself against the challenge of the raging waves. But it was a different matter ashore, the relentless rain and the thunder often spiraling him into a black mood, into brooding over the past. Too many grim memories, too many nightmares.
Except not tonight. He was far more conscious of the warm firelight flickering behind him, the soft presence of the woman and boy in the other room. Rafe stared out into the storm, waiting for the restlessness, the old bitterness to overtake him, but it never came. And he knew whom he had to thank for that.
Val St. Leger and whatever strange healing he had performed on Rafe. With the mere pressure of his hand, he had done more than save Rafe's life. It was almost as though Val had saved his very soul.
But who the devil had asked him to? Rafe wanted to rage. It was deuced unsettling, being indebted to one he had long considered an enemy, and yet he couldn't stop worrying about Val, regretting he'd left him in possession of that cursed crystal.
He tried to reassure himself it would be all right. Rafe had had the crystal locked away in his chest for years. He had even worn it occasionally and it had never proved a danger to him. Not until he had reached the lowest point in his life, when sheer despair and a sense of complete failure had driven him to piracy off the coast of Mexico.
The memory of those days now filled Rafe with shame and self-loathing. He had been a seaman himself since the age of sixteen. He knew how hard the life was without one's vessel being preyed upon by the scum of the earth, the kind of scum he had allowed himself to become.
It had been during those dark days that he had taken to wearing the crystal all the time, allowing it to gain such a hold upon him. It had seemed to reflect back to Rafe tenfold every angry thought, every bitter resentment. But a man as saintly as St. Leger wouldn't have that problem, would never succumb to the crystal's evil power. And even if Val did, Rafe didn't know why he should care.
But he did, to the point that he almost considered risking his own neck, returning to Torrecombe to warn Val. It was as though in some strange way he had absorbed part of Val's nobility, his selfless character.
"Mr. Moore?"
Corinne's low voice roused Rafe from his uneasy reflections. He turned to find her hovering uncertainly behind him. Ever since he had let these lodgings for them, she usually retired discreetly at night with Charley in the next room, leaving Rafe in possession of the sitting room.
It disconcerted him to have her standing so close in her nightgown, with her hair tumbled down that way, the soft clean scent filling his nostrils.
"It is late. You should be abed," he said.
"I know, but I could not retire without thanking you."
Rafe sighed. He was not accustomed to all this gratitude. "Thank me? What the deuce for now?"
"For bringing back Rufus."
"I needed a horse and—"
"You didn't need that one," Corinne interrupted. "And, Mr. Moore, you don't even like horses."
Rafe started, wondering how she had realized that. Even upon their short acquaintance, the woman already understood far too much about him. It was those soft, seeking eyes of hers, seeming to peel back the thick layers of his skin, to strip him clear down to his soul. Only Rafe wasn't sure that it was _his_ soul she was seeing.
"I know why you went to fetch Rufus," she said. "You did it for Charley."
Rafe opened his mouth to deny it, found that he couldn't. He shrugged. "It was a small enough matter to buy back the horse, and your son seems attached to that wretched creature."
"I hope Charley didn't badger you about Rufus or—"
"No, no," Rafe was quick to assure her. "He wouldn't do that. He—he's a good boy," he added gruffly.
"And you are a very good man."
"There is nothing in the least good about me, my dear. Don't be imagining I am any sort of hero just because I took this mad whim to help you and your son. If you have found me kind at all, it is only because—because—"
Because of the miraculous change that had been wrought in him by Val. But how could he even begin to explain to Corinne all about the St. Legers and their strange abilities? He couldn't, so he held his tongue, stalking away from her, wishing she would simply leave him alone and go to bed.
But she trailed after him, insisting, "You _are_ a remarkable man, Mr. Moore. Very few gentlemen would have burdened themselves with the care of a woman and a child not even their own."
"I told you why I did it," Rafe said impatiently.
"Because a boy should not be abandoned by his mother." Corinne hesitated before asking, "How old were you when your mother left you?"
Rafe tensed. It didn't surprise him that Corinne had been able to guess that much about his past. The woman was far too perceptive.
Evelyn Mortmain was a subject Rafe preferred to leave undiscussed, but he surprised himself by answering Corinne.
"I was around Charley's age when she abandoned me at a monastery in Paris. She died before she could ever return for me."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Corinne said. "Then your mama hoped that one day you would take holy vows yourself?"
Rafe nearly choked at that.
"No," he said dryly. "The members of my family have never been particularly religious. Especially not my mother, and I never had any idea who my father was. I often suspected that he might have been one of the monks at St. Augustine's. My mother was the sort of woman who would have found it amusing to seduce a holy man."
He hoped his reply might daunt Corinne into discontinuing her questions. But she looked more saddened than shocked by his words.
"Then this monastery in Paris—that was where you grew up?"
"I might have done except for the trifling matter of the revolution. Religious establishments were not exactly popular at that time in France. One night the mob broke into St. Augustine's and burned the place to the ground." Rafe shrugged, seeking to brush off the memories of the night that still haunted him, the fire, the blood, the death he had witnessed and barely survived.
But some of those old horrors must have left their trace upon his face. Corinne said nothing, but stroked her hand through his hair, a tender soothing gesture he'd watched her use many times with Charley.
Rafe could not recall any other woman ever touching him that way. His mother had never been that gentle and he'd always been so cold, so distant, no other lady would have dared. Not even the ones he'd taken to his bed.
Corinne's hand was careworn, but surprisingly soft. Rafe stared at her, feeling as tense and wary as any wild animal allowing itself to be lured too close to the human world. She was almost pretty, he realized in some surprise, studying her face. It was those eyes of hers perhaps, large, luminous in the firelight. Or the glossy tumble of her golden brown hair. He had to fight the urge to bury his fingers in the thick, silky strands, her very nearness arousing in him something akin to desire.
Desire for Corinne Brewer? Ridiculous, Rafe thought, but when her fingers caressed the taut line of his cheek, he sucked in his breath.
Catching her hand, he put it roughly away from him. "Don't."
His harsh command caused her to flinch. He didn't want to hurt her feelings. She was only trying to be kind, but damnation, the woman was old enough to have better sense.
"I have tried to make it clear to you that I am not a good man or a particularly honorable one," he growled. "You shouldn't be here alone with me, wearing that flimsy nightgown, touching me, tempting me—"
He broke off as a fiery red blush mounted into her cheeks, her eyes widening. Apparently it hadn't occurred to the woman he might find her desirable, which wasn't astonishing. It had never occurred to Rafe either.
She stammered, "You mean that—that I am—am—"
"Arousing me? Yes." His blunt words should have sent her scurrying for the other room to bolt inside and bar the door.
Instead she fretted the ends of her shawl, her head bowed so that her hair tumbled forward, concealing the bright red flush of her cheeks.
"Mr. Moore, you have been so terribly kind to me and Charley."
"What the devil has that got to do with anything?"
"Only that I have had no idea how I was ever going to repay you unless you truly would want—That is, I—I could—"
She was mumbling her words into her hair, and at first Rafe didn't have the least notion what she was talking about until it suddenly dawned upon him.
Corinne was offering herself to him as payment for his aid. This respectable little widow! He should have laughed, should have found the notion damned amusing. But somehow he didn't.
Rafe was on the verge of ordering her sternly to bed when Corinne took a deep breath and dropped her shawl to the floor. She shook back her hair and Rafe felt his mouth go dry.
The nightgown was damned flimsy, old and worn from far too many washings. The light of the fire shone straight through the thin fabric, silhouetting the feminine form beneath. She was a full-figured woman with soft thighs and generous hips, her breasts large and round, her nipples dusky circles pressing up against the bodice of the gown.
Rafe swallowed thickly, made an effort to look away, but Corinne didn't help the situation. She trembled and shyly stole her arms about his neck, moving close enough to give him just a tantalizing taste of her softness, the warmth she was inviting him to share.
He'd done without a woman for a long time, far too long. A shaft of pure arousal shot through him, tightening his groin. He had never been the sort of man to refuse anything a woman was foolish enough to offer. When Corinne melted closer, he groaned and pulled her to him, his mouth claiming hers.
The wind and rain battered at the windows of Slate House, the thick walls muting the sound of the thunder, making Kate feel as though Val had carried her into the very eye of the storm. Shoving back her rain-soaked hood, she tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness, her gaze roving over her unfamiliar surroundings, the shadowy forms of the furniture, the heavy curtains. A flare of lightning illuminated the vast recesses of the bed, and a dark shiver worked through Kate.
She had never been inside Val's bedchamber. He would never have allowed such a thing before. But the Val she had once known seemed in danger of disappearing before her very eyes.
She watched as he moved further into the room, no more than a powerful silhouette of a man, until he struck tinder, lighting one of the candles. The wick flared, casting a glow over his features, his dark, wet hair slicked back except for one stubborn strand falling across his brow, his face ice white except for the burning intensity of his eyes.
Setting the candle atop the bureau, he stripped off his cloak, tossing it aside. His frock coat followed, his waistcoat and damp shirt clinging to him, revealing the muscular strength of his forearms. He almost seemed a stranger to her, this man who had swept her up on his horse and carried her away into the night. A dark seductive stranger...
As her gaze locked with his across the expanse of the room, Kate could feel the heat, the power of Val's longing. He intended to make love to her, and she sensed there would be no turning back this time.
It was the moment Kate had awaited forever, and yet as Val stalked toward her, she turned away from him, feeling suddenly uncertain. After his strange behavior at the church, it was getting harder to ignore all the devastating changes she had wrought in him, harder to still her conscience, even harder to continue using her love as an excuse.
Val loomed behind her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders, his breath warm against her hair. "We should get you out of these wet things," he whispered.
Kate said nothing, her heart hammering so hard, she was scarce able to breathe, let alone speak. Her pulse raced as he reached around her to undo the fastening of her cloak, peeling it off her shoulders, dropping it to the floor. He ran his hands lightly along her arms in a way that sent tingles through her, the heat of his touch penetrating the thin fabric of her sleeves.
Stealing his arm about her waist, he drew her back hard against him. He shifted the damp tangles of her hair aside, pressing his lips to her neck, his mouth warm and rough. A tremulous sigh escaped Kate, the urge to melt against him strong.
But she resisted it, pulling away from him to stand trembling by the bed. Val followed, forcing her to turn and face him.
"What is wrong, Kate?" he asked. "Have you suddenly grown afraid of me?"
Afraid of him? Kate shook her head at the foolish question. How could she even begin to explain to him that it was more herself she was coming to fear, that she could have been ruthless enough to have done this to him, changed him past all recognition.
As he reached up to brush his fingers through her hair, his hand once so strong, so sure, was completely unsteady. And yet beyond the dark emotions in his eyes, she still saw traces of the real Val St. Leger, lost somewhere in the madness of the spell she had woven.
"You can still leave, Kate," he said. "Flee downstairs to Jem. He would find a way to—to keep you away from me tonight, protect you."
"Oh, Val, I don't need protection from you," Kate said. If anything, she thought, it was the other way around. She touched her hand to his cheek.
"I love you," she whispered.
He caught her hand, pressing a searing kiss against the center of her palm, but he gave a strange sad laugh as he echoed her words. "Love me? Kate, I don't think you even know who I am. You believe that I am this—this cross between Sir Galahad and some kind of saint. But I am not like that anymore. I never was. All I am is a man who—who—"
"Who what?" she prompted when he hesitated.
"Who desires you beyond all reason," Val finished huskily, drawing her hard against him. She could feel the heat pouring off his body, his heart pounding in erratic time with hers, as he claimed her lips in a long slow kiss that both stirred her own desire and filled her with despair.
_Beyond all reason._ Aye, it was an apt description of what she had done with her witchcraft to Val, this good strong man she had known and adored all her life. She had forced him to this, wanting her against his will, even his character, and it threatened to tear him apart.
Before his kiss could steal away what remained of her reason, Kate tried to pull back, peering up at him with troubled eyes.
"But, Val, what if—if the legend is right? What if you should not love me? What if I truly am bad for you?"
"Bad for me? Kate, you have ever been my good angel."
She flushed with shame, shaking her head vehemently at such a description of herself, so ill-deserved. But Val stilled her protest, imprisoning her face between his hands.
"Don't you remember all those nights I sat up in my library, in such pain from my leg I was unable to sleep? And you always came to bear me company, to comfort me."
"Aye." Kate attempted to smile. "I remember how you scolded me for stealing from my bed and roaming abroad at such a hour."
"So I did, but you will never know how glad I was to see you. I spent all my days administering to the aches of this village, taking away pain, but you were the only one who could ever make me forget mine. You always seemed to realize when I needed you the most. How did you know that, Kate?"
"I—I don't know," Kate faltered. It had been something she had never been able to explain even to herself.
"I have no idea how I knew. I just did."
"Then you must realize how much I need you right now. I want you so badly, it hurts. I'll never get through this night without you." Val's eyes blazed with passion, but were shadowed with torment as well.
"Stay with me, Kate," he pleaded, his mouth a whisper away from hers. "Be my midnight angel one more time."
How could any woman resist such an appeal, Kate thought in despair, even knowing it was wrong? His lips closed over hers and she swayed toward him, melting in his arms. What a dark, desperate moment it was to realize that she was going to have to release him from this madness, let him go for all time.
But she could do nothing to break the spell tonight. Would it be truly so wicked if she surrendered, eased his longing? Stole just one night in his arms before she brought an end to this dark magic and condemned them both to a lifetime of being apart?
Perhaps it was, but Kate felt her will to resist slowly dissolve beneath the heated demand of Val's mouth pressed to hers. He kissed her again and again, nipping lightly at her lower lip, teasing her with the thrust of his tongue. She could feel the warmth of his hands as he fumbled with the fastenings of her gown.
"I am sorry I am so deuced awkward at this." He grimaced. "But I have practically lived like a damned monk in this accursed village all these years. God, what a humiliating admission for a man my age to have to make."
"It is all right," Kate said, brushing her lips against his. "We will learn about this as we have done so many other things—together."
She moved to help him with her garments. Her hands were as unsteady as his, but somehow they managed to divest her of the gown. Chemise, stockings, garters all swiftly followed until she stood naked before him.
His gaze roved over her with a boldness that brought the heat flooding to her cheeks. But Kate felt no urge to cover herself. She shook back the heavy fall of her hair, fully exposing the curves of her breasts, a dark tremor of excitement coursing through her at Val's hungry stare.
"You—you have grown into such a beautiful woman, Kate," he said hoarsely. "When did that happen? I turned my head for only a moment and the girl I once knew was gone."
He drew her back into his arms. "I vow I will never take my eyes away from you again."
Beautiful words, beautiful promise. If only it had come from the promptings of Val's heart and not her spell. But Kate thrust such unhappy reflections aside as Val began to caress her back, her hips, cupping her bottom until her body pressed tight to his, making her aware of how hot, how hard he was. Kate trembled, her body quickening with all manner of new sensations, but she felt strangely vulnerable being stripped bare while Val remained nearly fully clothed.
But when she reached for the button at the top of his shirt, he stopped her.
"No!" he said, his voice sounding sharp, almost close to panic. When she peered up at him in surprise, he attempted to smile.
"Not just yet," he said, easing away from her, and she was left with the curious feeling he was hiding something beneath his shirt. But before she could question him any further, he snuffed out the candle, plunging the room into darkness.
Val swept her off her feet, carrying her to the bed. He eased her down onto the mattress and flung himself beside her. His lips found hers in another searing kiss. Kate wrapped her arms around him, feverishly returning the embrace, but when she tried to explore him as he was doing her, he stopped her once more.
"No, Kate, don't. I am so ready for you, I swear one more touch will finish me," he panted. "Just—just lie still and let me make love to you, arouse you."
Kate tried to do as he asked, settling onto her back. But _lie still_? How was it possible to obey such a command when Val's every touch seemed calculated to fill her with restlessness, coiling the tension ever tighter inside her?
He trapped her arms above her head with one hand, holding her captive to the merciless questing of his other hand, his mouth. Kate moaned softly at each kiss, each caress. For all his claims of inexperience, Val was as passionate a lover as any woman could have desired.
If only it had been real and not the result of witch-craft, of the dark magic she'd woven on All Hallows' Eve. It was strange making love like this in the dark with the rain and thunder rumbling outside, the only sound within the chamber the soft quick mingling of their breath.
Val still had not paused to remove his clothes, only eased down his breeches. It was not at all the romantic and tender way she had once dreamed, but Kate felt more than ready when Val parted her legs, positioning himself above her.
He braced himself on both arms, his mouth taking hers in a hot, hungry kiss as he thrust himself inside of her. Kate felt a fleeting stab of pain, and then nothing but the truly miraculous sensation of his body joined to hers.
"Now you are mine, Kate," Val whispered raggedly in her ear. "And nothing or no one shall ever take you away from me."
If only that were true. Kate felt a sharp stinging behind her eyes because she knew far differently. It was Val himself who would part them once the spell had been removed.
But Kate blinked fiercely, forcing the despairing thought away for now. She wrapped her arms tightly around him as he began to move inside her, faster and faster.
A flare of lightning revealed Val's face poised above her, but she could not make out the expression in his eyes as he drove them ever closer to the culmination of their forbidden desire.
And perhaps it was just as well, Kate thought. Because this way she could give herself up completely to his passion and pretend that he truly loved her.
At least for just one night.
* * *
Rafe held Corinne close, savoring the curves of her body pressed against his. Corinne seemed stiff, a little tentative. She wasn't the kind of woman used to expressing her gratitude this way, trading herself to a man in return for the favors he'd done her. But Rafe well knew how to seduce a reluctant female whenever he chose to so exert himself.
He captured her lips, his mouth moving sensually over hers, coaxing her lips to part. Her tongue crept forward, engaging with his in a bashful mating. He suppressed a smile of triumph when he felt her relax against him.
He kissed her long and deep, his hands roaming over her body, finding the old cotton nightgown a nuisance, an unattractive barrier separating him from the womanly form veiled beneath.
Breaking the heated contact of their lips, he began to undo the faded ribbons that laced up the front of her gown. Corinne trembled, a fierce blush staining her cheeks as he eased the nightgown down her pink plump shoulders, but she made no move to stop him.
It was her eyes that did that, gazing up at him, so shy and so vulnerable. He felt himself hesitate, though he was damned if he knew why. His body was already hard for her, pulsing with needs that had gone too long unattended.
And blast it all, she had started this. She had offered herself to him. It was not as though she were any shrinking virgin. She'd been married, gone through the rigors of childbirth. She'd obviously had some experience with the lusts of a man.
Then why did she look so young, so cursed innocent standing there in her worn white nightgown, her hair curling softly about her earnest face? Rafe gritted his teeth, tried to tug the cotton fabric down to expose her breasts. Tried and discovered he just couldn't do it.
Swearing, he pulled the nightgown back up to her neckline and flung himself away from her. For long moments the only sound in the room was the rain drumming against the windows and his own frustrated breathing.
When he dared to glance back at Corinne, she stood exactly where he had left her, looking embarrassed and confused. Rafe didn't blame her. He felt damned confused himself as to why he was allowing himself to burn with thwarted desire when his relief stood only an arm's length away.
But when she tried to approach him again, he flung up one hand to ward her off. "No, don't. Stay the devil away from me."
"Then—then you don't want me?"
Rafe suppressed a groan. Want her? He couldn't ever remember wanting a woman more in his life, but he snarled, "No, damn it. Just go to bed and—and leave me alone."
Corinne ducked her head, but not before he saw her face burn with humiliation, the hurt that flashed in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I have made a great fool of myself. I am not the sort of woman who would ever tempt a man like you to—to—"
She trailed off, turning toward the bedchamber. If he'd had any sense at all, he would have simply let her go, but somehow he could not bear it, the way she crept away, the dejected slump of her shoulders.
Crossing the room in several long strides, he cut off her retreat, catching hold of her arms. "Damnation, Corinne, of course I was tempted. I think I made that pretty bloody obvious."
She tipped her head to look doubtfully up at him. "Then why did you stop?"
"Because you are not made for a night of casual lust in a man's arms. You are the kind of woman who has forever written in your eyes. And I can't take advantage of your gratitude to me simply because I have been alone for too long."
"And you think I haven't been?" she asked. "Mr. Moore, I have been widowed for over a year, and with my husband away at sea, my bed has gone empty for longer than that."
She flushed, embarrassed by her confession, but her eyes gazed straight into his, shimmering with such wants, such needs, a loneliness far too similar to his own.
He couldn't resist drawing her into his arms, cradling her close. He breathed in the scent of her hair. She smelled like flowers, gentle spring rains, filling his arms with the kind of warmth, the kind of softness he had missed his entire cold life.
And she wanted him as badly as he did her. But that still did not make seducing her any more right. With more self-control than he ever dreamed he possessed, he eased her back out of his embrace.
"It is only the storm, my dear," he murmured, caressing his fingers through the shining length of her hair. "You must trust me on this. I know. The wailing of the wind can play tricks, rousing a melancholy in you, making you think that you want things you should never have."
Her lips curved in a sad smile. "I think you are trying to tell me that I would regret it, come morning."
"No, I am telling you that I would."
His words astonished himself as much as they did her. He pressed a kiss to her brow, then stepped reluctantly away from her.
"And now I think you'd best get to bed."
She regarded him wistfully, but nodded in agreement. "Good night, Mr. Moore."
"Rafe," he said.
"What?"
"My name is Rafe," he repeated, realizing this was perhaps the greatest folly he had committed yet, giving her any part of his real identity. But it suddenly felt ridiculously important to him to hear his name from her lips.
"Good night...Rafe," she breathed. And with that gentle parting she slipped into the other bedchamber, closing the door, leaving him filled with confusion and regrets.
What had he done, allowing her to leave him that way? He was going to spend half the night now in torment over needs he could have seen so easily fulfilled. Yet for one of the rare times in his life, he realized he had behaved in an honorable fashion.
And it felt remarkably good.
Tossing down a pillow and a blanket, he stretched out to all the cold comforts of bedding down alone before the dying fire. Despite the rain and wind continuing to batter at the inn window, despite the hardness of the floor beneath him, Rafe rolled on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a faint smile. Thinking about the woman in the next room with the sweet eyes and gentle touch, about the little boy who slept so soundly beside her, Rafe was filled with an unexpected contentment, a sense of peace unlike anything he'd ever known.
Wherever Val St. Leger was tonight, Rafe only hoped that he felt the same.
Val tossed restlessly on his pillow and moaned, caught up in the throes of the worst nightmare he'd ever had.
He was cold, shivering, and alone, lost in the terrible labyrinth that comprised the streets of Paris. Ahead of him he could see his mother, but no matter how hard he ran, he could never catch up to her.
_"Maman. Wait. Please don't leave me."_
Madeline St. Leger only glanced back at him with a cold, distant smile, then vanished down a mist-spun alley. His heart pumping with fear, Val charged after her. Rounding the corner, he stumbled upon a scene of terrible slaughter.
A church blazed, the flames already licking upward to consume the cross attached to the roof. The hellish fire lit up the street, the shadows of red-capped demons looming large as they hacked away with their swords, cutting down everyone in their path. Gentle-faced men in brown robes, women, children. Their screams rent the air, their blood slick on the pavement beneath Val's feet.
Some of them were still alive and they clutched at him, catching at his cloak, dark desperate eyes all around him, blood-streaked faces pleading.
_"Help us, Dr. St. Leger. Please, you must. You are the only one."_
But there were too many of them. He whirled about in despair, scarce knowing whom to help first. Then he saw her crumpled at the base of the church steps, her gypsy dark hair spilled about her, her white face turned up toward the firelit sky.
_Kate._
Val struck away the grasping hands and rushed toward her, catching her up in his arms. But her eyes were closed, her body so cold, so lifeless. He looked up from Kate's pale face to find Effie Fitzleger standing over him.
"It's the curse," she said, shaking her brassy blond curls at him reproachfully. "You should never have touched her. She wasn't your chosen bride."
"No!" Val shouted at the woman, driving her away from him. He turned desperately back to Kate, certain he could revive her. If only he could take away some of her pain—
He grasped her limp hand in his, grasped it hard, trying with everything in him to invoke his own special brand of the St. Leger magic. But it was useless. His power was gone—
"No," Val groaned again, but this time he was able to snap his eyes open, forcing himself awake. Heart thudding, he struggled upright as though his pillow, or the very sheets would be enough to drag him into slumber and straight back to his nightmare.
He looked wildly about him, taking in the solid familiarity of his bedchamber. Then he dragged his hand shakily back through his hair, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow.
It had been only a bad dream, but he was unable to comfort himself with that thought because it had not been entirely his dream. He had never been abandoned by his mother, never been to Paris in the entire course of his life.
Now even Rafe Mortmain's nightmares seemed to blend with his, mingling with his own worst fears about Kate, about the St. Leger curse. At least he could console himself that the girl must surely be home safe in her bed.
Except she wasn't. She was in his.
The storm had stopped, moonlight poking from behind the clouds to reveal the slumbering form next to him. Kate lay curled on her side, the sheet tangled around her naked body, looking almost as still and cold as she had been in his dream.
Val reached out a trembling hand to brush back the dark tangle of her hair. He was relieved to catch the slight rise and fall of her breath, but a dark bruise stained the pale skin of her shoulder.
Oh, God, what had he done?
Val recoiled in horror, his chest constricting as remembrance flooded back to him of the way he had taken her, their fierce, passionate lovemaking. It didn't help to remember how warm and willing Kate had been, how eagerly she had responded to his caresses.
The girl had always loved and trusted him too damn much and now he had betrayed her completely. She had already endured so much, the taunts, the sniggers about being born a bastard, a foundling child, abandoned by both her parents.
And now he had dishonored her as well.
It was all the fault of the cursed crystal. He tugged at the chain, drawing the glittering stone from beneath his shirt.
His hand closed over the crystal and he gritted his teeth, trying to summon the strength to wrench it free, get rid of it.
"Val?" Kate's sleepy voice sounded behind him and he froze.
"What—what are you doing? Is anything wrong?" she mumbled. He felt her stirring beside him.
He stared helplessly down at the crystal and then shoved it back into his shirt, knowing that he must never allow her to see it, never be infected by its strange power. He feared it was already too late for him, but he had to protect her somehow before he destroyed them both, before they became one more page in the tragic history of St. Legers who had defied the legend.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, wanting to put distance between them, but he made the mistake of looking back at her. She had sat up, appearing drowsy and bewildered, the sheets falling away from her naked body.
Val's breath hitched painfully in his throat. He'd always woven stories for Kate about her being the daughter of a selkie, and she very well could have been.
Her long hair clung to her shoulders, the dark tendrils as wildly tangled as a mermaid's tresses, her skin as pale as the moonlight that spilled over it. Her body was as slender and supple as a reed, from the graceful length of her legs to the proud curve of her breasts.
He had no right to touch her again, no right to want her this badly. But the crystal pressed against his skin, thrumming over the region of his heart, pulsing with every desire, every longing he'd ever suppressed.
He was lost. He groaned softly, but he had no choice except to draw Kate back into his arms and make love to her all over again.
_C HAPTER FOURTEEN_
* * *
_D_ URING THE ENSUING WEEKS Rosebriar Cottage came to resemble the scene of a coaching disaster, half-open trunks and portmanteaus scattered everywhere as Effie kept the entire household in an uproar with her feverish preparations for the journey to London.
Bandboxes had even begun to make their appearance in the parlor; gloves, fans, and other trinkets were piled on the Hepplewhite table. Effie paced the carpet in an agony of indecision, lifting an ormolu clock off the mantel then replacing it as she considered a sturdier timepiece set in a brass casing instead.
Effie's ringlets and the lappets of her lace cap quivered as she clucked her tongue and shook her head.
"Oh dear, oh dear." She turned anxiously toward Kate's still figure, silhouetted in the window seat.
"Kate, my love, you must help me decide. Which one of my precious clocks do you think I should bring?"
Kate stared listlessly out the window, consumed by her own thoughts, none of them pleasant. But she roused herself from her torpor long enough to cast an indifferent glance in Effie's direction.
"You don't need any of them. I am sure they have sufficient clocks in London."
"Yet it is the never the same as having the comfort of one's own familiar timepiece," Effie fretted. "I once heard tell of some duchess or other who could travel nowhere without her own sheets. Well, I am sure I feel quite the same way about my clocks."
Effie decided on the brass, only to change her mind immediately, undoing the wrappings and flinging them on the floor.
Kate sighed and tried to ignore her, wishing Effie and all her infernal clocks to perdition. An ill-natured thought and she was ashamed of it. It was only because the strain of this past month was finally beginning to tell on her. These past weeks had surely been some of the longest of her life.
Rubbing her aching neck, every line of her body seemed fraught with tension and weariness as she peered out the window. The cottages in the village appeared to huddle together beneath a slate gray sky, the wind coming in from the sea, cold and rough. Kate could not remember when she had last seen the sun. Sometimes she feared it was but one more disastrous consequence of her miscast spell, that she had managed to drain all the sunshine out of the world.
Or had she only stolen the light away from the man that she loved?
Val changed more and more with each passing day, his temper more uncertain, his eyes more dark and brooding. The villagers had begun to whisper that Dr. St. Leger had run mad, that he was cursed, and Kate herself feared it was so. Val neglected his patients, avoided his family, and disappeared into the countryside for hours on end, galloping away on that demonic horse of his. Even Kate did not know where he went.
The only times that she herself saw Val these days was when...A heated blush stole into Kate's face and she pressed her cheek against the windowpane to cool it.
The only time she saw Val was when they were making love. Or more precisely she didn't actually _see_ him for they fondled, caressed, and came together desperately under the cover of darkness. One stolen night in his arms had somehow become two, three, four...each time together more heated than the last.
Kate feared that the entire district by now must be aware of their indiscretion. She had caught some of the sly smiles, the whispers behind the hedgerows. No one seemed particularly surprised about Kate. No better had ever been expected of her, the bastard child, the wild gypsy girl. But everyone was astounded that their good doctor could behave in such disreputable fashion.
Kate didn't give a damn what was being said about her. She was used to it. But it hurt deeply to hear Val's honor questioned, his reputation sullied. Yet she could not bring herself to stay away from him. One smoldering look from his eyes, one demanding beckon of his finger, and she was back in his arms, the desire flaming between them.
She had all the passion from Val she had ever craved, but in the process of gaining a lover, she had somehow lost her friend. She missed the quiet times they had once spent together playing at chess, poring over his books, taking long walks, conversing endlessly.
At times during these past days she had felt so lonely, so miserable, she had actually been driven to return to Prospero's tower upon the hill, seeking out the company of a ghost.
But it would all be over by tonight. It was exactly one month to the day since All Hallows' Eve and Prospero had assured her the conditions would now be right. The thought of ending the spell at last filled Kate with equal parts relief, despair, and fear. She was often tormented by the memory of what Val had said when she had proposed to him putting all back as it was before.
_"I'd rather be dead."_
Kate could only pray that when he was back in his right wits he would think far differently of the matter. Pray as well that he would be able to forgive her when he finally realized what she had done to him. A heavy lump swelled in her throat, tears stinging her eyes.
"Dearest?"
Kate felt Effie's touch upon her shoulder. She dashed the moisture from her eyes before turning to face her guardian. She felt as though she would have greatly welcomed some comfort just now, a bit of motherly advice, but she clearly wasn't going to get it from Effie.
Looking perplexed herself, the older woman held up both of her clocks. "I simply cannot make up my mind, Kate. Which one do you think I should choose?"
Kate gave a ragged laugh. She couldn't believe it. Her heart was clearly breaking in two and the woman was asking her about clocks. Everyone in the entire village seemed to be aware of what was going on between her and Val. Everyone but Effie. Her adoptive mother existed entirely in a world of her own.
Resisting the urge to dash the clocks from Effie's hands, Kate uncurled from the window seat and shot to her feet.
"For heaven's sake, Effie. Take both the damned things if you want. What the devil does it matter?"
Effie backed away from her, looking as wounded as a child that had been slapped. Kate was flooded with instant remorse. Losing one's temper with Effie was like kicking a kitten.
"I am sorry," Kate said wearily, gentling her tone. "Take the ormolu. It is quite your prettiest one."
But the damage had already been done. Her own spirits quite dampened, Effie forlornly replaced both clocks on the mantel. She regarded Kate with a quivering lip. "Do you care nothing about our trip to London, my dear? Are you not the least bit excited?"
_No_ , Kate longed to snap. The truth was that after tonight, it would not matter in the least where she was. Once Val was safely restored to himself, all would become exactly as it once had been. Only it could never be entirely. Her honorable Val would be appalled, ashamed of all those stolen trysts. He would never want her near him again. She would have lost both her lover and her friend.
Beyond tonight, the future was nothing but a bitter void. But for Effie's benefit, Kate forced a brittle smile to her lips. "I am sure London will be quite pleasant."
Rather than appearing reassured, Effie burst into tears. She flung herself at Kate in a fierce hug, her thin body trembling with sobs.
Kate stood stiff and uncomfortable. "Effie, what in the world is the matter now?"
"Ohhh!" Effie clung to Kate, her words coming out in ragged gulps. "I s-simply cannot bear this. Seeing you so—so unhappy."
Kate's eyes widened in astonishment. She didn't believe that Effie had even noticed that much. She hugged the older woman, patting her shoulder, wishing she could cry in that wholehearted fashion, unburdening her woes.
But Kate could just imagine Effie's reaction if she ever disclosed to her guardian all that had been going on this past month. That she had not only bewitched Val St. Leger, but she had been spending night after night in his arms.
Effie would succumb to apoplexy on the spot.
As usual Kate swallowed her own misery and eased Effie away from her.
"Effie, I am not that unhappy. I am merely tired. This getting ready for London has been exhausting."
"A-aye, indeed it has," Effie said, groping for her handkerchief. "And—and don't think I don't understand how you feel, my dear. It will be very melancholy for you to leave...to leave all our friends. I am sure I will miss that foolish Mr. Trimble myself, but only think of the things we will do and see. The parks, the theatres, the balls."
In short, everything Effie had ever longed for except that it was coming years too late. Kate tried to remind herself of that and sought to infuse some enthusiasm into her voice.
"I am sure it will all be very diverting."
"Oh, it will. It will," Effie agreed. "We shall be so happy, I promise you and—and I will make everything up to you, dearest."
Make everything up to her? What was Effie talking about? She spoke as though she had done Kate some sort of injury. Kate studied her guardian's tear-streaked countenance and suddenly realized that Effie was not the only one who had been blind this past month.
There were lines of strain and exhaustion about Effie's eyes that Kate had failed to notice before. It was as though in her own way Effie was as unhappy about something as Kate was. But before Kate could question her, the little maid Nan bounded into the parlor.
The girl did not look in the least disconcerted to find Effie sniffing into her handkerchief. The household was entirely too accustomed to Miss Fitzleger's megrims.
Nan ducked into a hasty curtsy. "I am sorry to disturb you, Miss Effie. I know as how you said you were not at home to callers. But that Miss Mollie Grey is here, insisting she needs to see you."
Kate felt herself tense at the mention of Victor St. Leger's abandoned bride and Effie let out a cry of dismay.
"Oh, the poor girl. She is probably here to plead with me to do something about that wretched Victor, force him to marry her. Mollie is his chosen bride. I don't know why the scoundrel is resisting her. I don't even know where he has been these past weeks. Do you, Kate?"
"Er, no." Kate winced, ashamed that she had given little thought to Victor of late. She was only too relieved that he had desisted from courting her and was keeping his distance from Val. "I am sure that Victor will come around soon enough to pay his addresses to Mollie."
"Then pray tell the poor girl that, because I am not up to it myself. I quite feel one of my headaches coming on."
"Oh, no, Effie, please," Kate tried to protest. Facing the young woman whose bridegroom she had inadvertently stolen was the last thing Kate wanted to do. But Effie was already darting out of the parlor, making good her escape as she always did when there was anything unpleasant to be faced.
Nan turned to Kate, and she experienced a cowardly urge to tell the maid to send Miss Grey away. Kate quelled it, raising her hand in a wearied gesture.
"Show the girl in," she said.
Kate positioned herself stiffly in front of the fireplace as Mollie entered. The girl crept timidly into the parlor, looking as dismayed to see Kate as Kate was to see her.
Kate had never had any female friends. She had never needed anyone but Val and even if she had, she would never have sought out Mollie's company. The girl had always struck Kate as being particularly insipid. She reminded Kate of a faded flower with her white-blond hair and lackluster eyes.
Even the rose-colored bonnet and pelisse Mollie wore did little to reflect any color to her pale heart-shaped face, although the attire was certainly elegant enough. Mollie was one of five daughters of a prosperous farmer. The rugged land hereabout made it difficult to grow crops, but Squire Thomas Grey had managed to carve out a thriving sheep farm, increasing his holdings through investments in tin mines.
Still, many felt Mollie was aspiring above her station in hoping to wed Victor St. Leger. After all, there was a strain of nobility in the St. Leger blood. But Effie had spoken. She had said that Mollie was fated to be Victor's bride, and no man questioned the decrees of the Bride Finder.
At least not unless that man had fallen victim to her wicked spell, Kate reflected with a sharp twinge.
She fixed a stiff smile upon her lips. "Mollie, how good to see you. I am sorry, Effie is indisposed. But won't you come in and sit down?"
"Thank you." The girl's voice was as soft and colorless as she was. She perched on the edge of the settee like a butterfly ready to take flight at any moment if Kate did the least thing to startle her. "I realize you must be quite busy getting ready for your stay in London. I don't mean to disturb you. I just thought I should return this to Miss Fitzleger before you go."
Mollie handed Kate a small silver-plated case. Kate took it from her, recognizing at once what it was, the jewel case that contained Effie's precious pearls, the ones her grandfather Septimus Fitzleger had given Effie on her twenty-first birthday. But what was Mollie Grey doing with them? When Kate regarded her questioningly, Mollie dropped her gaze, staring at the carpet. "Miss Fitzleger is so generous. She was good enough to lend me her pearls, only I no longer have any occasion to wear them."
"Surely you could wear them to the St. Leger masquerade ball tomorrow night?"
"No, I am no longer planning to attend, and in any case, I was going attired as a shepherdess. The pearls are much too fine for that. They were meant for a far more special occasion."
For a moment Kate had no idea what she meant, then the truth dawned on her. Effie had loaned those pearls to Mollie to wear on her wedding day. Kate's heart sank as she stole a glance at Mollie's unhappy face. Would there never be an end to the misery her dabbling in witchcraft had caused?
She sagged down on a chair opposite Mollie. Another woman, Kate reflected, would have known how to reach out to the girl, offer some comfort, or at least how to frame a handsome apology for the mischief she had wrought.
All Kate could do was thrust the box of pearls back into Mollie's hands.
"Mollie, I don't think you should be giving up on that other occasion. Victor may come around sooner than you think."
Mollie colored a little at the mention of his name, but she gave a sad shake of her head. "He used to call at our farm from time to time, but I have not seen him for weeks. He is working very hard to study his family's business. I hear he has been spending a great deal of time at Penryn harbor, learning how to sail, to command a crew, even to climb the rigging."
"Well, there, you see. That must be a sign that he is becoming more serious, making sure he will be able to provide well for you."
"He is not doing it for me, Kate," Mollie said with a look of quiet pain. "He is doing it to impress _you_ , to make you think better of him."
"Oh, lord," Kate groaned. "I—I am so sorry, Mollie—"
"Don't be. I am sure it is no fault of yours."
Yes, it was. Entirely, Kate thought, feeling miserable with guilt.
Mollie went on wistfully. "It is no wonder that Victor admires you instead of me. You are so beautiful, so spirited while I..." She gave a forlorn shrug. "Even my own papa berates me for being so meek. But Victor was always kind to me.
"We were at an assembly once and all my sisters were dancing, even my youngest. I was as usual busy minding the wall and Victor noticed. He asked me to dance."
A rare spark of animation lit Mollie's eyes, a lovely glow suffusing her face that astonished Kate. She thought it was a pity Victor could not see the girl at that moment. Spell or no spell, he might have remembered who his destined bride was supposed to be.
A soft smile curled Mollie's lips. "He was so handsome in his black frock coat and knee breeches. I think I quite fell in love with him then and there. Very foolish of me, I know."
Mollie's smile waxed more rueful. "I daresay you could not understand what that is like, to be forever yearning for a man who is quite out of your reach."
Kate said nothing, but her throat tightened. She understood far too well.
"I never thought I stood any chance with him until Miss Fitzleger proclaimed me to be his chosen bride. It seemed so incredible, like a dream, and I suppose it was. It would take far more than a legend to ever make Victor St. Leger fall in love with a girl like me."
"Oh, Mollie, no," Kate protested. "If you could just wait a little longer, perhaps—"
But Mollie cut her off with a sad shake of her head. "No, I am certain this one time Effie must be mistaken. It is you Victor adores."
She fixed Kate with pleading, earnest eyes. "Please, Kate, could you not find it in your heart to be kind to him, to try to return his affections?"
"You are asking _me_ to love the man you adore?" Kate demanded, incredulous.
"Yes. All I want is what is best for Victor, to see him happy."
Kate gaped at her. The girl was mad. If any other woman had even attempted to take Val from her, Kate would have shot the wench straight between the eyes.
_Aye, no matter what Val might have wanted or felt,_ her conscience chided. She would have behaved as ruthlessly as she already had done, bending his will, his reason, with her terrible spell, no matter what the cost.
Kate felt humbled and ashamed. It would seem this quiet "insipid" girl could have taught her a great deal about the unselfishness of true love.
Impulsively Kate reached out and clasped hold of Mollie's hand. "Listen to me," she said. "You cannot give up on Victor now. Something is going to happen tonight. I cannot explain what, but it will change everything."
"Oh?" Mollie murmured politely, but she cast Kate a dubious glance.
"Think of it as a fairy tale and Victor is your handsome prince who has been under a spell. Only tonight it will be broken."
"Indeed," Mollie said, inching warily back from Kate, trying to free her hand.
Kate only tightened her grasp. "I know this all must sound quite mad. But this is what I want you to do. You should come to the ball tomorrow night. Victor will be there and I think I can safely guarantee he will regard you through different eyes."
"No, Kate, I couldn't possibly—"
"Damn it, Mollie. Just do as I tell you or I swear I will come fetch you myself."
Mollie flinched at the threat. She pulled free of Kate and scrambled to her feet, looking ready to bolt like a frightened doe.
Kate rose also, blocking her path. She softened her tone. "Mollie, please. I know we have not been friends. I have never even been particularly nice to you. But just this once I am begging you to trust me."
Mollie studied her uncertainly. Kate didn't know what swayed the girl in the end, whether it was the forcefulness of her words or that Mollie herself desperately needed something to believe in.
"All right, Kate," she conceded. "I will attend the ball if you truly think that I should."
"Oh, yes, I do." Kate beamed at her and Mollie smiled back tremulously.
By the time Kate ushered the girl out the front door, she noticed a spark of hope had crept back into Mollie's eyes. Kate only hoped that she had not done wrong to put it there.
She had made Mollie a reckless promise, one Kate had no notion whether she would be able to keep. She didn't know what had possessed her to do so except for her need to make some amends for all the wrong she had done, her desire to see some good come out of this disaster for someone.
She paused in the hall to stare at Effie's long case clocks. They seemed to be ticking off the minutes so slowly. So many hours yet remained between now and the time when she would meet Prospero by the standing stone. Kate sent up a fervent prayer that nothing else would go wrong between now and then.
It was a prayer that was not to be answered.
She was halfway up the stairs to the second floor when she heard Nan opening the front door to admit a breathless Jem Sparkins. Before the maid could even demand what he wanted, Val's lanky manservant shoved his way into the hall.
He glanced up the stairs, calling out to Kate in a voice of pure desperation. "Oh, Miss Kate. You have got to come at once. You are the only one with any influence at all over Master Val these days. You have to stop him."
"Stop him from what?" Kate asked, her heart clenching with fear.
"From doing a murder. Master Val is after killing that Reeve Trewithan."
_C HAPTER FIFTEEN_
* * *
_R_ EEVE TREWITHAN CRASHED through the taproom door, sprawling into the dirt of the stable yard. The big man lay dazed and bleeding. Astonished patrons of the Dragon's Fire Inn poked their heads out of the windows to stare while villagers passing by stopped to gape. Not that they hadn't seen a brawl before. It was simply that no one had ever seen the gentle Dr. St. Leger so enraged.
Val stormed out of the inn, charging after Trewithan. The burly man had managed to regain his feet. He took a wild swing at Val and missed. Val landed a hard right to his jaw, following it with a swift blow straight in Trewithan's soft paunch.
The man doubled over with a low groan, but still Val did not stop. Trewithan's brutish face blurred before his eyes. He pummeled Trewithan again and again, taking a vicious satisfaction each time his fist connected. Trewithan started to sag to his knees, but Val seized him by his shirtfront, raining blows on Reeve's crumpling form.
"Val. Stop it. Can't you see he's had enough?"
The voice seemed to come from a great distance away like someone shouting through a fog. Val scarce heard it, aware of nothing but his own pulsing fury. He seized Trewithan by the hair, his fist cracking into the side of the man's head.
"Damn it, Val. Stop!"
Val felt a strong arm lock around his shoulders, dragging him away from Trewithan. With a low growl, Val wrenched free, turning on his captor. He drew back his fist only to have his arm caught in an iron grip. Val struggled furiously.
"Val!"
This time the sharp voice penetrated his rage-filled haze. His vision cleared and he found himself staring into his brother's face. The stunned look in Lance's eyes acted on Val like a douse of cold water.
His fury subsided, his arm going slack. Lance released him and Val staggered back, panting. His anger spent, a sudden wave of weakness overtook him.
His knees trembled, a dry cough tearing through his throat. He pressed one shaking hand to his chest, surprised by the degree of burning pain. His head reeled and he was obliged to lean up against the side of the inn. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes for a minute until the strange pain subsided, until the land steadied beneath his feet.
Then his eyes fluttered open and he gazed with horror at what he had done. Reeve Trewithan sprawled at his feet, moaning, his face disfigured by blood and bruises. Val felt the old instinct stir, the one that had become all but lost to him of late, the urge to reach out, to help, to heal.
But he was thrust aside as Carrie Trewithan rushed forward. With a soft cry, she sank to her knees and wrapped her thin arms around her husband, shifting his head onto her lap. Trewithan peered up at her through his swollen eyes and began to sob, burying his face against her worn shawl.
"Hush," she murmured. "Y-you're going to be all right." She held him close and began to weep herself.
"Carrie..." Val tried to rest one hand on her shoulder, but she shrank from him. She lifted her tear-stained face, her eyes glistening with sorrow and bewilderment.
"Oh, Dr. St. Leger, how could _you_ do a thing like this?"
How could he? Val drew back in astonishment. This was the same woman whose life he had recently saved, whose pain he had been forced to bear and all because of that great lout she now cradled like a babe. And she was upbraiding _him_ , looking at him as though he'd turned into the very devil?
As Val gazed around him, he saw that Carrie wasn't the only one. He seemed surrounded by a sea of faces. Wentworth, the innkeeper. The burly village smith. The grooms from the stables, the kitchen girl and serving maids. All of them regarded Val with stunned disbelief, fear, and confusion. Even his own brother.
Lance was the first to recover. Moving among the crowd, he began rapping out orders. "All right. It's all over. Be about your own affairs, good people. And you there"—he beckoned imperiously to one of the stable-hands—"come and help Mrs. Trewithan get her husband home to his bed."
While the crowd moved to obey, Val stood to one side feeling helpless and awkward, the crystal piercing him with a sharp stab of resentment.
Aye, the good folk of Torrecombe were always quick to heed his brother's bidding. No one would have thought anything of it if Sir Lancelot had been the one to lose his temper and thrash Trewithan senseless. Then it would have been all winks and nudges. Ah, that Master Lance, what a fire-eater and ever handy with his fives.
But it was entirely a different matter for Saint Valentine, Val reflected bitterly. The villagers slunk past him without meeting his eyes, taking care to maintain a wary distance. They melted away from him like frightened shadows, all those people who he'd labored to cure of their petty ailments.
He didn't hear any of them calling out to him now, _Please Dr. St. Leger. Come help us. You are the only one._
Well, the devil take them all. Val tried to sneer, but his throat constricted with unexpected pain instead. Pivoting on his heel, he strode away, wanting only to put as much distance between himself and this accursed village as possible.
"Val, wait!"
He heard Lance call out to him, but he ignored it. The last person he wanted to face right now was his brother, to be plagued by a load of damned questions he didn't want to answer.
Val quickened his pace, plunging down the worn path that led to the beach, toward home. That is if he knew where that was anymore. Not at Castle Leger, that was for certain, or even Marius's gloom-ridden cottage by the sea.
Val paused to gaze with despair at the dark gray waves breaking against the rocky shore, at this rugged land he'd once loved so well. He didn't seem to fit here any longer, didn't belong. He never had. He'd always been unwanted, an outsider—
No! Val ground his fingers against his brow, trying to crush the thought because it wasn't true. Not of Val St. Leger. It had been true of Rafe Mortmain. But Val was no longer sure where the Mortmain's pain ended and his own began.
"Val?"
He heard Lance directly behind him, his brother slightly out of breath from running to overtake him.
"Val, please," he said, resting one hand on Val's shoulder. "Hold up for a moment. You've got to tell me what happened back there."
Val shook him off. "What did it look like happened? I lost my temper a little."
"A _little_ , Saint Valentine?"
"Don't call me that! Don't you ever call me that again."
Lance looked considerably taken aback at his outburst, but he flung up one hand in a placating gesture. "All right. It was naught but an old jest."
"A jest I am mightily tired of. I never did find it that amusing."
Lance frowned. "Val, are you feeling quite all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine," Val snapped. Everyone seemed to be asking him that of late. His servants. His mother. Even Kate. He was getting so damned tired of the question. "Maybe you should go ask Trewithan how he feels. And stop staring at me as if you don't even know who I am."
"Maybe I don't," Lance murmured.
"Just because I got a trifle angry?" Val asked irritably. "It is not as though you've never seen me lose my temper before."
"Aye, but not in that brutal fashion. What did Trewithan do to make you so angry?"
"Nothing," Val muttered. Nothing the man had not done before, lolling about in the taproom when he should have been making some effort to take care of his sickly wife and his babes.
Val didn't know why the sight of Trewithan sitting there guzzling ale should have so enraged him this time. Suddenly Trewithan had seemed like every bully Val had ever tolerated, every miscreant he'd forced himself to forgive, every bastard who'd tried his patience too far. And something had clawed inside of him like a dark demon struggling to get out, a demon he was finding harder and harder to control.
It terrified him, made him fear for his very reason. He felt another ragged cough threaten to tear past his throat and fought hard to suppress it.
"Look, Lance," he said. "I lost my temper with Trewithan, all right? But the man is still alive, so let's just forget about it. I don't want to discuss it any further."
"Damn it, Val, you've got to talk to someone. Tell me what is going on with you these past weeks. You have not come near Castle Leger. All of us are very worried about you."
The concern in Lance's dark eyes should have comforted him, but it only added to Val's irritation. Too little, too late, he thought.
"How touching." He felt his lip curl in an ugly sneer. "You'd have done better to worry about me when I was still limping around like a blasted cripple."
"Naturally I was overjoyed to discover that you found a cure for your leg, but—"
"Oh, I'll wager you were," Val interrupted. "Quite relieved the old guilty conscience, didn't it, brother?"
Lance flinched. "I never thought you wanted me to feel guilty, Val," he said quietly.
"Oh, aye, no indeed. Why should I? Just because I ended up spending most of my life lame and in pain because you chose to play the noble hero, charging about like a fool on that battlefield."
Lance paled, and Val knew he was hurting his brother as expertly as a surgeon wielding his knife, cutting into an old wound, but the bitterness swelled inside him until he thought he would choke if it wasn't released.
"It was your recklessness, your stupidity that resulted in me getting injured. You _should_ rejoice to see me well."
Val took a malicious satisfaction in the stricken look that crept into his brother's eyes. Good. It was about bloody damn time that Lance was forced to feel—
No! Val clutched at the chain around his neck, fighting to still the crystal's insistent pulse. He truly was going mad. He didn't want to do this, say such poisonous things, hurt his brother this way. He backed away and groaned. "Oh, God, Lance. Why can't you just leave me the devil alone?"
Despite the pain and confusion darkening his eyes, Lance managed a sad smile. "For the same reason you didn't abandon me that day in Spain, even though you paid a heavy price for it. I am your brother."
Val only shook his head, tried to walk away. To his extreme agitation, Lance stubbornly kept pace by his side. They marched together in grim silence down the same shore where they had often rode together as boys, playing at knights, Sir Lancelot and Sir Galahad.
But the gulf had never seemed so wide between them, as yawning as the vast reaches of the sea, and Val felt as though he were drowning.
"Val," Lance began hesitantly. "Even if you don't want to talk to me, there is something I have to discuss with you."
"Oh?" Something in Lance's tone made Val wary, set him even further on edge. "What the devil is it?"
His brother expelled a deep sigh before going on, "This is truly awkward, but I have been hearing these rumors about you and Kate. Of course, I don't believe it, but—"
"Believe it," Val said tersely. "Every word."
Lance stared at him. "That you would have seduced Kate? No."
"There was very little seducing necessary. I desired her and she desired me."
Lance stumbled to a halt, gaping at Val with such dismay and disbelief that Val found himself longing to hit him. It was all he could do to keep his hands from gnarling into fists.
He faced his brother, clenching his jaw in a taut, hard line. "What is the matter, Sir Lancelot? Oh, I know. You were so dead certain that Kate would run mad for that young fool Victor. Is it that damned difficult to imagine that it is me she wants instead?"
"Of course not, Val, but I never thought that you could—could—"
"Could what? Fall in love? Feel desire like a normal man?"
"But for Kate? I realize she has always been infatuated with you. She is young and impetuous, but you are certainly old enough to know better. She is not—"
"Oh, aye, not my chosen bride according to our family's grand tradition. I'm sick to death of it. I wish I had never been born a bloody St. Leger."
"Val, you can't possibly mean what you're saying."
"Aye, for perhaps the first time in my life, I do. It's been all right for you, hasn't it, Lance? The great romantic legend. You've found your bride, your perfect love. Fairy tale ended, destiny fulfilled. But what about me? What the devil did I ever do to end up condemned to spend my days alone?"
"Nothing, Val. I have never understood Effie's refusal to find you a bride. In fact it angered me. But you...you always seemed so resigned."
"Maybe you should have looked a little closer, brother."
"Maybe I should have and I'm sorry for that."
Val dismissed the apology with a furious sweep of his hand and turned to walk away. He felt the crystal give a dangerous pulse when Lance moved to block his path.
"Val, wait. Listen. I swear I'll go to Effie right now and insist—"
But Val cut him off. "Don't you understand? It's too bloody late for that. Even if Effie found me this so-called chosen bride I wouldn't want her. I love Kate and she is in love with me."
"Then God help you both. Because you've studied our family history enough to know what happens to St. Legers who defy the Bride Finder."
"I'm cursed already. So what does it matter?"
"It matters to me. I care a great deal about both you and Kate. I won't stand aside and see you destroyed."
Lance's voice was low and earnest, but Val could see the stubborn resolve forming in his brother's eyes and it infuriated him.
"Damn you!" he grated. "You've interfered more than enough already, helping Effie arrange this blasted journey to London. But Kate will never set one foot into that coach. She's not going anywhere."
"Val, you have got to listen to reason—"
Val seized his brother by the front of his cape. "I saved your life once, Lance. Don't make me regret it any more than I already do. I vow I will destroy any man who tries to come between me and Kate, and that includes you."
Lance made no response to the threat or any attempt to release himself. "Val, you are clearly not yourself. Please let me help you. You know I would do anything."
His brother's voice was so full of concern, so unusually gentle.
_He's speaking to me as though I've already run mad,_ Val thought. And perhaps he had. He could feel the black anger growing, swelling inside him, like some dark beast just waiting to be released. It would take so little for him to tear into Lance the same way he had Reeve Trewithan.
He was aware of the wild pounding of his heart, the harsh sound of his own breathing. It took all the will he possessed to release Lance, thrust his brother away from him.
"There's only one thing you can do. Keep the devil away from me."
Pivoting on his heel, Val stormed off down the beach, praying that this time Lance would have the wisdom not to follow. When Val paused to glance back, he saw Lance trudging back up the path, his broad shoulders slumped in a dejected fashion.
The sight filled Val with a mad urge to laugh. So many times Lance had rejected his help, thrust him away. Now Lance could see exactly how it felt. Now it was his turn to go limping away.
Val experienced a sense of savage triumph...a triumph that slowly gave way to an overwhelming despair.
What had he done? He had struggled for years to ease Lance's guilt after that day on the battlefield, to end the estrangement between them. And now he had deliberately driven his brother away from him.
Val watched Lance's retreating figure, struggling with the urge to go after him, call him back, tell him everything. All about what had happened on All Hallows' Eve, Rafe Mortmain, and the crystal. Lance was his brother. He would find a way to help him.
_Aye, and the first thing he'll want to do is take away the crystal._ A dark voice seemed to warn him, _He'll take away your cure, your power, and he'll take away Kate. And then what will you have to live for?_
"Nothing," Val whispered, his hand closing possessively over the chain fastened about his throat. He watched with desperate eyes as Lance disappeared from view. Feeling more lost and alone than he had ever been, he turned and stumbled on down the beach.
By the time he reached Slate House, he was cold and shivering. Seized by another coughing spasm, he was left feeling so weak, he had to clutch the gate for support.
What the blazes was wrong with him? Anyone else with his symptoms he might have diagnosed with consumption. But somehow he knew better than that. He feared it was no disease that threatened to destroy him, at least no ordinary one.
It was the same darkness that had overtaken Rafe Mortmain.
"Val?"
From a great distance, he heard someone calling his name. For a moment he half dreaded, half hoped that it might be Lance. But when he lifted his head, he saw Kate racing down the beach, far outstripping Jem Sparkins who loped along behind.
Val released his breath in a ragged sob of relief. He managed to straighten away from the gate, holding his arms wide, and Kate flung herself into them. He strained her close, covering her face with kisses.
Kate, his one comfort, his one solace in all this madness. He emitted a hoarse protest when she attempted to draw away to gaze anxiously up at him.
"Val, are you all right? Jem said you were fighting with Reeve—" She broke off, an expression of horror chasing across her delicate features. "Oh, Val! L-look at your hands. Your beautiful hands."
He had no notion what she was talking about until he glanced down himself, for the first time becoming aware that his knuckles were bruised and swollen, the skin split and smeared with blood from the punishment he had dealt to Reeve Trewithan.
He stared at them numbly, the hands that had once been so smooth, so steady, the hands of a healer, a doctor. Now he scarce recognized those trembling fingers as his own. They appeared to belong to someone else, the hands of a coarse, rough-hewn stranger.
He felt something wet strike his knuckle, causing him to wince as it splashed against an open cut. Kate cradled his hand gently in her own and he realized she was weeping over him.
"Don't...don't cry, my wild girl," he murmured, barely getting the words out before another wave of weakness washed over him. He would have collapsed beside the gate if not for Kate and the sudden support of Jem Sparkin's strong arm.
Val slumped down in the library chair, his eyes half-closed. Kate felt she should have insisted that Jem take him straight to his bed, but Val had adamantly refused and Kate did not dare to press him.
That in itself was a lowering thought. Kate had never imagined she would have cause to fear Val St. Leger. But even she had learned to be wary of his temper.
She drew up a low stool and perched beside him. Trying to be as gentle as she could, she bathed and treated his hands. His knuckles were so raw, he should have winced when she applied the witch hazel, but Val didn't seem to be feeling much of anything. Beneath the sweep of his lashes, the look in his eyes was terrifyingly vacant, as though he was fast slipping away from her into some dark world she could not begin to imagine.
He did not stir even when Jem slipped into the library to fetch away the basin of water. The servant exchanged a worried look with Kate as he set down a brandy decanter and stole quietly from the room. Kate poured out a glassful and pressed it to Val's lips.
"Here, drink this."
He roused himself enough to take a few sips.
"All of it," she commanded.
Val took a few more swallows, then pushed it away. "Playing doctor now, my Kate?"
He lifted one hand to inspect it. "You do quite well, although it feels most strange. I was always the healer. I am not accustomed to allowing anyone to take care of me."
"Maybe it is time you did."
His lips crooked in a sad semblance of his old smile, a smile that quickly faded. "About what happened back there in the village—"
"I am sure it was not your fault," Kate said quickly. "That Reeve Trewithan has long deserved a thrashing."
"Perhaps that is true. What worries me is how much I enjoyed it. I am not supposed to like hurting people. I am a doctor."
"You are also a man. And a very good, honorable one."
"I used to think so. Now I am no longer sure what I am."
The tormented look in his eyes was almost more than Kate could bear. She tenderly brushed the strands of hair from his brow. Val caught her hand and hauled her down onto his knee, just as he had done so many times during her girlhood when she had been hurting or miserable, needing his comfort.
Kate curled against him, resting her head against his shoulder, trying to recapture the memory of those times, the feel of Val's strong arms around her, his calming presence that promised to make everything all right.
But that all seemed so long ago. Now Val was the one who was hurting and she had caused it. All these frightening changes. There was only one way she could make everything right for him. End the spell. Let him go.
Concealing her aching heart behind a tremulous smile, she caressed his cheek. "Val, please. You are not well. You look purely exhausted. You've been tearing off on that wretched horse of yours every day, riding as hard as the devil. I don't even know where you go."
"To Lostland," he murmured.
"W-what?" Kate straightened abruptly, certain she could not have heard him right.
"I've been riding to Lostland."
It was the grim nickname the locals applied to the old Mortmain estate. Long since abandoned, the manor was no more than a blackened ruin set upon one of the most bleak, dangerous sections of the coast.
"Lostland?" Kate repeated in dismay. "Val, you always warned me to stay away from there. Why ever would you want to go near that terrible place?"
"I—I don't know. Looking for answers, perhaps."
"Answers to what? You already know everything there is to be known about the Mortmains. You were the one who taught me how evil they were, especially Rafe Mortmain. He was the worst of the lot."
"Aye, I suppose he was."
"Val, you _know_ he was. He stole the St. Leger sword and nearly got you killed. The man was a pure devil."
"Or else in so much pain he could not help himself. More pain than I could have ever possibly imagined."
Kate regarded him in uneasy astonishment. What was Val talking about? If there was any subject Val had ever been unyielding about, it was his mistrust and condemnation of Rafe Mortmain. She touched one hand to his brow, anxiously testing for signs of a fever.
Val gave a hollow laugh. "Aye, you think I must be delirious to be speaking so of a cursed Mortmain, and perhaps you are right. I seem to be questioning everything of late. Nothing is as certain or as clear to me as it once was. Sometimes I fear I am going a bit mad."
The look he cast Kate wrenched at her heart, his dark eyes full of fear and confusion. She flung her arms about him in a fierce hug.
"Oh, Val, all will be well soon. I promise you. Everything will seem better to you come morning." Or at least so she prayed, that she would be able to undo her terrible spell, all the wrong she had done.
She drew back, cupping her hand to his cheek. "All you need is some rest. You should be in bed."
"With you?" he asked huskily. He brought her hand to his lips, a dark light springing to his eyes, that glint she recognized all too well. Before she could even protest, his hand covered the nape of her neck, drawing her mouth to his. His lips tasted of heat, brandy, and seduction.
When she attempted to draw away, he only deepened the embrace, his kiss powerful, intoxicating, stirring her senses as he never failed to do. Kate pushed against his chest.
"Val, p-please," she murmured as his mouth whispered down her neck in an exploration that caused her to shiver. Kate bit down hard on her lip, fighting to resist the sensations he was arousing. She could not afford to let him lure her into his bed again. Not when her love had already caused him so much harm. Not when she had a far different rendezvous to keep tonight.
With a sorcerer, upon a hillside, near the old standing stone.
As Val's hand crept up to caress her breast, Kate shuddered. With a mighty wrench, she pulled herself free, scrambling off his lap.
"N-no," she said, wishing her voice carried more conviction. She stepped out of his reach, shaking her head.
Val gripped the arms of the chair. Kate emitted a faint protest when he thrust himself to his feet and stalked toward her. She retreated a step, fearing his anger at her rejection. But the pain in his eyes was far worse.
"You, too, my Kate?" he demanded in a voice of haunting sadness. "You intend to shun me, turn against me, just like everyone in this cursed village."
"No, Val. Of course not," she said, horrified that he could even think such a thing. It was all she could do not to rush straight into his arms, reassure him. She hugged herself tightly to stifle the impulse.
"No one is turning against you. Everyone in Torrecombe admires and respects you. More than that, they care a great deal about you."
"They did once. As long as I was the sainted doctor, as long I was perfect. Lord knows I tried to be. Too hard. I can't do it anymore. I am tired, Kate. S-so tired."
"I know, my dearest," she murmured. "That is because you need to—"
"Oh, aye, I know," he said bitterly. "Val, go lie down. Get some rest. Go to bed. But without you."
He tried to draw her into his arms. It took all her will to resist him. The desperation in his eyes was tearing her in two.
"Kate, why won't you stay with me tonight? Do you no longer want me?"
Not want him? If he only knew...Kate turned away from him, winking back a sharp sting of tears.
"Of course I want you. It is only that I am afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
Afraid that her cursed spell was destroying him. Kate wracked her mind desperately for another excuse.
"Afraid that—that we are being too reckless. That you might get me with child."
"And you would not want to have my babe?"
Besides Val himself, there was nothing that Kate could imagine wanting more. She swallowed hard and shook her head. "N-no. We are unwed. After what I have been through myself, I would not want my child born a bastard."
"Do you think I would ever allow that to happen?" Val seized her by the shoulders and spun her about to face him. "I would have already married you. It is you who keeps delaying, making excuses."
Only because she realized that as soon as the spell was removed, he would no longer want her. Perhaps not even as his friend. Kate ducked her head, avoiding his eyes to hide her despair.
"Well, I—I had hoped we might obtain your family's blessing first."
"That is never going to happen. My brother is already plotting to take you from me. We nearly came to blows over it."
Val fighting with Lance? And all because of her wicked spell.
"Oh, Val, I am so s-sorry," she quavered. "I never meant for any of this to happen, to set you at odds with your own family."
"Damn my family. The St. Legers are all a parcel of fools. I'll destroy the entire lot of them before I—" Val checked himself, looking as horrified by his angry words as she was.
He pressed his fist against his brow as though to crush the terrible thought. "N-no. I don't mean that. I don't want to fight my brother or anyone else. My father is due home any day and everything will only get worse. He will move heaven and hell to keep us apart and I am afraid that I might do something that I—"
Val shuddered. "God help me. We have got to get the devil out of here. Now. Tonight."
"T-tonight?" Kate faltered.
"Aye. You said that we should elope and you were right."
"But not right now." Kate attempted to smile, conceal her dismay behind a jest. "I don't even have my nightcap or tooth powder."
"I will buy you anything you could possibly need."
"And what about Effie? I have to at least talk to her and—"
"You can leave her a note." Val marched to his desk to fetch her ink and paper. "Now send for Jem and I will give him instructions to have the carriage brought around."
Kate gaped at Val in dismay. He could not possibly be serious. But he clearly was. When she made no move to obey his command, he strode impatiently toward the door to summon Jem himself.
When Kate moved to block his path, he shot her a dark look that caused her to tremble.
"Val, please—" she began.
"No more excuses, Kate."
"I am not going to make any. But you must give me a little more time."
"Time for what?" he demanded. "To change your mind? I warn you, Kate. I would never tolerate that. You are mine now and I don't intend to ever let you go."
Kate's heart thudded as she peered up at him. Was Val actually threatening her? The light glinting in his eyes was hard, dangerous. Her spell had invoked a strain of ruthlessness in him she would never have imagined possible. If she refused to go with him, she realized that he was now fully capable of forcing her. And if he succeeded in dragging her away from Torrecombe tonight, she would never be able to end the spell.
Slipping her arms about his neck, she pleaded, "I need time only to prepare for the journey, to pack a few of my treasured things. Just one more day, Val. Please."
She stretched up on tiptoe to whisper a kiss across his lips. The set of his own mouth was so grim, so unyielding, she trembled, certain he was going to refuse. And then what was she going to do?
But his eyes flickered and to her intense relief, he appeared to relax a trifle. When he gathered her close to him, there was a hint of Val's old gentleness in his arms.
"Very well, my Kate," he murmured. "Another day, but no more. We will leave tomorrow evening."
"But that is the night of the masquerade," she reminded him hesitantly.
"All the better. In all the commotion, it will be some time before we are even missed. I shall have my coach waiting at the crossroads by the castle. You shall come to me no later than eight of the clock."
Kate nodded numbly.
He brushed a light kiss atop her brow. "You won't fail me, Kate."
"N-no."
Kate steadfastly avoided his eyes, but he seized her by her chin, forcing her to look up at him.
"Promise me." His expression was a strange combination of demand and tenderness, the hint of danger never far away.
"I—I promise," Kate said, then promptly buried her face against his shoulder, feeling sick at heart. She was forced to lie to him, deceive him yet again. She had only one consolation.
After tonight, it was not a promise Val would ever want her to keep.
_C HAPTER SIXTEEN_
* * *
**_T_** HE NIGHT WAS BRISK and clear, the sky a canopy of brilliant stars, the moon a bright silver crescent shimmering light over the rugged landscape. The sea frothed against the shore, whispering a slow seductive rhythm. A perfect night for romance, for stealing away to find a lover upon the towering hillside.
Except that Kate hadn't come to find the man she loved, only to weave the dark magic that would cause her to lose him forever. Her cloak drawn tight about her, she trudged up the hillside with a heavy heart, her step nowhere near as bold as it had been on All Hallows' Eve. Perhaps because she felt as though she had aged a lifetime since then.
Rather than filling her with a reckless sense of adventure, this time the vast lonely reaches of the night made her feel only small and insignificant. An impudent mortal once more about to meddle with powers far beyond her control, powers that she would have done well to leave alone.
Her footsteps faltered as she approached the ancient standing stone. Etched in moonlight, the massive rock towered above her, more mysterious than ever. Considering the havoc she had wreaked the first time, Kate doubted she would have dared ever to approach this place alone again. But she wasn't alone. _He_ was waiting.
Prospero stood at the base of the stone, an imposing shadow of a man. On many of her visits to the tower, Kate had frequently thought he had looked almost human, too real to be a ghost.
But tonight, out here on the moon-spun hill high above the crashing sea, he looked every inch the phantom sorcerer he was reputed to be, a dark-eyed Merlin with his iridescent cape flowing off his broad shoulders, his black hair swept back from the haughty angles of his face.
Kate knew she had no reason to fear him, but she could not repress a shiver. She crept forward to present herself with a tremulous curtsy. A sudden breeze whispered past her face as though cold fingers crooked beneath her chin, compelling her to look up at him.
The sorcerer's narrowed eyes glinted as though he was somewhat amused by her unusually humbled stance.
"Good evening, Mistress Kate. I had begun to fear you might have changed your mind."
"No, I have not. And I hope neither have you." She regarded him anxiously. "Have you?"
"You perceive me here." He swept her a magnificent bow, his spangled cape flashing in the moonlight. "At your service, mistress, although sometimes I doubt whether you truly have need of me. I have wondered whether you might be a bit of a witch after all."
"Why would you think a thing like that?"
"Because you seem to have done a fair job of bewitching me, persuading me to do things I have done for no mortal before."
"You mean like helping me with the spell."
"No, I mean like persuading me to venture beyond Castle Leger. For centuries I have divided my time between those walls and the oblivion of the sky beyond. I do not venture out across the countryside."
"Why not? I thought you could drift wherever you pleased."
Prospero smiled ruefully. "Even a ghost has limits of endurance, my dear. Long ago I realized it best to remain in my tower, cloister myself away from the world. It is far easier on the heart not to gaze upon all you have lost."
His eyes swept past her, seeming to take in hungrily all the beauty of the moonlit hills, the rocky shore, the inky expanse of the sea beckoning toward so many intriguing faraway places. A rare sadness touched Prospero's inscrutable face and Kate realized that it was possible for even a phantom to be haunted.
When she had plagued him for his help, she had never realized what it might cost him to do so. He had ever appeared impervious to any such human emotion as regret. Kate fetched a deep sigh. She seemed to bring nothing but misery to everyone around her these days.
"I—I am sorry," she murmured. "I should never have asked you—"
But he cut her off with an imperious sweep of his hand. Whatever bittersweet memories the sight of the sea-swept coast and darkened hills might have conjured, Prospero was quick to shutter them away again.
"'Tis no great matter, my dear," he said briskly. "Now shall we set to work?"
Kate nodded, swallowing nervously. She plucked at the hood of her cloak, drawing it as far forward over her face as possible. Prospero bent to peer quizzically at her face now hidden beneath the folds of fabric.
"Er, Kate, I realize the practice of magic calls for a certain amount of panache, but there is really no need for you to try to assume the guise of some ghostly monk."
"I wasn't," she said indignantly. "I am merely bracing myself for the storm."
"Storm? What storm? There is not a cloud in the sky."
"I know. But there was on All Hallows' Eve. Thunder and lightning. I assumed that you are going to have to conjure some."
Prospero essayed a silky laugh. "By my faith, milady, you have a more inflated notion of my powers than I do. Were we within the castle walls, I might conjure for you the _illusion_ of lightning, but even I cannot alter the weather."
"Then what are we to do?" Kate asked in dismay. "There was a storm the night I cast—"
"So there should not be one now," Prospero cut in. "Have you already forgotten what I told you? To undo the spell, all must be reversed, the opposite of what took place then. Therefore this fine clear night is perfect."
"Oh." Kate eased back her hood, feeling foolish. She was glad the night concealed the traces of her embarrassed flush, but in any event, Prospero's attention had shifted elsewhere.
He paced before the standing stone, muttering, "However, we still must have our bonfire."
"I'll go gather some wood," Kate said, preparing to dart off at once, but he stayed her with a languid wave of his hand.
"Not necessary, milady. Fire is one minor bit of magic I can provide." Reaching beneath his cloak, Prospero produced his mysterious chunk of crystal. The stone reflected the moonlight with a cold, hard glitter.
Remembering all of Prospero's warnings about how dangerous the crystal could be, Kate took a wary step backward. He set the sparkling stone upon the ground. With a wave of his hand and some muttered words, the crystal vanished, lost in a whoosh of flames licking upward toward the night sky. The eerie ghostlike blaze threw off no heat, but all the same crackled with a fiery intensity, bathing Prospero in a hellish glow until he, too, appeared as ethereal as the dancing firelight.
He extended his open palm toward her. "You have brought what I asked for?"
Kate fished beneath the folds of her cloak and produced a piece of coal that she handed over to him. Prospero held it to the light, examining the markings she had scratched onto the glossy black surface.
"S.V.," he read. "You remembered to reverse the initials as I told you?"
"Yes."
"So the true initials of the men you bewitched would have been V.S."
Kate nodded uncomfortably, averting her eyes.
Prospero continued to study the chunk of coal in frowning silence. "I will try to do as you ask, mistress, but it will not be easy, undoing only half the spell. Removing the hex from one while leaving the other—"
"I no longer want that," Kate spoke up hastily. "You must undo it all, remove the spell from both men."
Prospero's brows arched upward in surprise. "You have now decided to surrender the man you love?"
"Yes." Kate fretted with the lining of her cloak, realizing the moment had come that she had dreaded. She could no longer avoid confessing to Prospero the truth.
"There is something I haven't told you," she said. "About the man that I love, the one I sought to bewitch. His name is—is Val St. Leger."
Kate braced herself for a supernatural explosion of wrath. When moments passed and nothing happened, she risked a glance up at Prospero and was astonished to find his lips curled in an expression of quiet amusement.
"I already knew that, my dear."
"But how could you? Have you been using your sorcery to spy upon me?"
"It took no wizardry to guess your secret, milady. All those charming afternoons you called upon me in my tower, we frequently discussed my descendants."
"But I am certain I never mentioned Val's name. Not even once."
"No, not once. Try more like a hundred times. You scarce seemed able to begin a sentence that did not begin with his name. _Val always says_ or _Val thinks that_...Only a woman deeply in love could be so tiresome on the subject of a man."
Kate winced, realizing how she must have betrayed herself again and again, and all the while fancying herself so clever. So Prospero had known all along and he wasn't the least angry with her? Perhaps he did not understand quite everything.
"I am not Val's chosen bride, you know," she said gruffly.
"I surmised that as well. Else you would not have resorted to witchcraft."
Kate regarded him in frank amazement. "Are you not angry with me for defying your legend?"
Prospero shrugged. "It is not my legend, Kate. There was no Bride Finder in my day."
"Then how did you choose your wife?"
"In the most mundane and practical way. I found the woman with the most wealth and powerful family connections and married her on the spot. As I told you before, the pursuit of true love held no interest for me then."
"And now?"
"Now?" Prospero's mouth twisted ruefully. "Now I think it is a trifle too late. About five centuries late, to be precise. But I believe we were discussing you.
"Over the years I have had opportunity to observe the legend at work, the happiness of those St. Legers who were joined through the offices of the Bride Finder, the disasters that overtook the ones who were not. Lovers who were obviously mismatched."
"Like me and Val," Kate said unhappily.
"Aye, like you and your quiet scholar. And yet..." Prospero studied her through narrowed eyes. "Rarely have I ever witnessed any woman pursue a man with such single-minded devotion."
"It wasn't devotion. It was pure selfishness. I used black magic to get what I wanted, never thinking of what might be best for Val and what it could do to him."
Her throat constricted. "My spell is destroying him. At first I was able to deceive myself that I had done him good, had cured his injured leg. But instead I have thrust him into worse torment, making him love me against his own sense of honor, his reason.
"He has changed so much, become so angry, so bitter I hardly recognize him at times. The kind, gentle man I once knew seems to be fading before my eyes and—"
Kate had to pause to swallow before she finished in a choked voice. "I am terrified that I am killing him."
Prospero's brow knitted in a deep frown. "All that from one spell, milady? I don't think it possible. That incantation you employed was no more than a bit of whimsy I acquired on my travels and set down. I am astonished that it worked at all."
"Well, it did. Or at least enough to make Val love me. Perhaps it is the St. Leger curse that is doing the rest. I don't know, but whatever it is, you must help me to save him."
"I will do my best," Prospero said gravely. "But when I do succeed in ending this spell, what of you?"
Kate shrugged. "Oh, I—I will be fine. Everyone has always told me that all I felt for Val was a silly schoolgirl infatuation, that I would get over it, forget him."
"And do you believe that? I think you must be more in love with him than ever if you are willing to let him go."
"That may be true. But it doesn't matter about me. All that matters is—is Val, that he be restored to himself again." Kate felt a single tear escape to trickle down her cheek.
Prospero's eyes glowed with a rare gentleness. He reached out as though he would comfort her only to check the futile gesture before his fingers passed straight through her. Kate fiercely dashed aside her own tears.
"C-could we please just get on with this? Get it over with."
Prospero nodded, turning slowly back to the fire. "Very well, milady, although I am curious on one point. Who was the other man you bewitched by mistake?"
"Victor St. Leger."
" _Another_ St. Leger?" the sorcerer exclaimed. "By God, milady, when you brew up a disaster, you don't do it by halves."
"No, I don't," Kate agreed wretchedly.
"Never mind, child. We shall soon make an end, but you had best stand well clear."
Prospero took up his position before the fire and Kate crept back a safe distance, her heart torn between dread and hope. Despite her feelings of misery, she could not help but be awed by the scene before her, the druid stone, the leaping flames, the sorcerer at his work.
Prospero threw no shadow, but he seemed to loom larger, his face raised to the night. He lifted his arms and flung back his head, his dark mantle rippling from his shoulders.
Low spoken words began to issue from his throat that sounded nothing like the halting syllables Kate had spoken on All Hallows' Eve. The incantation flowed from his lips faster and faster like some terrible dark poetry designed to summon all the powers of hell.
_"Mithrun dineelo,"_ Prospero roared. With one mighty flourish of his hand, he flung the chunk of coal into the fire. The flames shot upward in a deafening explosion that caused Kate to cry out, fall to her knees.
The fire flung out sparks like a blaze of skyrockets streaking across the night sky, white-hot comets of blinding flame. Kate cowered down, shielding her eyes.
Another eruption followed, violent enough to rend the earth in two. Kate lay still, her hands clutched over her head. Then suddenly all was silent except for the distant rush of the waves breaking against the rocks far below.
Kate released an unsteady breath and cautiously raised her head. The flames now burned low to the ground like a fire that was about to die. And Prospero...Kate's heart lurched. For a moment she feared the sorcerer had simply vanished, left her there alone.
Then she realized that he stood over her, extending one long graceful hand as though he would use his powers to help her to her feet. But Kate felt as though she had had quite enough of magic. Enough to last her to the end of her days.
Although she trembled, she managed to scramble up unaided, brushing dirt and twigs from her cloak with shaking fingers.
"Did it work?" she whispered.
Prospero lifted his head, his exotic dark eyes alert like some strange wild creature searching the night. "I believe so. Whatever spell you may have cast has now been undone."
There was an odd hesitation to his words, but Kate barely noticed. Val was going to be all right. Her spell had been ended. Sometime later, she knew the pain would come, the full realization of what this meant for her, the end of all her dreams. But for now she was flooded with relief. She would have flung her arms about Prospero's neck, embraced him if it had been possible to hug a phantom.
But all she could offer him was her tremulous smile. "Oh, thank you. Thank you."
Prospero acknowledged her words with a somber nod of his head, only wishing he felt he had done something to deserve Kate's shining-eyed gratitude. He had to admit he had put on a dazzling display, had acted to the full limits of his powers.
Why then was he left feeling that he had accomplished nothing except some fire and noise? That the evil that had first summoned him back to Castle Leger still remained, perhaps stronger than ever?
Drifting to the fire, he quelled the flames with one abrupt gesture. Only the glowing crystal remained. Another flick of his hand and even it went dark. He secreted the dangerous object back beneath his cloak, doing his best to suppress his doubts or at least to conceal them from Kate.
The girl had been through enough. Her face looked pale, completely drained of its usual animation.
"The hour waxes late, milady," he said gently. "You should head home for your bed."
"Aye." Kate cast him a hesitant look. "And I should also bid you farewell."
Farewell? The word startled Prospero, but only at first. Of course, he should have been expecting it. All transaction between them was now at an end. Kate would have no reason to return to his tower.
He was astonished by the sudden pang the realization cost him, but he quickly dismissed the wayward emotion. After all, it was not as though he, Prospero, would ever deign to miss the company of a mere mortal.
"I shall be leaving for London soon," Kate said.
"To London," he echoed. "So far away."
"Aye, but it is for the best. Like you, I believe it is far easier on the heart not to be forever gazing upon all that one has lost."
She made a brave effort to smile that was somehow worse than if she had burst into tears. Prospero half raised his hand, only to lower it in frustration. He could never remember longing so much to touch anyone, to offer some warm gesture of consolation.
Instead he stepped back, making her his most magnificent bow. "Fare thee well, milady. And may the good fairies watch over you, see you safely to better days."
Kate nodded and curtsied, apparently not trusting herself to speak. She headed off through the heather toward where she had left her horse tethered at the bottom of the hill, her shoulders squared, her head held as high as any duchess. But Prospero knew well what a great deal of misery and fear could be concealed beneath such a stance. He had marched after the same fashion to his own execution.
"Ah, Kate," he murmured sadly. "If only I was half the sorcerer I claim to be. Then I could surely devise some magic to mend a broken heart."
But all he could do was let her go, her small, valiant figure vanishing into the darkness.
_C HAPTER SEVENTEEN_
* * *
**_T_** HE GREAT HALL at Castle Leger had stood silent and unused for many years, but tonight it was as though the great wizard Merlin himself had swept the vast stone chamber back through time, back to the days of Camelot.
A fire blazed on the massive hearth, the medieval banqueting table once again covered with steaming silver platters of food. Ladies in their kirtles and lords in their tunics pranced out the steps of a stately dance while minstrels piped out the tune. Flaming torches and hundreds of candles lit the scene. They cast a glow over the sword thrust through the stone mounted upon the dais, King Arthur's Excalibur waiting to be reclaimed.
Only if one looked too critically could one tell it was all illusion. The tapestries lining the walls were faded, showing centuries of wear. Many of the couples parading down the center of the room giggled and stumbled over the steps of a dance long since forgotten. And the sword Excalibur was merely fashioned of wood, its costly jewels made of paste.
But Effie Fitzleger clapped her hands together and surveyed the chamber with a delighted "ooh." Her horned headdress nearly poked out the eye of some stout knight as she turned excitedly to her companion.
"Oh, Kate, is it not all too wonderful?"
"Wonderful," Kate repeated dully.
"Well, of course, I admit it is nothing compared to the balls we will attend in London. Only imagine what that will be like."
Kate didn't want to imagine. Tonight was hard enough to endure, trying to pretend that nothing was amiss, that her heart was here and not at Slate House. Effie's brow puckered with anxiety as she fussed over Kate, straightening the golden circlet perched upon her head, smoothing out the sleeves of Kate's ruby red velvet kirtle.
"Oh, dear," Effie fretted. "You did promise me you would try to enjoy yourself this evening."
"I am _trying_ , Effie, " Kate said. But Effie had no notion how difficult it was. The older woman was completely oblivious to the fact that beyond the music, the laughter, there was a tension in the air. Even guests who had traveled here from the more remote parts of the countryside seemed aware that there was something seriously amiss with the St. Leger family and Kate was the cause.
Stares turned in her direction, some cold, some curious. Enough to make Kate wish she had pleaded a headache and stayed home. But that would have devastated Effie, who had been looking forward to this event with all the eager anticipation of a child expecting Christmas.
Kate was relieved when Mr. Trimble claimed her guardian's attention. The plump vicar had attired himself appropriately enough as a medieval friar. Half tripping on her train, Effie peeked at him over the brim of her fan and was soon engaged in a coy flirtation.
Neither of them noticed when Kate slipped quietly away to take up an unobtrusive position against the nearest wall. Studying the brilliant scene before her through listless eyes, her gaze traveled to the tapestry mounted at the end of the hall behind the dais. The faded weaving depicted the St. Leger dragon wreaking havoc upon some hapless villagers, but the tapestry's real purpose was to conceal the door leading up to Prospero's tower.
Kate wondered if all this revelry disturbed the great sorcerer. But more than likely Prospero had already returned to...what was it he had called it? _The oblivion of the skies._
Kate sighed deeply, envying him. She wished herself far away, anywhere but here. Not that she cared that much for the gossip, the disapproval that seemed to surround her. She was accustomed to that. Far worse was how kindly many of the St. Legers were still treating her, especially the lady, Madeline.
Val's mother had greeted her warmly as ever, but Kate had seen the shadows of worry darkening the older woman's clear green eyes. Kate would so have liked to reassure her, all of them. There was no longer any cause to fret over Val St. Leger, but she supposed they would all find that out soon enough.
She had raced to Slate House first thing that morning, but had been intercepted on the path by Jem Sparkins. The haggard-looking servant had informed her that Master Val had passed a bad night. He seemed to be resting easier this morning, but he had given instructions that he was not up to receiving any callers. Jem feared the doctor's old affliction must be returning to plague him because he had dispatched Jem to Castle Leger to find the other cane his master had left there in storage.
That had been all Kate had needed to hear. She had retraced her steps, heading back home with a heavy heart.
Her spell was undone. All was as it had been before, including his injured leg. But at least she had managed to save his sanity, his life, Kate reassured herself. Her gaze traveled wistfully over the throng of milling guests, but she truly did not expect Val to put in an appearance tonight.
And not just because his leg was plaguing him. She quailed when she thought of the shock he must be suffering now that he was restored to himself. With what bewilderment and horror he would view these past weeks, all the times they had made love. And with what self-blame.
Kate knew she would have to find the courage to explain to him exactly what she had done, that none of what had transpired was his fault. She only prayed that Val would be able to forgive her in time.
"You are not dancing, milady," a voice murmured from the shadows of a nearby pillar. Kate raised her head, her first glimpse of lustrous dark hair, that familiar hawklike profile causing her heart to miss a beat.
But as the man stepped closer, she saw at once that he wasn't Val, only his twin. Val and Lance had never been identical, but the resemblance between them was marked enough for Kate to find it painful.
Lance had ever been a dashing rogue and it had been an easy matter for him to transform himself into his namesake. He made a resplendent Sir Lancelot in his blue tunic embroidered with silver.
Sweeping her a courtly bow, he extended his hand toward her with that dazzling smile that had never failed to enchant any lady he'd ever met.
"Mistress Kate, will you do me the honor?"
So even Lance was determined to ignore the rumors and treat her with far more generosity than she deserved. It was all Kate could do not to burst into tears.
She summoned up a brittle smile, trying to infuse a lightness into her tone. "Oh, n-no, thank you. Sir Lancelot should more likely be paying court to his Guinevere."
"Alas, my queen is fully occupied at the moment." Lance indicated where his wife was going down the line of the dance. A radiant young woman, Rosalind St. Leger had always borne the appearance of fairy princess with her petite frame and shimmering blond hair.
She was standing up with a shy colt of a boy who tread upon her dainty toes with every awkward step, but Rosalind merely cast the lad an encouraging smile. Lance's lady had ever been noted for her kindness.
Lance observed his wife for a moment, his eyes shining with an adoration he made no effort to conceal. Then he turned back to Kate, but she sidled away from him, refusing his repeated solicitation for her hand.
"I am afraid I would inflict more damage upon your feet than that boy is doing to poor Rosalind."
"I doubt that," Lance said. "Although as I recollect you always were more fond of fighting than dancing. You and I used to have some mighty sword battles in this very hall when you were still a scrubby brat."
Kate smiled in spite of herself at his teasing. "Aye, with the toy swords your father had fashioned. I recall many rainy afternoons when I wreaked havoc upon the noble Sir Lancelot."
"Only because I allowed you to do so," Lance retorted.
"Pooh! I often managed to get past your guard, even if you did have an unfair advantage with me in my petticoats."
Lance laughed. "Petticoats, milady? I seem to remember you had a shocking penchant for donning breeches."
"I suppose I did," Kate admitted sheepishly. "Much to Val's horror. He always used to scold you for encouraging me to behave like a hoyden. But whenever you were getting the best of me in a duel, he could never resist pulling me aside and whispering advice in my ear so that I could..."
But Kate faltered, the mention of Val casting a shadow over both her and Lance's memories. A heavy silence fell that Lance broke at last.
"Kate," he said. "I hope you know that I have ever been your friend, but—but—" He hesitated, floundering for words. Kate came swiftly to his rescue.
"It is all right, Lance. I know what you want to say and you are right. It was foolish of me ever to hope that someday I would defeat your legend, that Val and I could be together. I realize now that is impossible. I will be leaving for London just as you want me to do. I have even begun encouraging Effie to hasten the day. You should be well rid of me before Christmas."
Kate expected that her assurance would fill Lance with relief. Instead he cast her an unhappy look and slapped his palm against the pillar in sheer frustration.
"Damn the legend." He retracted his words almost immediately. "No, I don't mean that. Effie, the Bride Finder, helped to match me with my Rosalind, to find more love and happiness than I ever deserved. I just don't know why she could not have found such a bride for Val, why it could not have been you."
"Me?" Kate said, startled.
"You have obviously done much good for him."
"Good for him? Lance, I have been more of a plague to Val than anything else."
"Aye, you plagued him to abandon many of his quiet, reclusive ways, to laugh, to be less serious. And as for his influence on you, he—he—"
"He gentled me," Kate said softly. "Took a rough, wild girl and convinced her that one day she could grow up to be a remarkable woman."
"And so you have."
When Kate shook her head deprecatingly, he pinched her chin in that playful fashion he'd often used to tease her before. But his eyes were full of sadness. "Oh, Kate. How I wish things could be different for you and Val."
"So do I," she murmured, making a valiant effort to smile.
Lance looked as though he would have liked to say a great deal more, but his attention was diverted by a late arrival, an old friend from his regiment whom he had not seen for years. Obliged to excuse himself to greet his guest, Lance took a reluctant leave of her.
His departure left Kate feeling more bleak than ever. She began desperately to calculate the minutes until this painful affair would be over, when she spied Mollie Grey.
The timid girl had also taken refuge against the wall, a wistful shepherdess clutching her crook while she eyed the dancers. Her silk-striped gown gave her more the look of a Dresden figurine than a peasant girl who seriously tended to the task of minding sheep, but no gentleman present tonight would have found fault with her appearance.
The heightened color in her cheeks, the hope that shone from the girl's eyes rendered her unusually lovely. She anxiously scanned the crowd, and Kate had no doubt whom Mollie looked for so eagerly.
At least the time had come for Kate to right one wrong she had done. Fixing a determined smile on her face, she marched in Mollie's direction.
"Good evening, Mollie."
The girl started at her approach. But before she could even speak, Kate seized her by the wrist and tugged her away from the wall. "Come with me."
Mollie must have read her intentions clearly because the girl's eyes widened with something akin to panic and she attempted to hang back.
"Oh, no, Kate! Pray give me a moment. I—I don't think I am quite ready."
"Of course you are. You are Victor's chosen bride but he is never going to notice you if you keep hiding in corners. Even destiny sometimes needs a little push."
"B-but Kate, do you truly think—"
"Yes, I do," Kate said firmly. She had spied Victor earlier, an earnest young knight clad in a coat and helmet of chain mail. He had seemed indifferent to Kate's arrival, making no effort to approach or foist his attentions upon her. The spell was well and truly over.
Now if the young fool could only be persuaded where his true happiness lay.
Allowing Mollie no chance to protest further, Kate dragged the girl across the great hall. Mollie gripped her crook, stumbling after her, appearing nervous enough to faint.
Kate paused near the banqueting table to scan the crowd. Clad in that ridiculous chain mail and as tall as he was, Victor should not have been that difficult to spot. Surely he could not have left the ball already?
No, but he appeared on the verge of doing so. Kate saw him near the huge arch that led out to the ancient drawbridge. She all but wrenched Mollie off her feet in her efforts to overtake him.
He had nearly disappeared beneath the arch when Kate called after him, "Victor, wait!"
Mollie blushed, cringed, and seemed ready to die on the spot. Victor came slowly around, an arrested expression stealing across his features. He looked almost as though...as though he were seeing Mollie Grey for the first time.
Kate rushed up to him, the hapless Mollie in tow.
"Victor, surely you are not planning to abandon us already?"
"Well, yes, I—" His eyes lit up.
"No," he said softly. "Not anymore."
Kate sank into a playful curtsy. "Good knight, may I be so bold as to present a damsel most desirous of dancing with you?"
A slow smile spread across Victor's handsome face. "Aye, indeed you may."
Kate stepped quickly back, all but thrusting Mollie into his arms. The girl cowered behind her crook, looking as though she would have hidden behind the slender staff if she could. She peered shyly up at Victor, her entire heart surfacing in her eyes.
"G-good evening, Mr. St. Leger," she said breathlessly.
Victor blinked. "Good evening, Miss Grey," he replied gravely.
An awkward silence ensued in which the pair of them stood and stared helplessly at each other until Kate's patience gave out.
"You had best make haste," she said. "I believe the next set is already forming." When neither of them stirred, Kate seized Mollie's hand and thrust it toward Victor.
To her astonishment and unease, Victor made no move to take it. "Your pardon, Miss Grey, but I fear I cannot oblige you this evening. It is this deuced chain mail, far—far too heavy for dancing. A most unfortunate choice of costume."
"Oh," Mollie said in a small voice, lowering her eyes. "Of course, I—I understand."
Did she? Kate certainly did not. She glared at Victor. "If the blasted thing is too heavy, then take it off. You have a tunic on underneath."
Victor ignored her suggestion and smiled politely at Mollie instead. "I am sure there are any number of gentlemen here who would be delighted to stand up with you. Do allow me to help find you a more suitable partner."
But Mollie had slipped her hand from Kate's grasp and was backing away. "Oh, n-no. So—so obliging of you, but I am sure my papa—my sisters must be wondering where I..."
She trailed off into incoherence. Flushed with hurt and mortification, Mollie spun about and rushed back into the great hall.
"Mollie," Kate cried, and took a hesitant step after her, but judged it best to let her go. The girl was already close to tears. Kate rounded angrily on Victor.
"What a complete blockhead you are. How could you—"
"No, how could you, Kate?" Victor interrupted in a choked voice. "You don't have to return my affections, but don't try to thrust another woman upon me either."
Kate stared at him, stunned. Return his affections? What was he talking about? The spell was over, finished. Then why was Victor regarding her with that expression of desperate longing?
"No," Kate faltered. "It's impossible. You—you cannot still be in love with me."
"What did you think would happen, Kate? That my love was going to fade with the waning of the moon?"
"Yes, I did!"
"I am sorry you should continue to have such a poor opinion of my character. But I assure you my affection for you remains steadfast and unchanged."
"No!" Kate cried, stomping her foot for emphasis. "It is over. You are not supposed to still be in love with me."
"I have made an heroic effort to keep my distance from you, to stop badgering you with my unwanted attentions. I can endure your indifference to me, Kate, but please don't give me the added pain of telling me how I am supposed to feel."
He cast her a final anguished glance before stalking away, leaving Kate trembling with dismay. This could not be happening. Because if Victor was still entangled in her spell, then Val...Kate's heart gave a cold clutch of fear.
But, no, Val had sent Jem to fetch his cane. He would never have done that if her spell had not worn off, and she had watched Prospero end it in a magnificent display of fire and dark magic. He was a powerful sorcerer. He could not have failed, could he? She remembered clearly what he had said.
_"Whatever spell you may have cast has now been undone."_
But what if Prospero had managed to undo only part of the spell? What if something had gone terribly wrong? Only one person could answer that—Prospero himself. Kate prayed that she would be able to summon the wizard back to his tower one last time.
Kate hastened across the great hall, pushing her way through the throng of guests, impervious to the startled looks and affronted glances she received. She supposed she should have been more discreet, but her sense of urgency would not allow for that. Stealing behind the dais, she hurried toward the dragon tapestry that concealed the tower door.
She reached out to thrust the tapestry aside when a heavy hand descended upon her shoulder.
"Going somewhere, my Kate?"
The voice was little more than a whisper, but it chilled Kate to the marrow of her bones. Heart thudding, she spun about to find Val looming behind her. Torchlight flickered over his tall frame clad for traveling in his long black cloak and thick boots. He made a strange contrast to the masqueraders in the great hall beyond garbed in all their fantasy, satins, silks, and shimmering threads.
By comparison Val looked hard, real, and dangerous. Kate raised her eyes fearfully to his face and her heart seemed to stop altogether. Any hope that Prospero had ended even part of the spell died at once.
Val's black hair tumbled wildly about the gaunt contours of his countenance, his skin ice pale, his eyes feverish pools of darkness. He looked more lost to her evil magic than he had ever been.
In one white hand he gripped a silver-tipped cane, but he obviously had no need of it as he stepped closer. Kate backed away until he had her trapped against the hard rough surface of the wall.
"I have been waiting for you for hours." His voice was calm, terrifyingly so, but his gaze pierced her with barely suppressed fury. "You were supposed to meet me at the crossroads. Or have you entirely forgotten?"
"Well, I—I—"
"Oh, don't bother with any explanations. It is all too clear why you failed me tonight. I saw you shamelessly pursuing that young fool."
"No, Val, you don't understand—"
But he pressed his hand to her mouth, his eyes a cold, dark glitter. "No lies, Kate. It would take so little to provoke me. I could go kill Victor right now with scarce a thought."
Kate's heart gave a terrified lurch. She managed to pry his fingers away. "N-no, Val, please."
"Then come with me. Right now."
His hand clamped around her wrist like an iron manacle and he began dragging her toward the unobtrusive side door that connected to the new part of the mansion. Kate hung back, gazing toward the great hall for help, but she was too afraid to cry out. Not because she feared what Val might do to her. She was more terrified of what might happen if someone attempted to intervene.
She saw no trace in his grim features of the gentle man she had once loved. The madness she'd conjured appeared to have overtaken him completely.
He all but hurled her through the heavy wooden door and slammed it closed, shutting out the laughter and music spilling from the chamber beyond. The cloistered hall seemed dark and eerily silent after the revelry of the ball. The only illumination was the moonlight that spilled through the tall, latticed windows, pooling shadows across the floor like the bars of a dungeon.
Val gave her a push, propelling her along in front of him. But Kate dug in her heels, turning to face him.
"Val, you have got to listen to me—" she began, reaching up to cup his face only to gasp in horror at the heated intensity radiating from his skin.
"My God, Val! You—you are burning up."
"I'm fine," he growled, impatiently thrusting her hands away. But his words were belied as he was seized by a savage coughing spell. He lost his grip on his cane, the walking stick falling from his hands to clatter against the stone floor. Val leaned against the wall, drawing in ragged breaths, the moon painting bars of light across his haggard face.
Kate hovered beside him, helplessly running her fingers over his chest. He placed one hand over hers, holding it tight over the region of his heart. Kate could feel how hard it was racing and it terrified her.
"Val, please, you are not well."
"I—I will be well enough when we are gone from here."
"No, you won't be. You don't understand what I have done to you," Kate said, but she realized with despair that Val was paying little heed to her words. He gazed down at her, his eyes fever bright. He released her hand to stroke unsteady fingers through her hair.
"You look beautiful tonight, Kate," he rasped. "Who are you pretending to be? The lady Elaine? Nimue? Or perhaps Morgan le Fey, the lovely enchantress who worked her magic on poor Merlin."
Val's last guess was so close to the truth, Kate's throat knotted with tears.
"Lovely enchantress?" she choked. "Evil witch would be a better description." She seized hold of his hand, squeezing it hard, trying desperately to penetrate beyond the veil of madness clouding his eyes.
"Val, please. _Listen to me!_ "
In halting sentences she told him everything, how she had stolen Prospero's book, the dark magic she had woven on All Hallows' Eve, how terribly it had gone awry, her futile attempts to undo it.
Val's lips snaked back in a disconcerting smile.
"Val, do you understand what I am telling you?"
"Aye, you put a spell on me." He flung back his head in such a wild laugh that Kate let go of his hand and recoiled in alarm.
"D-don't you believe me?"
"Oh, I believe you all right. It sounds like the sort of mad, reckless thing you would do."
Then why wasn't he angry with her? Or at least alarmed by what she had told him? She feared her confession had come far too late to do any good, to penetrate through the haze of his madness. His eyes glinted with an unholy amusement that unnerved her.
"My poor Kate," he mocked. "You distress yourself over nothing. Your ghostly sorcerer friend and his so-called book of spells is nothing but a great fraud."
"W-what do you mean?"
"Only that you weren't the only one practicing magic on All Hallows' Eve. I, too, have a secret, my dear. And if you are going to be my wife, I suppose I must share it with you."
His eyes narrowed, his mouth crooking into a sly smile as he beckoned her to come closer. His expression was so strange, it caused her to tingle with fear, but she took a wary step toward him. Val unfastened his cloak and groped at his neck, tugging at a silver length of chain.
Kate had felt the outline of it beneath his shirt many times when they had made love. It was only a holy medal, Val had explained, a historical relic handed down from some ancient St. Leger who'd gone on the Crusades.
But as Val uncovered the length of chain, Kate saw that the object dangling from the end of it was far from holy. It appeared no more than a sliver, an icicle of glass, until it reflected the moonlight spilling through the windows. Then the shard glowed with a strange cold beauty, a glitter that triggered in Kate a disturbing memory.
_Prospero's crystal._
"Val," she quavered. "Where did you get that thing?"
"From an old acquaintance...Rafe Mortmain."
"Rafe Mortmain," Kate repeated, stunned. "But that villain has been missing for years. Where did you find him?"
"He found me. He came to Slate House on All Hallows' Eve. To give me this." Val dangled the crystal, the tiny prism sparkling with a light that was at once hypnotic and frightening. Kate felt obliged to avert her eyes.
"This is the shard of crystal Rafe stole," Val said. "Chipped away from the stone in the hilt of the St. Leger sword."
Kate had already guessed as much, but there was one thing she did not understand. "Why would Rafe Mortmain risk coming back here to return that to you?"
"He was dying when he landed on my doorstep. In pain...so much pain. I couldn't help him, but I tried. I took him by the hand and—and—"
Val faltered, pressing one hand to his brow, seeming unable to continue. But Kate could well guess what he had done. The mere thought of Val using his dangerous power to help someone as evil as a Mortmain made her blood run cold. Only Val St. Leger would have taken such a risk.
"Oh, Val, what happened? What did that horrible man do to you?"
"I—I am not sure. There was—this violent storm, thunder and lightning. Rafe was clutching my hand." Val fixed her with tormented eyes. "God help me, Kate. The—the pain flowing from him to me. N-never felt anything like it and he—he would not let go. The crystal flared and it was as though I—I absorbed the very darkness of his soul."
Val shuddered, trembling violently as though the memory itself was too much for him. Kate flung her arms about him.
"Shh," she whispered. "Never mind, dearest. Everything is going to be all right, I promise you."
Val held her so tight she could scarce breathe. Kate cradled him to her, stroking his hair. So this terrible change in Val had nothing to do with her clumsy efforts at magic. The thought should have given her some relief, but it only deepened her guilt. While she had been prancing around that bonfire like a fool, Val had been left alone in mortal danger. She should have been there, saved him somehow from whatever evil that Mortmain had worked upon him.
But at least there was one thing she could do to protect him now. Kate slid her fingers down his neck, groping for the chain. But Val stiffened and wrenched away from her.
"Val, please. You have got to get rid of that thing."
"No." Clutching the crystal, he backed away from her, looking as wary as a cornered wolf. "The crystal is mine now. Rafe gave it to _me_."
"I doubt that he did so out of the goodness of his heart. He is trying to destroy you."
"But he is gone, vanished again."
"Aye, because he left that hellish stone to do his work for him. Rafe must have known how dangerous it was."
"For a Mortmain perhaps, but I—I am a St. Leger," Val said desperately, backing even farther away. "I can control its power."
"No, you can't! The crystal is too unpredictable. Prospero himself told me. That shard is part of some terrible magic stone he fashioned, a magic that went beyond his control. The stone exploded. He still has one piece, the other he imbedded in the sword. But each time the crystal is broken, each new fragment becomes even more unstable. There is no telling what that cursed thing is doing to you."
"I know exactly what it is doing. It has cured me, set me free to—to love you."
"No, my dearest," Kate said gently. "It is clouding your mind, confusing you, making you ill. Please give it to me."
She took a cautious step closer, pleading with the full force of her eyes. He stared at her, beads of sweat gathering on his brow, his mouth twisting. Something flickered in Val's eyes as though his reason struggled to reassert itself.
He glanced at her, then uncertainly down at the crystal. He began slowly to pull the chain up over his head. Kate released a tremulous breath and stretched out her hand.
It was a mistake. Val blinked, the darkness descending again as though a door had been suddenly slammed closed. Clutching the crystal more possessively than ever, he snarled at her.
"No! You are only trying to trick me, seize my power so you can escape and run straight back to your precious Victor."
"No, Val, I—"
"Well, it won't work, Kate. The crystal is mine and so are you!" Glaring at her, he hid the stone back beneath his shirt, and her heart sank, realizing that any chance she had of reasoning with him was lost.
Val snatched up the cane he had dropped and seized her arm with his other hand. Ignoring her protests, he propelled her along back toward the main wing of the house. Kate tried to drag her feet, her mind racing as fast as her pulse.
What was she going to do now? Val needed help. He was so desperately ill, sweat trickling down his pallid face, but he still seemed possessed of a ruthless strength. Even when he paused to emit a rasping cough, his iron grip on her arm never wavered.
"Please, Val, you are hurting me," she cried, struggling to pull free.
He didn't even seem to hear her or notice her efforts, marching her determinedly through the silent rooms of the new wing. There was not even a servant about to witness her plight, most of them occupied tending to the guests in the great hall.
Kate glanced up at Val in despair. She could not bring herself to strike out at him, but she had to find some way to escape, summon help for Val before it was too late. Her desperation only increased when Val dragged her out through the tall doors of the breakfast room, out into the night-shadowed garden where he had left Storm tethered to a rhododendron tree far from the bustle of the stable yard.
The ghost white stallion shifted restively in the moonlight as Val approached. Kate tugged with all her might, knowing if Val managed to hoist her onto the back of that demon horse, they'd be away like the wind. And there would be no telling what would happen then.
It almost broke her heart to do it, but Kate gritted her teeth and made a fist. She delivered a sharp clout to his ear. It staggered Val enough that he released her. Kate ran, but not fast enough.
He recaptured her before she had gone many steps. Cursing, he seized her around the waist, half dragging her off her feet.
"Stop." A voice rang out, causing them both to freeze. The tall outline of a man emerged from the house. Kate prayed it would be Lance. He, if anyone, might have a chance of breaking the crystal's insane hold on Val.
But as the man strode closer, the moon glinted off his bright coat of mail and Kate's stomach dipped down to her toes.
Oh, God, no, she thought desperately. Not Victor; anyone but him.
She could feel the tension coil in Val, his grip tightening about her waist, pulling her possessively closer as Victor closed the distance between them.
The young man's brow knit in a puzzled frown. "What is going on? Kate, are you all right?"
Val spoke up before she could answer. "She is fine, if it is any of your concern. Now you will have to excuse us, Sir Knight." He sneered. "Kate and I were just leaving."
"It doesn't look to me as though Kate wants to go."
"No, I am all right," Kate stammered. "Please just go back to the house and tell Lance to come—"
But Victor did not even appear to be listening to her. He spoke in a low voice that he tried to direct at her alone. "Kate, I know you think you are in love with Val. But you shouldn't go anywhere with him. Val has not been himself lately. Some even say that he is—is—"
"Mad?" Val broke in with an icy laugh. He released Kate so abruptly, she staggered to regain her balance. "I'll show you madness, boy."
He grasped the hilt of his cane and to Kate's horror, she suddenly realized its purpose. Val unsheathed a sword stick, the deadly blade gleaming in the moonlight.
"Val, no!" She clutched at his arm, but he shook her off, the gleam in his eyes as dark as any Mortmain's, his smile more terrible.
He stalked toward Victor. The young man stepped back, flinging up his arms. "As you can see, I am unarmed."
Val only laughed. "Rather absurd, isn't it, to pose as a knight and not even think to provide yourself with a weapon?"
"I didn't expect to be fighting a duel at a fancy dress ball."
"This isn't a duel. It's an execution." Val circled him, a cruel predatory light in his eyes. "I always wondered if chain mail was really effective at deflecting a blade. Now we are going to find out."
"Val, stop it!" Kate shouted. As he lunged, she rushed forward, thrusting Victor out of the way. The gleam of the blade was no more than a blur, but she felt its sting, the searing pain that rushed up her arm.
Kate froze, staring down at the tear in her sleeve, the flow of blood that was staining her kirtle an even deeper shade of red. She raised stunned eyes to Val. The realization of what he'd just done seemed to shock him back to sanity. His eyes rounded in horror, the sword dropping from his fingers.
"Kate," he cried hoarsely.
She closed her eyes, swaying on her feet, determined not to faint. But she felt her knees giving way beneath her.
Strong arms caught her, easing her to the ground. For a moment she thought it was Victor until she opened her eyes and found Val bending over her.
Her Val. He seemed to have fought his way back to her, past the darkness, the expression on his face both stricken and tender.
"Kate, my God. What have I done?"
"It's nothing," she murmured. "The m-merest trifle." She attempted to smile, reach out to reassure him, but flinched at the searing pain in her arm. The plea escaped her lips before she could prevent it, just as she had done so many times before, admitting to Val what she never would to anyone else.
"Oh, Val, it—it hurts."
His strong hand closed around hers, preparing to work the age-old magic. But instead of the familiar flood of warmth, something was terribly wrong.
Pain flowed out of Val's fingertips, piercing her veins like a black poison. Pain more excruciating than anything she'd ever endured. Her head fell back, and she screamed, webs of darkness dancing before her eyes.
"What are you doing?" Victor shouted. "Let her go, damn you."
But Victor's command was unnecessary. Val had already released her. Victor elbowed him aside, taking charge of Kate himself. Numbly Val allowed the young man to do so, staring down in pure horror at his own hand before collapsing at Kate's side.
_C HAPTER EIGHTEEN_
* * *
**_V_** AL ST. LEGER WAS DYING.
A gloom-filled hush descended over the castle and the surrounding countryside, fear and grief overtaking the village of Torrecombe. The dread lord Anatole was their protector, the dispenser of justice; Master Lance the bringer of new ideas, the breath of the modern world. But few had ever realized the impact of the quiet man who was now slipping away from them.
Val St. Leger had been both healer and comforter, the gentle doctor who had borne the pain of an entire village upon his shoulders. But he had used his great power once too often and now he was paying a terrible price.
Kate paced the floor in Val's old bedchamber at Castle Leger, keeping vigil over the man she loved. No one any longer reminded her that she was not his chosen bride or warned her to stay away from him. Not even Lance had the heart to banish her from Val's side.
He and his mother, Madeline, had kept watch with Kate, but exhaustion had forced the older woman to retire to her bed. Lance, no longer able to endure standing helplessly by, had ridden north to hasten his father's return and that of his cousin Marius as well.
Marius was both a skilled doctor and a St. Leger. If anyone could find a way to end Val's strange malady, surely it was he. If only he did not arrive too late...
But Kate bit down hard upon her lip, refusing to allow herself to think that way. Her eyes raw from lack of sleep, she continued to hover over Val's bedside, pressing another damp cloth to his brow in a desperate effort to keep his temperature down. Val had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past two days, stirring restively beneath her touch.
Kate didn't understand it. The terrible crystal had been taken from him, locked away in a small wooden chest upon his dresser. Surely Val should have shown some sign of recovery. What else had that evil Mortmain done to him?
He appeared all but swallowed up by the vastness of the bed, this quiet, strong man she had depended upon for so much of her life. His black hair was tousled against the pillow, the lines of his face rigid, never seeming able to relax beneath the lash of some inner torment.
As Kate stroked her fingers gently along his beard-roughened jaw, Val writhed beneath her touch, muttering some words she could not understand. Suddenly his eyes flew open wide with a look of terror, like a man roused from a violent dream.
"Oh, God!" he cried. He startled Kate by attempting to sit bolt upright.
She caught him by the shoulders. "No, Val. Please, you must lie still."
He regarded her wildly for a moment before recognition set in.
"K-Kate?"
"Aye, I am here, love. Everything is all right."
He was so weak, it was an easy matter to ease him back against the pillow although he remained tense beneath her touch. His gaze traveled past her, clearly bewildered.
"Where—where am I?"
"You are home," she said, tucking the coverlet around him. "Safe in your old room back at Castle Leger."
He released a long breath, appearing to relax although he continued to study his surroundings. He flung one hand across his eyes as though even the pale light penetrating the chamber was too much for him.
Kate rose from the edge of the bed, intending to close the curtains.
"No," Val said in a panicked voice. "Don't leave me." His fingers closed around her injured arm and Kate stifled a small gasp of pain.
He released her at once, staring. "I had this terrible dream that I hurt you. That I—" With trembling fingers, he touched her arm, the thickness of the bandage evident beneath her sleeve.
"Oh, God, it wasn't a nightmare," he said hoarsely. "I really did cut you with my sword."
"Hush, Val, it was nothing. The merest scratch. Your mother fast set me to rights." Kate attempted to reassure him. "Just a few quick stitches as tiny and neat as any of her embroidery."
"Mama is—is good at such things." A faint smile curled his lips. "She should have been a doctor herself with—with the number of wounds she bandaged for Lance and me."
"Just as you always did for me."
"But I wasn't able to take care of you this time."
"You soon will be well enough to do so again."
Val shook his head weakly, his eyes dark and empty with despair. "No, not anymore. I've lost my healing gift, Kate. I can't take away pain. All I can do is inflict it."
"That isn't true. None of this has been your fault. Everything that has happened is because of that evil Mortmain and that cursed crystal."
"No, not everything." Val managed to lift his hand, tenderly touching her cheek. "I love you, Kate. I always did. It has nothing to do with any spell book or magic crystal. You—you must always remember that and not weep for me."
His words both moved and alarmed her. She clutched at his hand. "Stop talking as though you are going to die."
"But it's the only way...only way to protect the people I love."
"We don't need protecting. Not from you. You are going to get well, be yourself again. You are rid of that damned crystal."
"It makes no difference now. Don't you understand, Kate?" he murmured. "The darkness is in me...was there all the time."
His words made no sense to her. As his eyes fluttered closed, she realized he was drifting away from her again. But he seemed to be breathing easier, the rigid lines of his face relaxing. Kate touched his brow and was heartened to feel his skin no longer so warm.
Perhaps all Val needed was some rest, a long uninterrupted repose. She thought she saw him shiver and hastened to add more wood to the bedroom grate. Fetching another blanket, she tucked it carefully around him.
She tested his forehead again. He seemed much cooler now. In fact...
Kate anxiously pressed the back of her hand to his temple, his cheek, and his jaw. He was almost ice cold. He lay perfectly still, no warm rush of breath stirring, the rise and fall of his chest imperceptible.
With trembling fingers she felt for his pulse and could hardly find it. A bolt of sheer panic shot through her and Kate had to force herself to remain calm.
No, this wasn't what it seemed, the abrupt change in Val's condition. She checked her alarm, reminding herself that he had done something very like this once before when he had taken a pistol ball in the back.
Val had reduced himself to a deathlike trance, not moving, barely breathing for days. It was but another aspect of his strange St. Leger power, this ability to close down, to heal himself. That had to be what he was doing now.
All the same, Kate thought, she had best summon Val's mother, tell Madeline what was happening. Kate turned away from the bed, preparing to race for the door. She almost hurled herself into the shadowy figure behind her.
Kate bit back a startled shriek, stopping just inches from walking straight through Prospero's ghost. She clutched her thudding heart, but for once she was not even tempted to scold the sorcerer for creeping up on her that way. She was far too relieved to see him.
"Oh, thank heaven. You—you have come back."
"I doubt heaven has anything to do with it," he drawled. "You seem quite determined, Mistress Kate, to never allow me to rest in peace."
Despite his complaint, the sorcerer smiled at her with a rare softness. Prospero appeared different in the fading twilight of Val's bedchamber, somehow more subdued, even the iridescent folds of his cloak lacking some of its sparkle.
He drifted past her to peer down at the man resting so still upon the bed. Kate hovered anxiously beside him.
"It—it's Val," she explained. "He—he's very ill."
"He's dying, Kate," Prospero told her gently.
"No!"
"I can tell whenever a St. Leger is about to pass from this world. It's a dark, empty sensation that always pulls me straight back to the castle."
"This time you are mistaken," she insisted. "You don't know how strong, how unusual Val's power is. He's done this before, shut himself down to heal."
"But not this time. He is willing himself to die."
Kate glared at the sorcerer, her eyes burning with fierce tears because in her heart she feared that he was right, Val's words returning to haunt her.
_"The only way to protect the people I love."_
Bending over the bed, Kate seized hold of Val and shook him hard, frantically calling his name, attempting to rouse him.
"Damn you, Val. Don't you do this."
But her efforts were futile. She turned desperately to Prospero.
"Bring him out of his trance. Make him stop it!"
Prospero stood over the bed, his eyes narrowing. He seemed to pierce Val with his gaze as though he would strip through the layers of his consciousness, summon him back. Long moments passed and Kate waited breathlessly.
But Prospero slowly shook his head. "I am sorry, my dear. He has a will of iron, this gentle scholar of yours. I have no power over him."
"Then what exactly do you have power over?" Kate demanded, her fear sharpening to anger. "All that nonsense you recited on the hill that night, all your fancy tricks with the fire. It undid nothing."
"Then it was because you never succeeded in casting any spell. Just as I once thought. None of this was your fault."
"No, because it was yours. You and your damned crystals."
Prospero's brows rose in haughty surprise at her accusation. Kate marched over to the dresser and picked up the wooden chest, thrusting it at him.
Lance St. Leger had the key, but it was no great matter for Prospero to unseal the coffer. With one long stare and a slight movement of his hand, the lid flicked open.
The sorcerer's eyes widened at the contents. Kate stepped warily back, shielding her eyes as he lifted the chain, the shard of crystal winking evilly.
"The missing piece of the St. Leger sword," he murmured. "I warned young Lance St. Leger years ago that this should be recovered or it might be capable of doing great harm."
"And so it has." Kate told Prospero all that had happened or at least as much of it as she understood.
"And—and when Val tried to help that wretched Mortmain, something terrible happened. It is as though he absorbed some part of that bastard's black soul."
"That may be exactly what he did. I sensed some great evil approaching, but its nature was unclear to me. That, however, is not surprising." He frowned, holding the glittering stone aloft. "It is the power of these crystals. They have ever distorted my judgment, clouded my extraordinary perceptions."
"Then why did you ever seek to invent such a vile thing?"
"I told you. I was questing after power, immortality. I admit I was a great fool and I paid a high price for it."
"And now so is Val," Kate cried.
"Not necessarily."
"What do you mean?"
"There might yet be a way to save your Valentine. That is, if I am right about the nature of this." Prospero studied the tiny prism of glass intently. "I believe this particular piece of crystal is acting like a magnifying glass. At first it seduces with surges of power, augmenting one's strength, one's vitality. That is why young St. Leger felt his leg was cured.
"But it also heightens one's darker emotions as well, jealousy, anger, bitterness, until they become all consuming."
"Val is a kind, gentle man. He has no dark emotions."
"We all have a dark side, Kate. But I fear his was increased tenfold by whatever black emotions he absorbed from the Mortmain, which is why Val's condition may be reversed."
"How?" Kate asked eagerly. "Tell me."
"Rafe Mortmain must be found, fetched back here. If he dons the crystal, takes Val by the hand, reclaims his own misery, then perhaps all may be set right."
"I'll find the villain," Kate vowed fiercely. "I'll drag him back here even if I have to shoot him and—"
"No, Kate," Prospero said. "There is one thing you must understand. This will work only if Rafe consents to the transference. He must willingly make the same sacrifice that Val did for him."
The sorcerer concluded gravely, "And that may be a great deal too much to expect from any Mortmain."
Kate hastened downstairs to the library, a path she had taken so often during her girlhood, she could have found her way blindfolded. Whenever she had arrived at Castle Leger, she had scarce paused to greet anyone else, bounding straight for the book-lined chamber at the back of the house where she had known she would find Val.
She'd burst into the room to spy him lost in some volume, head bent in deep concentration, dark hair spilling across his brow. But he'd glance up at her entrance, his eyes lighting at the sight of her.
"Ah, Kate," he'd exclaim. "You've come just in time. You must come and see this fascinating new book I ordered from London."
And he would hold out one strong hand, his lips crooking in his gentle half-smile, her wizard waiting to transport her to some faraway land with just his touch, the rich timbre of his voice.
The memories that assailed Kate were so bittersweet and strong, she had to swallow hard before she could bring herself to turn the knob and enter the library. It was not Val who awaited her this time, but a far different gentleman.
Victor St. Leger slumped down in a chair before the dying fire, the young man fast asleep, his head lolling to one side. Most of the guests who'd attended the masquerade had departed days ago. Only Victor had lingered, watching and waiting like a forlorn hound. Once when emerging from Val's bedchamber, Kate had nearly tripped over him. Weary and tense herself, she had snapped at him to go home.
Kate felt guilty about that, especially now when she needed Victor's help. She tiptoed across the room to peer down at the sleeping man. Usually so dapper, Victor's breeches and waistcoat were rumpled. He hadn't even made any effort to don a cravat, his shirt left open at the neckline. Nor had he shaved, a faint stubble shadowing his jaw, curiously at odds with the boyish way his dark lashes rested against his cheeks. He looked as exhausted and strained as they all were.
Kate rarely experienced any motherly impulses, but she wished she could have tucked a shawl about Victor's shoulders, allowed the young man to continue his repose. Instead she was obliged to shake him awake.
"Victor? Victor!"
"Mmmf?" His eyes fluttered open to peek groggily up at her. "Kate? Is it morning yet?"
"No, but you have to wake up."
Victor blinked hard, rubbing his hand across his face. "What—what time is it?"
"I don't have the least idea."
Victor slumped back, showing an alarming tendency to nod off again. Kate shook him more vigorously. "Victor, please! Stay awake. I need your help."
The urgency in her voice seemed to penetrate his sleepy haze. He gave himself a mighty shake and struggled awkwardly to his feet. His eyes cleared as he peered down at her with concern and alarm.
"What is it, Kate? Is it Val? Has there been any change?"
"None for the better. Which is why I need you to do something for me. Something very important."
"Anything," Victor said eagerly. "You have but to name it."
"You told me once that you have a special ability to locate missing persons. Is that true?"
"Aye," Victor said, although he appeared rather nonplussed by Kate's abrupt question. "You have decided you want me to find out who your mother was after all?"
"No, the devil with her. I need you to locate a man who used to live in this village. Do you remember Rafe Mortmain?"
Victor gave an incredulous laugh. "I should say I do. I am a St. Leger, Kate. We don't tend to forget any Mortmain."
"Good. Then focus his image in your mind and tell me where Rafe is. He is the one responsible for what has happened to Val and the only one who can undo it. I have to go find Rafe Mortmain and bring him back here. So get on with your conjuring and tell me where the villain is hiding."
To her dismay, Victor only frowned and locked his arms across his chest. "I don't think I should do that, Kate."
Kate stared at him in disbelief. He was actually refusing to help?
"Damnation," she growled. "I know you consider Val your rival, but he is your kinsman as well. You cannot allow him to die because you are jealous of him."
Victor stiffened indignantly, flushing at her accusation. "Of course I don't intend to let Val die. But I am not going to give you information that will only lead you into danger. I'd never forgive myself if I did."
"And I'll never forgive you if you don't," Kate said fiercely.
Victor firmed his lips into such a stubborn line, Kate longed to shake him. But she curbed her fear and frustration, resting her hand upon his sleeve instead.
"Oh, Victor, please. You talk about danger for me, but don't you understand? If anything happens to Val, my life is over."
"It certainly will be if you try to go after Rafe Mortmain."
"I don't care! I would risk anything to save Val."
"You—you love him that much?"
"Yes! I would willingly die for him."
Victor flinched at her passionate words. Kate supposed she should have remembered that Victor still fancied himself in love with her, made some effort to spare his feelings. She took his hand, squeezing it gently.
"Victor, I am so sorry—" she began, but he cut her off with a shake of his head. Disengaging his hand, he stepped away from her.
"No, don't apologize, Kate. I guess I have finally realized that I have been making a great fool of myself over you."
Kate gave a guilty wince. "That may not be entirely your fault. At one time I actually thought I had cast a spell over you. A love charm that I tried to work upon Val on All Hallows' Eve. When you suddenly began pursuing me, I feared my magic had gone somehow awry. And perhaps it really did."
Victor smiled ruefully. "There is only one problem with that notion, Kate. I had made up my mind to be in love with you well before All Hallows' Eve."
Made up his mind? What a strange way of putting it. Kate frowned over the words.
"You _decided_ to be in love with me? I didn't think love was an emotion that could be so well regulated. And even if it could be, what in the world ever made you settle upon me?"
Kate's words seemed to throw Victor momentarily for a loss.
"Well, because," he faltered. "Because you are very beautiful."
"So are a good many other women. Even more so."
"Aye, but you are also so strong willed, so sure of yourself, something I have always admired." Victor grimaced. "Perhaps because that makes you very different from me. Most of my St. Leger cousins, even my own grandfather, scorned me for being this weak dandy, this good-for-nothing fellow.
"But I always dreamed that someday I would show them all they were wrong. I would turn out to be this remarkable, powerful man who accomplished something great."
Victor turned to her, his eyes growing wistful. "And part of that dream, Kate, was to lead this beautiful woman to the altar, some sweet, kind lady who would love me despite all my flaws, whom I would cherish and protect forever."
"Sweet and kind lady?" Kate echoed. "Oh, Victor, don't you see? That isn't me you are describing. It's Mollie Grey."
Victor's mouth set in a mulish line. "Don't start that again, Kate. I have been bullied most of my life by the St. Legers. I won't be told whom I am to marry as well. I realize that as soon as the Bride Finder declared Mollie to be my chosen bride, I was expected to rush her straight to the church, but whenever I look at Mollie, all I want to do is turn tail and run. I suppose that makes me very different from the other St. Legers."
"No," Kate said dryly. "It makes you exactly like the rest of them."
Victor shot her a look of such astonishment, Kate was obliged to smile.
"It is obvious that I know far more of your family history than you do, thanks to Val. Most of you St. Leger men do seem to balk when first presented with your chosen brides. I believe that Lord Anatole was ready to send Madeline straight back to London. And as for Lance, he put up a mighty resistance to Rosalind when they first met."
"He—he did?"
"Aye," Kate assured him. In fact there had been only one St. Leger male Kate had ever known who had been eager to locate his chosen bride, and that had been her poor Val. She remembered his cruel disappointment when Effie had refused to help him. Kate also recalled with shame her own secret rejoicing that Val would never belong to another.
If he survived this...no, when he survived, Kate amended quickly, she vowed she would somehow find him his destined love, the kind of lovely gentle lady Val had always deserved. Kate would see him made happy in the arms of his chosen bride even if it killed her.
Kate stole a glance at Victor. She didn't know if anything she had said had convinced him or changed the young man's mind about Mollie, but she believed she had at least given him pause.
His brow was furrowed in a thoughtful frown. "I always believed that when a St. Leger found his chosen bride, it was supposed to be love at first sight."
"Not even a legend can guarantee that," Kate said. "The Bride Finder can only point out the right lady. After that it is all up to you, to get to know her mind and heart. I really do think you should give yourself a chance to become better acquainted with Mollie and then see what happens.
"Perhaps from living with Effie for so long, some of her bride-finding talent has worn off on me. Even I can picture you and Mollie someday living happily ever after together."
"And if I was to begin courting Mollie," Victor retorted, "it would certainly get me out of your hair."
"I don't want you out of my hair. In time, I even hope we can be friends." Kate tentatively held out her hand to him.
"Especially the kind of friends who help each other, eh?" Victor said with a suspicious lift of his brows. But he took her hand, lapsing into a reluctant grin. "Very well, Kate. I will locate Rafe Mortmain for you, but only under one condition."
"What is that?"
"That I be the one to go after him."
"What!" Kate struggled to contain her scorn for such a proposal. She had no wish to insult Victor, but sending him to fetch Rafe Mortmain would be like sending a lamb to herd a wolf into a pen.
Victor must have clearly read her thoughts for he added, "Oh, don't worry. I don't intend to go alone. If Lance were here, I would turn this matter over to him. But since he isn't, I will ask Caleb and some of my other cousins to accompany me. We will hunt Rafe Mortmain down, but you must promise to remain here, Kate. Agreed?"
Kate fetched a deep sigh. "Oh, very well. But we have no time to lose, so get on with it. Use your power and reveal where he is."
Victor nodded. Rubbing his temples as though to clear his mind, he turned and focused his gaze intently on the dying embers of the fire. Kate stepped to one side, trying to curb her impatience and remain as quiet as possible.
She didn't quite know what to expect when Victor exercised his St. Leger gift, but certainly something a little more than this. He simply stood there staring into the fire as though he were falling into a trance.
Or maybe he was merely falling back asleep. As the endless moments ticked by, Kate could bear it no longer.
"Blast it all, Victor. Is anything happening? Can you see anything yet?" she demanded.
"I see...water," Victor said slowly. "Rolling waves. A vast stretch of—of ocean."
Kate's heart sank. "Damn the villain," she muttered. "He's fled across the sea. I should have guessed as much. He's had plenty of time to be long gone from England. We'll never fetch him back in time."
"No. I sense that he is not that far away. He—he is residing at an inn in a town near the sea."
Victor blinked hard, and then his entire face lit up. He whirled toward Kate with a triumphant grin. "Falmouth, Kate. He is in Falmouth."
Kate let out a glad cry and flung her arms about Victor. "Oh, thank you, thank you. We can have the rogue back here before tomorrow eve."
Victor eased her away from him. "Aye, but remember your promise, Kate. You agreed to remain quietly here with Val, to let me handle this."
"Oh—oh, yes, of course." Kate folded her hands in front of her, staring down at the carpet. Her manner of meek acquiescence would never have fooled Val, but it satisfied Victor.
Only after the young man had bolted from the library did Kate look up. She supposed she should have warned Victor, told him what Prospero had said. That Rafe Mortmain needed to be persuaded, not captured by force. But it scarce mattered.
Let Victor assemble the other St. Legers, Kate thought grimly. Before the men had even saddled their horses, Kate intended to be long gone.
_C HAPTER NINETEEN_
* * *
**_K_** ATE FLUNG ARTICLES of clothing out of the wardrobe onto the floor of her bedchamber until she found what she was looking for. Breeches, an old frock coat, and a pair of masculine riding boots. She had not worn them for years, trying so hard to learn to act the lady for Val.
But it was not a lady he needed now, Kate thought grimly. She scrambled into the breeches, coat, and boots. Moving the candle closer to the wardrobe, she groped until she found the final object of her search, the pistol Lance had given her for her birthday.
"Kate?" a small breathless voice called just outside her bedchamber, followed by a light knock. Kate straightened abruptly, whirling about to find her door easing open. She cursed herself for forgetting to lock it.
Kate stifled a groan as Effie slipped into the room. She had never known her guardian to rise before noon. Why did she have to pick today of all days to be up and stirring before dawn?
Effie crept closer, a small ghostlike figure in her white nightgown and lace cap, a pale pink shawl fastened about her shoulders, her bare toes peeking out from beneath her hem. She appeared at once more childlike and older than Kate had ever seen her, the light from the candle she carried flickering over the haggard lines of her face.
"I did not realize you had returned home," she said. "But I heard you rustling about and as I could not sleep either..."
Effie's words faltered to silence as she held up her candle, her horrified gaze taking in Kate's strange attire, the pistol she gripped in her hand.
"Oh, Kate," Effie squeaked. "Whatever are you up to now?"
"Nothing," Kate began only to stop herself. The present situation was far too urgent, and she was far too wearied for her usual prevarication and denials. She tucked the pistol beneath her frock coat.
"I am sorry, Effie," she said. "I planned to leave you a note after I had gone. Please, don't worry. Try to forget you ever saw me and—and just go back to bed."
Taking Effie by the elbow, Kate propelled her toward the door. But Effie dug in her heels, her eyes widening with trepidation.
"Gone?" she shrilled. "Gone where?"
Kate sighed. She had little time to be offering explanations or soothing Effie. She tried to speak as reassuringly and simply as she would have done to a small child. "I know this is going to sound alarming to you, Effie dear, but I—I have to go away for a while. Val is dying. There is only one way I can save him and that is to find the man who has brought this curse upon him."
Effie's mouth puckered with fear and bewilderment. "What man?"
Kate hesitated, then confessed reluctantly, "I have to find Rafe Mortmain."
"M-Mortmain?" Effie's reaction was even worse than Kate might have imagined. The older woman's face blanched as white as her nightgown. Her hand trembled so badly she was in danger of setting Kate's bedcurtains afire. Kate hastily plucked the candle from Effie's grasp, setting it safely down on the bedside table.
For a moment, Kate almost feared Effie was about to faint. But the woman seized the front of Kate's frock coat with a surprising strength.
"No, Kate! I absolutely forbid it, do you hear me?"
Kate regarded her in surprise. In all the years she had known Effie, her timid guardian had never outright forbidden her to do anything.
"You must not go anywhere near that wicked man," she cried. "Promise me."
"I promise that I will be careful." Kate tried to disentangle her coat from Effie's clutching fingers. "But I must—"
"No!" Effie's mouth quivered. "If—if that villain must be fetched back here, then you let someone else do it. Lance or—or one of the other St. Leger men."
Kate managed to ease Effie away from her, shaking her head. "This will be hard for you to understand, Effie, but if anyone is going to take the risk of going after Rafe Mortmain, it has to be me."
"B-but why?"
"Because so much of this disaster is my fault. I have always known Val better than anyone else. I should have realized sooner what was wrong with him, found a way to help him. But I didn't even realize he was in trouble. I was too caught up in my own selfish schemes to defy the Bride Finder legend and force him to marry me."
Kate swallowed past a hard knot that formed in her throat. "He was my dearest friend, and I let him down, failed him when he needed me the most. Perhaps I even brought the St. Leger curse down on his head."
"Oh, no, Kate, you couldn't have. You—" Effie checked herself abruptly, taking a desperate turn around the room, wringing her hands. She gave a soft moan. "Oh, if anyone is to blame, it is me. This is all my fault, all mine."
Kate caught her by the shoulders to stop her agitated pacing. "Don't be foolish, Effie. How could any of this be your fault? You always warned me to stop chasing after Val, that I was not his chosen bride."
"I know." Effie moaned again. "I lied."
_"What?"_ Kate eyed her sharply, certain she could not have understood properly. Effie ducked her head, staring fixedly at the carpet.
"Effie?" Kate gripped her shoulders hard, trying to peer into her face, but Effie's eyes slid guiltily away from her.
"I—I lied," Effie said in a small voice. "I have been lying to you and Valentine for years. I realized from the first moment I saw you together, even when you were still a little girl, that you were meant to be his bride."
Kate released her, stepping back, too stunned to say anything.
"I am Val's chosen bride?" she demanded at last. "I always have been?"
Effie gave a jerky nod.
Kate released a long, shaky breath, struggling to absorb the full impact of Effie's words. She was destined to be Val's bride, his forever love, just as she had always dreamed of being. Her lips curved momentarily in a tremulous smile.
Kate had known it. Somehow in her heart, she had always known. If only Effie had not always been so adamant that—
Kate's smile faded, the fleeting joy she felt at the discovery displaced by a sense of outrage, a hurt and anger unlike anything she had ever known. She bore down upon Effie.
"You _knew_?" she grated. "All these years you knew and yet you tried to keep Val and me apart? You let him believe that he had to remain alone forever. And as for me, you saw that my heart was breaking and still you—you—"
Kate choked off, glowering at her. "Damn you, Effie. How could you do a thing like that?"
Effie shrank back from her anger, cowering against the bedpost. "I kept hoping that I was wrong."
"In God's name, why?" Kate cried. "Am I that much of a pariah? Oh, I realize that I am not the sort of proper born lady as most St. Leger brides. Only a foundling brat from the stews of London. I cannot even begin to imagine what sort of wicked woman my mother must have been—"
"I can," Effie interrupted her in a broken whisper, tears cascading down her cheeks. "The w-wicked woman was...is me."
"Are you trying to tell me that—that—"
"I am really your mother. Yes." Effie buried her face in her hands. Sagging down on the edge of the bed, she began to weep in earnest.
Kate could only stare at her in total disbelief. No, all these strange confessions had to be but more of Effie's melodramatics, her usual flare for creating a scene out of nothing at all.
But despite Effie's sniffling, the woman did not appear to be indulging in her familiar hysterics. When she lifted her head to risk a glance at Kate, the older woman's face was shadowed with a quiet despair, a genuine misery she appeared to have been suppressing for years.
"Oh, Kate, I—I am so s-sorry." She attempted to reach out to Kate, but Kate recoiled from her, crossing the room to sink down upon the chair at her dressing table, her mind reeling.
Effie...Effie Fitzleger, her mother. Kate had spent so many years refusing to even think about the woman who could have given birth to her, then abandoned her. It would have been better to discover that her mother was a harlot, the cheap kind of doxy Kate had always imagined her to be.
But Effie, despite her flighty ways, had always seemed so kind, so caring. Effie was even now regarding Kate so wistfully, as though measuring the distance Kate had put between them.
A terrible silence ensued, finally broken by Effie's plea.
"Please s-say something, Kate."
"What do you expect me to say? First you tell me that you lied for years about my being Val's chosen bride, and now I also find out you are my mother. You are the woman who left me to die in that terrible orphanage."
"No, I never meant that to happen. Kate, I swear it. I gave you into the care of my cousin. She promised to find some good family far off in the country to look after you."
"To keep me hidden away, you mean. So obviously there was little hope of you marrying my father. Who the blazes was he? Some groom from the local stables? Some wandering gypsy lad?"
"N-no. Far worse than that."
"What could possibly be worse?" Kate sneered. "Unless you slept with the very devil."
Effie flinched at her words, an odd expression flitting across her face almost as though Kate's accusation carried some element of truth. Kate frowned. The very devil? There were not very many men who had passed through Torrecombe who fit that description. In fact, Kate could think of only one...
_Rafe Mortmain._
But no. Effie and Rafe? The notion was at once too ludicrous and too horrible to contemplate. And yet Kate eyed her guardian uneasily, remembering what seemed to have triggered all these startling revelations from Effie after so many years. Kate's announcement that she intended to go after Rafe Mortmain.
Kate averted her gaze, suddenly feeling as though she had heard quite enough of Effie's secrets. She didn't want to know any more. But like the lid ripped off Pandora's box, the suspicion refused to be ignored or go away.
"Who was he, Effie?" Kate asked hoarsely, her heart hammering in trepidation. "Tell me my father's name."
Effie merely cast her a piteous glance.
"Answer me!" Kate snapped.
Effie shrank down until it seemed she would disappear altogether.
"R-Rafe. Rafe M-M—" Effie choked on a flood of tears as though she could not even bring herself to speak the name.
"No!" Kate breathed, her stomach taking a sickened dive. She pressed her hand to her mouth, feeling she truly might be ill. All her life she had feared she might be possessed of bad blood, but never anything like this. Never that she might have been spawned from a family infamous for its evil and madness.
She was a Mortmain. A God-cursed Mortmain.
Kate staggered to her feet, desperately seeking her reflection in the mirror, half fearing she would find herself transformed into some sort of monster. All she saw was her own face, pale, shadowed with fatigue, and stroked with a wide-eyed vulnerability that reminded her strangely of the woman weeping on the bed.
"No," Kate murmured. "Rafe Mortmain, my father? I don't believe it. It isn't true."
"I w-wish it wasn't," Effie wept.
Kate stormed across the room to tower over the cowering woman. "How is this possible? Did he rape you?"
Effie shook her head miserably.
"Then you went _willingly_ to his bed?"
"I th-thought I was in love with him."
"With a Mortmain? Were you completely mad?"
Effie gave a deep sob and began to tremble. But before she could dissolve into complete incoherence, Kate seized her by the shoulders and gave her a brisk shake.
"No, Effie. Not this time. No hysterics, no megrims. And most of all no more lies. You are going to cease sniveling and tell me everything. Right now."
Kate didn't know if it was her own fierce demeanor or if Effie herself had finally reached a point beyond tears. The woman drew in a shuddering breath and composed herself with a loud sniff.
Kate rummaged in her drawer and produced a handkerchief, which she silently extended toward her. Effie accepted it gratefully, mopping at her red, swollen eyes.
"Th-thank you." She attempted to smile up at Kate, but Kate turned away from her. Arms folded, she stared out her bedchamber window, feeling as cold as the gray light of morning, which was breaking over the village rooftops.
Shoulders slumping, Effie fetched a deep, mournful sigh as she commenced her tale.
"Well, it—it all began in Portsmouth." She paused to correct herself. "No, that isn't right. I fear it started long before that when Rafe first came to Torrecombe. He was the last of the Mortmains, abandoned in Paris by his mother. She was indeed a wicked woman who plotted to destroy every last one of the St. Legers. She did nearly succeed in killing Lord Anatole.
"But Anatole and Madeline St. Leger are remarkable people, so forgiving. They felt sorry for the boy, orphaned, destitute. They brought him to Castle Leger when he was but a lad of sixteen to live with their own family."
"I know all that," Kate interrupted impatiently. "Val long ago taught me the black history of the Mortmains."
"But there is one thing Val could not know. He was only eight years old at the time. He would have never realized the impact Rafe made upon all the girls in the village. He set all the local maids into a foolish flutter, including me. I was little more than sixteen myself at the time and Rafe was quite unlike any boy I'd ever seen. He was so dark, handsome and—and wild."
Kate shot Effie a scornful look. She had recollections herself of seeing Rafe Mortmain during her own childhood. But as the St. Leger's enemy, the villain who had nearly destroyed her beloved Val, Kate couldn't think of the man as anything but vile. It was very difficult to listen to Effie ranting on about how handsome the Mortmain had been, but Kate compressed her lips together, managing to hold her tongue and allow Effie to continue.
"Well, after a while, a terrible thing happened. Lance St. Leger nearly drowned and there was strong suspicion that it was not an accident, that Rafe was responsible. Nothing was ever proved, but for the safety of his own family, Lord Anatole decided Rafe must be sent away. My own grandfather concurred.
"He was the vicar of St. Gothian's at that time and Lord Anatole set great store by his opinion. Rafe was found a position as apprentice seaman on a merchant ship bound for the West Indies. That should have been the last I ever saw of Rafe Mortmain. But our paths crossed again five years later."
Effie fretted with the handkerchief, twisting it into knots. "I was past twenty and still unwed. Even my grandpapa was becoming concerned. He wanted me to marry a local lad, remain in Torrecombe. Partly to remain near him and partly because I was destined to be the next Bride Finder.
"Ah, but Kate." Effie sighed. "I had dreams of my own. I wanted romance, adventure, excitement."
Kate was unable to refrain from gaping at her, and a slightly rueful smile tugged at Effie's lips. "You stare at me, Kate. I suppose the idea of someone as nervous as I longing for excitement strikes you as ridiculous. But I wasn't always quite such a goose."
Effie's voice took a dreamy tone as she went on, "How I longed to travel, to see the world beyond Torrecombe. More than anything I wanted to go to London for the season, but my grandpapa had a great mistrust and fear of large cities. However, he did offer to take me to Portsmouth."
Effie pulled a wry face. "Portsmouth! It was a city, to be sure, but it certainly wasn't London. It did have the advantage that one of my aunts lived there, and Grandpapa had not seen Aunt Lucy for years. So off we went. After the initial amusement of being in a new place, I was soon as bored there as I had been in Torrecombe. At least until the day the _Meridian_ docked in Portsmouth and brought him back into my life.
"Rafe Mortmain," Effie murmured. "If he had been handsome at sixteen, the man was devastating at twenty-one, with that hard, rugged look of all seamen. Only Rafe had something more, this air of mystery about him, dark, brooding, dangerous. I was always a bit of a fool, but even I possessed enough common sense to know I should stay away from such a man."
"Then why didn't you?" Kate demanded.
Effie gave a helpless shrug. "I—I don't know. One chance meeting in the street outside of a shop and the next I knew I was stealing off to meet him on the sly. I had never deceived my grandpapa before, but I could not seem to stay away from the man. Rafe could be so—so utterly charming."
A Mortmain charming? Kate could not refrain from a contemptuous snort.
"He _was_ , Kate," Effie insisted. "Or—or at least I thought so. I began to perceive him as this wronged hero, maligned and misunderstood. He made me forget everything, all my dreams of a season, a grand match. I was besotted with him, believing he would eventually marry me."
Effie folded her hands, staring glumly down at her lap. "To make a wretched story short, one morning I woke up to discover his ship had sailed. He was gone without a word of farewell and shortly thereafter I discovered I was with child.
"I could not bear for my grandpapa to find out how foolish and wicked I had been. I badgered him unmercifully until he did finally allow me to go to my cousin in London and I confided my plight to her. She was very kind, helped me to take care of everything."
"Everything being me," Kate said bitterly.
"Aye. I thought I would hate the sight of you because you were his daughter. But you were so beautiful, Kate. It nigh broke my heart to part with you. I held you for only a few hours and—and then you were gone."
A single tear escaped to trickle down the older woman's cheek, the most genuine tear Effie had ever shed. Kate was almost moved to pity except for one thing.
"I was gone, all right," she said. "Taken straight to one of the worst foundling homes in London, straight to the portals of hell."
"I didn't know that. Please, you must believe me. I thought you had been taken to a kind and loving home."
"You should have—" Kate checked her angry words. What should Effie have done? A young woman seduced, abandoned, left with child. What would Kate have done herself in those circumstances?
"Go on," Kate said gruffly. "Finish your story."
"There was not much else to tell. I recovered and returned home to my quiet life in Torrecombe. I was strangely glad of it. In time I even learned to appreciate the attentions of my old suitors, although I never married any of them."
"Because they were not good enough for you."
"No, I only pretended that was the reason for rejecting any offers that came my way. The truth was that I never considered myself good enough for any decent man. I was a fallen woman now, despoiled by Rafe Mortmain."
"Oh, Effie," Kate murmured, shaking her head.
"I remained quietly in Torrecombe until my grandpapa died. But I was never able to stop thinking of you, Kate, remembering my little girl. I thought if I could just see you one more time, assure myself you were happy and well cared for, everything would be all right. So I journeyed back to London and forced my cousin to show me where she had sent you.
"You cannot imagine what I felt when I found you in that—that foundling home. That terrible place. God knows how you survived. I had only one thought: to get you away from there as quickly as possible.
"So I brought you back to Torrecombe as my adopted daughter. To everyone it seemed like a foolish thing I would do, just another of Effie's silly whims. No one ever suspected the truth, not even you. I had you back, another chance to take good care of you this time.
"All seemed wonderful until I realized the truth about you and Valentine. Val already showed signs of being so fond of you, but I lived in dread that someone would discover that you were descended from a Mortmain."
Aye, Kate could understand that. Legend or no legend, it was the one heritage that no St. Leger would ever be able to forgive or accept, not even her gentle Val.
"Everything seemed even worse when Rafe Mortmain turned up back in Torrecombe for a time," Effie went on. "He was a customs officer now, assigned to this part of the country. He often rode past my cottage. He didn't even give me a second glance, as though he had entirely forgotten me, which was just as well."
"He was too busy creating other havoc," Kate said. "Stealing the St. Leger sword, almost killing Val."
"Aye, he certainly did little to raise anyone's opinions hereabouts of the Mortmains. I was quite relieved when he disappeared again except that I saw your love for Val growing stronger every day. I should have sent you away, but the thought of parting with you was unbearable."
Effie finished her story at last, turning to Kate with a sorrowful plea, "Oh, Kate, can you ever forgive me? You must completely despise me now."
Despise Effie? Perhaps Kate should have felt more anger with the woman, but she didn't. Her hatred was entirely reserved for the villain who had brought both her and Effie to this pass.
Crossing the room, Kate wrapped her arms around the older woman, murmuring, "Hush now. Everything is going to be all right."
"Kate, I am s-so sorry. But at least you do understand now why you have to stay away from that evil man."
Kate averted her face. There was no sense telling Effie that she had given Kate only more reason for tracking Rafe down. After she hauled him back here to save Val, she intended to see that the villain finally answered for his crimes, even if she had to be the one to put a bullet through his black Mortmain heart.
Another question suddenly struck Kate. The answer truly should not have mattered to her now, but she had wondered about it for so much of her life.
"When _was_ I born, Effie?"
"Well, strangely enough, Valentine was not far off when he gave you your birth date. You were born on All Hallows' Eve."
"All Hallows' Eve?" Kate's mouth twisted wryly. "The devil's night. I might have known. And exactly how old am I?"
"Nineteen, dearest."
"Only nineteen," Kate marveled sadly. "How odd. I have always felt so much older."
_C HAPTER TWENTY_
* * *
**_T_** HE GULLS WHEELED overhead, emitting their strident cries, while the sea lapped quietly against the shingled beach. Sunlight glistened on the water and the wet slick stones. Despite the crisp bite to the air, it was a gentle day for this early in December, a soft breeze blowing toward shore.
Rafe perched on the trunk of gnarled driftwood, debris cast up by some recent storm. He breathed in the salt air and watched the slow rhythmic break of the waves. Usually the sight of the sea stirred in him a restlessness, an eagerness to be gone. But as his gaze shifted from the boy at his side to the woman in the distance, he was filled with a quiet contentment.
Charley sat nestled close to him, his small face all but swallowed up beneath the brim of a large cap as the boy struggled to fashion a half hitch knot in a short length of rope. Corinne strolled some distance away, her worn brown cloak folded about her shoulders, tendrils of hair escaping from her neat chignon as she turned her face out to sea.
Like Rafe, she appeared to be enjoying this respite from their cramped quarters back at the inn. Those two rooms had begun to seem mighty small to him, Rafe thought, especially since the night he and Corinne had almost become lovers.
Living together after that should have become deuced awkward for both of them. That it wasn't, Rafe realized, was more owing to Corinne than him. She was such a sensible woman, carrying on with a brisk cheerfulness as though nothing had happened. And he should have been able to pretend the same.
But more and more often Rafe caught himself studying her gentle features with a longing he couldn't explain. He still wanted her, yes, and badly. But the past month had taught him something he had never known before, that there were pleasures to be found in a woman's company other than carnal ones. Pleasures as simple as the quiet way she bent over her needlework, the lilt of her voice, the shy turn of her smile.
Shielding his eyes from the sun, Rafe tracked Corinne's slow progress down the beach until he felt Charley tug at his sleeve, drawing his attention back to the boy.
"How is this, Mr. Moore?" Charley held up the gnarled rope for his inspection.
"Er, good, but you made one wee mistake, lad." Rafe took the rope from the child and undid Charley's tangled efforts with a patience he would never have imagined himself capable of.
"Now try again." This time Rafe bent over the boy, guiding Charley's stubby fingers. "Take that end there up and over and loop it through."
Tongue held determinedly between his teeth, Charley struggled to follow Rafe's instruction. He completed the knot, his face flushing with triumph.
"I did it, Mr. Moore. I did it."
"So you did and a finer half hitch I never saw."
Charley beamed from ear to ear at the praise, the tip of his nose turning pink with pleasure. Rafe had seen cabin boys, many younger than Charley, master the art of rope tying. It was quite absurd, the surge of pride he felt in the lad's accomplishment, but Rafe found himself grinning back.
Charley immediately undid the knot, tackling the rope again.
"Just to see if I really learned how to do it, Mr. Moore." But as he started to twist the ends again, he stopped, angling a hesitant glance up at Rafe.
"What it is, lad?" Rafe teased. "Forget how to do it already?"
Charley shook his head. "No, I was just wondering if—if...Would it be all right if I started calling you Uncle Rafe?"
After nearly a month in Charley's company, Rafe thought he had become accustomed to the multitude of peculiar questions that a small boy could ask. But Charley still managed to catch him off guard.
"Well," Rafe said hesitantly. "I suppose you may call me whatever you please."
"Truly?" Charley asked, his eyes large and solemn. "Then what I would really like to call you is Papa."
Charley's hopeful face touched Rafe in a way that caused his throat to constrict. The boy's wistful look was one Rafe understood all too well. He must have once appeared much the same, studying the face of every man Evelyn Mortmain had ever brought home, wondering if this might be the one, the father he had never known, the father he would never have.
"No, Charley," Rafe said at last, as gently as he could. "That would not be a good idea."
Refusing the boy was one of the hardest things Rafe had ever had to do. Charley's face fell, but he nodded with a solemn air of understanding.
"I 'spect it's 'cause you're not going to be my new father, are you? Mama says you are a sailor like my real papa was and you'll want to be going back to sea soon."
"Yes, I suppose that is true," Rafe said.
Charley ducked his head, but not before Rafe saw the slight quiver of the child's lip, and damned if he didn't feel like lapsing into a strange fit of melancholy himself.
"Well, that is something neither one of us has to think about right now," Rafe said briskly. "So let's get back to practicing our knots, shall we?"
He soon had Charley absorbed again with the rope, but Rafe found it more difficult to distract himself. As Charley practiced his knots, Rafe feigned deep interest, doing his best to conceal his own troubled frown.
He was no more near to making some sort of provision for Corinne and Charley than he had been weeks ago. But he had to think of something and soon. They could not go on as they were, lodging at the inn. And yet the prospect of settling them somewhere, leaving them, seemed to grow a little harder each day.
Rafe remembered how often he had sneered at the seamen with families, the ones who had made such tearful partings at each sailing, who had all but fallen over the rails in their eagerness to disembark upon the return home. Rafe had never understood what could possibly tie a man's heart that much to the land...until now.
Charley soon grew tired of his efforts with the rope and tore off down the beach to inspect a large leatherback turtle that had crept ashore. Other boys would have poked and prodded, but Charley maintained a respectful distance. He kept clear of the turtle's path, angling his head to one side to study the reptile's slow movements with an intent curiosity that caused Rafe to smile.
Damn, but he had to admit he'd grown fond of the lad. He could not have been more so than if he truly had been the boy's father. Rafe's smile faded and he sobered immediately, realizing that was a dangerous thought for him to be having.
But no more dangerous than some of his thoughts regarding the woman who approached him. Corinne bent to pick up the rope Charley had abandoned and dangled it before Rafe with a look of laughing accusation.
"And what is this, Rafe Moore? Have you been trying to make a sailor of my son again?"
Rafe rose to his feet with a wry smile. "There's little danger of that, madam. Far more likely he'll run off to take up work as an ostler. He has a real way with horses and he's deuced fond of the brutes, though I can't begin to fathom why."
"I am rather fond of the 'brutes' myself. Perhaps I could disguise myself as a lad and Charley and I both could become grooms at some grand stable."
Rafe attempted to laugh, but he hated to hear her talk of seeking employment, even in jest, and he realized the possibility was more and more on Corinne's mind of late. She huddled her cloak tightly about her shoulders and appeared to shiver a little.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
"Oh, no," she said.
And even if she were, she'd never admit it, Rafe thought. Corinne never complained. He wished he could replace that worn wreck of a cloak with one of soft wool, well lined. A deep forest green would become her. But although Corinne was grateful for anything he might do for her son, her pride had drawn the line at allowing Rafe to buy clothing for her. He respected her for that, but found it a bitter irony when he reflected on all the expensive baubles he'd carelessly bestowed on other women over the years. He would have given all he possessed for the right to bestow even a pair of warm gloves on this one small, gentle lady.
But all he could do was position himself to block some of the breeze coming off the sea. He longed to be able to draw her close, shelter her within the warmth of his arms. A dangerous impulse, one of many he had learned to curb these past days. He locked his hands stiffly behind him to resist the temptation.
"Likely this outing was a foolish idea," he said. "It is far too chilly. Perhaps we should go back."
"No, not yet," Corinne protested. "It is a fine afternoon. Charley and I have enjoyed it immensely. And who knows how many days we have left before—before—"
She lowered her eyes and didn't finish. But she didn't have to. Rafe knew full well what she meant. Before it was time for them to separate, for him to move on. But it was a prospect Rafe did not care to dwell on and he shoved it aside once more.
Charley had wandered some distance down the beach in his pursuit of the turtle and Corinne prepared to start after him. Rafe offered his arm to escort her, and after a small hesitation, she accepted.
It was the most touching either had allowed ever since the night that they had shared such passionate kisses. Rafe found the soft pressure of her fingers against his sleeve very sweet and he was acutely aware of her warm presence so close to his side.
As they set off to follow Charley, Rafe moderated his pace. It wasn't the first time he and Corinne had strolled along the beach this way and he had learned to match his longer strides to her much shorter steps.
They moved together in perfect accord and Rafe could only marvel at how comfortable, how right it felt just being with her. He, who had always been too edgy to be comfortable with anyone for long. He pointed out to her a schooner skimming along the horizon, the sight of the billowing sails filling him with a quiet pleasure.
Corinne attempted to share his enthusiasm, but her own smile was pensive.
"You must miss it greatly, don't you? Being at sea."
Rafe shrugged, "Well, not necessarily. I—"
"Oh, don't try to deny it. I know what you sailors are like. I was married to one, remember? I vow you have salt water in your veins."
"Perhaps I do," Rafe conceded. "But as long as I am at least within view of the sea, I can be content."
"No, you can't. Not indefinitely." Corinne's face clouded over. "Rafe, you have been very good to Charley and me, but we cannot keep trespassing on your kindness—"
"Damn it, Corinne," Rafe growled. "Don't start this again. We have had this discussion too many times."
"And it is never resolved." She tugged at his arm, forcing him to stop while she gazed up at him, her brown eyes sad but determined. "Charley and I have already kept you here in Falmouth far too long. We cannot go on this way forever."
Rafe compressed his lips in a stubborn line, but he realized she was right.
"Well, I have had this one notion," he said. "And don't refuse until you have entirely heard me out," he added hurriedly, anticipating her reaction.
"I thought I might rent a house for you and Charley at one of these small villages up the coast. A little cottage right near the sea. Charley would like that and the fresh salt air would be good for both of you. Then even after I had gone, I could continue to send money and..."
But Rafe trailed off in frustration because Corinne was already shaking her head.
"Rafe, you cannot burden yourself with our care forever."
"It is no burden and it wouldn't be forever. Only until Charley is old enough to support you both."
"That will be a good many years."
"What the blazes does that matter? What else do I have to do with my money?"
"I am sure you could think of something." Corinne attempted to smile, but her lip trembled instead. "And—and besides..."
"Besides what?"
She ducked her head and he had to bend closer in order to hear her above the breaking waves. "It would be very lonely in this cottage of yours by the sea after...after you had gone."
No more lonely than he was going to feel, strolling the deck of some ship, far away from both of them. It was strange, Rafe thought. That was what he'd hungered for most of his life, to be master of his own vessel, to live upon the sea. He had never minded being alone, or so he'd always convinced himself. Now the mere thought of it left a great aching void in his chest.
It was a damn fool thing to admit to himself, let alone to her, but Rafe seemed unable to help himself. He gathered both of her hands into his own.
"There is nothing that I want more than to be able to stay with you and Charley, but there is so much you don't know about me, Corinne, about the kind of man that I have been."
"I know the kind of man you are now. Surely that is all that matters."
"I wish that were true. But I have done a great many wicked things in my life, things I am now heartily ashamed of. Even you must remember what a miserable wretch I was the day I first met you."
"I remember only how ill you were," she said. "I was so afraid for you the night you rode away on Rufus. I feared you would die before you even left my farm."
"I should have died. The only reason I didn't is because something very strange happened to me on All Hallows' Eve. Something so strange I can't even explain it to myself. But I was healed, changed by the touch of a very good man."
"And you don't think this change is permanent?"
"Lord, I hope it is. Whenever I look it at you, I believe it is." He gazed down at her. The sunlight seemed to reflect off her face, emphasizing the sweet expression of her eyes, the gentle curve of her lips.
"I love you, Corinne." It was the last thing Rafe had ever meant to say. The words escaped him in a shaky breath.
"I...I love you," he repeated again in an even more awed tone. "My God, Corinne, you don't even know what a miracle it is that I can say that. I never imagined that I could love anyone, let alone feel as though I could love just one woman until the end of my life.
"And I have barely known you one month," he marveled. "Am I quite mad?"
"Then I must be, too," she said with a tremulous smile. "Because I think I fell in love with you from the moment I first watched you lift my son into your arms."
They simply stood and stared at each other for a long moment, clutching hands.
"Then...then it seems the sensible thing for me to do is marry you," Rafe said.
"Oh, yes, very sensible," Corinne agreed, smiling tenderly up at him, her eyes misting over.
Rafe bent toward her slowly and touched his mouth to hers. One brief sweet kiss but it was all they were allowed before a shout from Charley interrupted them. They drew guiltily apart, realizing they had all but forgotten the boy.
He didn't appear to have noticed their kiss, waving his hand and calling for them to come look at the hermit crab he had just discovered. Corinne gave a rueful laugh, but went to her son. Rafe remained where he was, still a little stunned by what he'd just done.
Was he quite insane to be declaring his love, proposing marriage to this woman? A man with his grim past, his dark heritage, an accursed Mortmain. And yet what better way to atone for the wrongs he had done than by cherishing Corinne and her child forever? He could take them far from these shores, carve a new life, a fresh beginning for all of them.
Corinne...his wife, Charley, his son. The thought was so incredible, it flooded his heart with a strong emotion unlike any he'd ever known. An emotion so different, so strange, it took him a moment to understand what it was.
Happiness. For perhaps the first time in his life, he knew what it was to be truly happy. He watched Corinne bend over Charley, smooth her hand gently over the boy's brow as she whispered something in his ear. Charley glanced back at Rafe, his small face lighting up with joy. The boy came racing toward him pell-mell and Rafe hunkered down, opening his arms wide.
_"Rafe! Rafe Mortmain."_
The sharp cry seemed to come out of nowhere. Rafe tensed, hoping, nay, praying that he'd only imagined it. But Charley stumbled to a halt, peering fearfully at something or someone beyond Rafe's shoulder. Corinne did likewise, a worried frown creasing her brow.
And the hoarse voice called again, "Damn you, _Mortmain._ Don't even think of pretending it isn't you. I know you full well."
Rafe felt his blood turn to ice, realizing the moment he'd long dreaded was hard upon him. He'd been recognized, identified, marked for the villain he'd once been. But not now, he wanted to plead. Why did it have to happen now when all he had to do was reach out to take Charley's hand, to draw Corinne into the circle of his arms? All the happiness any man could dream of and it seemed about to end before it had even fully begun.
He straightened slowly, his heart thudding with fear, but not for himself. For Corinne and Charley. What would become of them if he were taken, imprisoned, hanged? Turning about, he positioned himself protectively in front of them, prepared to resist as best he could, even if he was confronted with an entire posse of armed men.
But there was no posse, no mob of outraged citizens. Only one slight figure bundled in a cloak, the hood obscuring his features. But he looked to be neither some overzealous constable nor one of Rafe's burly old mates eager to turn him in for the reward.
As the figure stalked closer, flinging back the hood, Rafe saw that it wasn't a man at all. He gaped in astonishment. It was merely a young slip of a girl clad in breeches, her masses of disheveled hair as coal black as his own.
But she had the most angry gray eyes Rafe had ever seen.
Kate followed Rafe Mortmain into the chamber at the inn, but her steps were slower, more wary. She hadn't tracked this villain down to allow herself to be led into some trap. But the Mortmain seemed more concerned with urging the strange woman and little boy into the next room, speaking in a voice so gentle it astonished Kate.
She wasn't prepared for that or the cozy domesticity of the sitting room, the fire burning low on the hearth, a woman's workbasket perched on a small table, a little boy's newly mended and washed stockings left drying over a chair. It was not exactly the den of iniquity where Kate had expected to find Rafe gone to ground.
It made it difficult for Kate to view him as the villain she knew he was, especially when she observed how he tousled the boy's hair, smiled tenderly at the woman.
But never trust a Mortmain, Val had always warned her. For all she knew, Rafe could be planning to steal into the adjoining room with the woman and child, then escape out some back window.
Kate started forward to prevent that, but Rafe had finally persuaded the woman to take her son into the other room and was already closing the door behind them. He came about before Kate was ready for him to do so, looming over her.
Kate tensed, groping for the pistol beneath her cloak, but the Mortmain only peered down at her with a strange sad sort of look and stalked past her without saying a word. He bent and began to heap more logs on the fire as though he were cold. He well might have been. He looked very pale.
Kate crept closer, intrigued in spite of herself. He wasn't at all what she had expected, the monster she had ridden so far to find. Neither the devil of her childhood imaginings nor the cold, arrogant customs officer who had once galloped so heedlessly through their village.
Instead she saw a man of quiet bearing, his rich black hair threaded through with silver at the temples. The corners of his dark gray eyes were creased with lines that might have been the product of wind and sun or a hard lifetime of bitter experience.
Kate regarded him with a tangle of confused emotions, anger, mistrust, and a sense of longing she hadn't anticipated. This tall distinguished-looking man was her father. _Her father._ Under other circumstances she might almost have been glad.
But Kate backed away, fiercely reminding herself of who and what he was. A cursed Mortmain, the blackguard who'd all but ruined poor Effie, the demon who even now was destroying the man Kate loved.
Rafe applied the bellows to the fire and then turned at last to face her.
"Would you care to sit down?" he asked with such grave courtesy Kate snorted in disbelief.
"No! What the devil are you going to do next? Offer me a bloody cup of tea?"
"If you like." His lips twitched with a faint smile and Kate thought she understood the reason for his calm. He didn't perceive her as a threat. Well, she would fast disabuse him of that comforting notion.
Reaching beneath her cloak, Kate produced the pistol with a dramatic flourish and leveled it at him.
The Mortmain's dark brows arched upward, but more in surprise than fear.
"I give you fair warning," she said. "This pistol is loaded and I know how to use it."
"I am sure you do," Rafe murmured.
To Kate's complete dismay, he settled himself comfortably into a wingback chair. She braced herself, moving her fingers to cock the pistol when he reached for a knife.
But it was only to take up a piece of wood that he had obviously been whittling. Kate saw that he was fashioning it into the hull of a small boat. No doubt for that little boy in the next room. She wondered about his relationship to Rafe. Perhaps he was like herself, another of the Mortmain's by-blows, but at least he had chosen to claim the boy.
Kate was surprised to feel a prickle of something close to envy, but she was quick to shrug the emotion off. She hadn't traveled here looking for a father, only the devil that had brought such devastation to her Val.
"I have come to take you back to Torrecombe to answer for your crimes, Rafe Mortmain," she announced.
"Indeed?" Rafe carefully shaved off a strip of wood from the toy boat's hull. He didn't even bother to look up. "You look full young to remember any of my crimes. When I lived in Torrecombe, I daresay you were one of those charming urchins who used to hide in the hedgerows and fling mud at my horse while chanting 'Devil Mortmain.' "
"I never threw mud. I threw rocks," Kate said fiercely. "And I wish now I had managed to hit you, knock you dead."
Rafe did lift his head at that, but he looked more saddened than surprised by her vehemence. "I suppose I must have given you some cause to hate me so much, Miss...er, Miss..."
"Fitzleger," Kate supplied, watching him closer for his reaction. "Kate Fitzleger."
Rafe's face stilled, some hidden emotion flickering beneath his eyelids.
"Don't try to pretend you are unfamiliar with the surname," Kate growled.
"No," he said quietly. "I remember the name well enough."
"You should. You seduced and abandoned my mother."
"Your mother?"
"Effie Fitzleger."
He set aside his carving, his eyes narrowing on her face. "Yes, I do seem to remember hearing something about Effie adopting some foundling child from London."
" _Hearing_ something? I was right there under your nose. You must have rode past our cottage a hundred times when you made your rounds as customs officer, indifferent to both Effie and me. But I wasn't merely Effie's adopted child. It turns out that I was her natural daughter as well, conceived, it would seem, nineteen years ago in Portsmouth."
Rafe stiffened, staring at her, and Kate could almost feel the intensity of his gaze, saw him flinch as the realization struck him. He lurched to his feet and she shrank instinctively away, trying to keep the pistol steady.
But he advanced closer. It was as though he didn't even see the weapon, his eyes devouring her, his face looking torn between incredulity and wonder. His gaze flicked from her to some point on the wall and back again.
Although it was unwise to take her eyes off the villain, Kate could not help shifting a little to see what he had glanced at. It was a mirror mounted on the inn wall, crude and unframed.
But she and Rafe Mortmain were reflected back in its polished surface. Kate peered at herself, biting down hard to still the sudden tremor of her lip. Her diminutive stature, the delicacy of her features, those were Effie's. But the mass of jet black hair, the stubborn strength of her chin, and most of all her storm-ridden gray eyes, those were all pure Mortmain.
They stood shoulder to shoulder in silence for a long moment, simply staring at the grim truth reflected back from that mirror.
"My God," he breathed. "You—you are—"
"Your daughter? Unfortunately so it would appear," Kate said bitterly. She was trembling so badly, he could have easily disarmed her. But he made no move to do so. He gazed at her in awe, reaching up as though he meant to caress her hair.
Kate shied away from him. "Don't touch me. Don't you _ever_ touch me," she said through clenched teeth.
Rafe lowered his hand immediately. "Of—of course I won't. I am sorry."
Kate sucked in a deep breath to steady herself. "I didn't come here for your damned apologies. Or any tender reunion.
"I don't cherish particularly tender feelings toward you, _Papa._ " She sneered. "Especially since I spent my childhood abandoned in the worst part of London, struggling to survive, fighting for every crust of bread."
"Oh, Kate," he murmured. The depth of sorrow in his eyes astonished her. She really hadn't expected him to care.
"I didn't tell you that to make you pity me," she said, lifting her chin proudly. "Only that you should understand. I learned to be tough, to be utterly ruthless about getting what I want."
"And what do you want from me, Kate?" he asked quietly. "Money or—or some sort of acknowledgment?"
"Good God, no!" She gave a harsh laugh. "The last thing I want is to be claimed by you, branded as being a Mortmain.
"Though I should not have been so terribly surprised to discover that's what I am," she added with a slight catch in her voice. "I always knew I had bad blood, that there was something wicked about me."
"Don't say that, Kate. It might once have been true of me, but surely not you. The Fitzlegers were good people. Your great-grandfather was a vicar and—and Effie was a sweet young woman."
"Is that why you seduced her?" Kate asked scornfully. "Or was it merely another part of your Mortmain scheming to try to get revenge on the St. Legers?"
"I don't know. Maybe a little of both. That winter when I docked at Portsmouth, I was bitter at the St. Legers, at the wrongful accusations that had forced me to leave Torrecombe. And the old man, Reverend Fitzleger, had had as much of a hand in it as the dread Lord Anatole."
"So you took out your anger on poor Effie."
"She didn't exactly run from my advances."
"Because she was a foolish girl. She thought you something wonderful, dark, handsome, and dangerous."
"I wasn't all that dangerous then, Kate. Just lonely and unhappy. I found comfort for a brief sweet spell in a young girl's arms."
"You took advantage of Effie's infatuation for you, her innocence."
"So I did and I am not particularly proud of that."
This was not at all what Kate had expected, any sign of remorse coming from this villain. But it was there in Rafe's darkened gray eyes, in the wearied set of his mouth. Kate tightened her grip on the pistol, steeling herself against the look he cast her way, a look that seemed to plead for her forgiveness and understanding.
"I can't change the past, Kate. God knows I wish I could. But if there is any small way I can make some amends to you or Effie, then please...tell me what it is."
"There is one thing."
"Name it."
"You can restore to me the man that I love."
Rafe's brow furrowed in confusion. "I am afraid I don't understand."
"Val St. Leger. You have all but killed him."
Rafe flinched. "Oh, God," he said hoarsely. "The crystal."
"Aye, the damned crystal you gave him on All Hallows' Eve. Val has changed past all recognition since then. So angry, so bitter, in so much torment. It—it is like it is burning him up inside."
"Then you have to ride back to him at once. Get the blasted crystal away from him. Make him stop wearing it."
"It's too late for that," Kate cried. "Because it is more than the cursed stone destroying him. It was what happened during the storm when he took your hand and tried to heal you. It's as though he absorbed all your poison, all your evil into himself."
"I know," Rafe said softly. "Damnation, I never meant to hurt him—" He paused, grimacing. "Well, I suppose at one time I did mean to do just that, but not anymore. You have to believe me, Kate. I wish him no ill. The man saved my life. He did more than that. He gave me a new one, one I never dreamed possible."
"Then you've got to help him now," she urged.
"How? I would willingly do anything."
"There is only one chance. You have to return to Torrecombe, put the crystal back on, and take hold of Val's hand. Touch him until all is put right, transferred back as it was."
The eagerness died out of Rafe's face. "I would do anything," he said flatly. "Anything but that."
Kate's heart sank. He was refusing. She should not have been surprised or even especially disappointed but somehow she was. So what did she do now? Jam the pistol into his back? Bash him over the head and try to drag him out of here by his heels?
The words of Prospero's warning drifted back to her.
_"Remember, Kate. The Mortmain has to play his part willingly or there is no hope at all the magic will work."_
It took all of Kate's will to curb her desperation, her anger against Rafe Mortmain, to lower her pistol and plead with him instead.
"Please! You have got to help him. You are the only one who can."
Rafe regarded her sadly. "You don't know what you are asking me, Kate. Val cured more than my sickness. He took away a lifetime of anger and pain. For the first time I have a chance at real happiness. I feel more at peace with myself than I have ever been."
"Because it's his peace you have stolen! His kindness, his gentleness. You've taken away his very soul and you have to give it back."
Rafe paced away from her, raking his hands through his hair in an agitated gesture. His eyes reflected such turmoil, such agony of indecision, that Kate held her breath, waiting. Perhaps there was enough of Val in the villain, she would manage to sway him after all.
But then he slowly shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. I can't."
Kate's last hope flickered and died. Prospero's words forgotten, she brought the pistol to bear, leveling it straight at the Mortmain's heart.
"I am no longer asking you," she said. "I am telling you. Come with me to save Val or I swear I will shoot you right now."
But Rafe made no move to comply. "Then that is what you must do, Kate. Go ahead and fire. Because I would rather be dead than go back to what I was before."
Damn the villain! Did he not think she would actually do it? Obviously Rafe Mortmain had no notion how badly she hated him. And if he intended to let Val die, then he would die, too.
Clenching her jaw, Kate pulled the hammer back, her eyes blazing with angry tears. The Mortmain simply stood there, quietly waiting like a prisoner resigned to his execution.
Kate's breath came quick and shallow. Her hands trembled and she braced herself once, twice, for the loud retort of the pistol. But try as she might she could not seem to release the hammer.
She stared fiercely at Rafe Mortmain, trying to tell herself how much she loathed him, how much he deserved to die. But all she could see was Val's gentle eyes and melancholy smile, Val as he had once been, her quiet steady friend who had taught her so much of kindness and forgiveness, who would have expected so much better of her than this.
With a sob of defeat, Kate slowly eased the hammer back into place and lowered the pistol. She turned away from Rafe Mortmain, a hail of hot tears coursing down her cheeks.
"Kate..." The villain actually had the temerity to reach out to her to try to comfort her.
Kate wrenched away from him. "Leave me alone, damn you! I would kill you in a heartbeat but it would do Val no good. And I will find a way to save him, with or without you. After all, you are not the only cursed Mortmain here."
"What—what do you mean by that?"
Kate raised one hand to fiercely dash her tears aside. She hadn't meant anything really, just angry bitter words. And yet...
_Not the only cursed Mortmain._ The words echoed through her head, a desperate plan forming in her mind.
"Maybe you aren't the only one who can save him," she murmured, speaking more to herself than to Rafe. "It was a Mortmain who brought his curse on Val, but perhaps another one could release him. If I were to wear the crystal—"
"No!" Rafe Mortmain caught her by the shoulders. The man had actually gone pale. "Listen to me, Kate. You have to leave that crystal alone. You have no idea what it can do, how dangerous the cursed thing is."
Kate shoved him away from her, shooting the man a contemptuous glare. "Trying to offer me some fatherly advice and concern? Spare me. You are years too late. I am going back to Torrecombe to save the man I love and you...you can march straight to hell."
Before Rafe could prevent her, she whirled away from him and hurled herself out the door. He charged after her, shouting her name, but Kate ignored him. She fled down the inn steps, vanishing into the twilight.
Rafe stared after her, his heart thudding with trepidation. He had no doubt Kate would do exactly as she'd said. She was reckless enough for anything. The poor girl would have been far better off if she had more of Effie in her and less of him. She was obviously far too much his daughter.
His daughter...
Rafe released an unsteady breath, still stunned by the revelation. He heard someone stir in the doorway and realized that Corinne had come to stand quietly behind him.
"Rafe?"
He turned to face her, finding her gentle eyes full of trouble and confusion.
"I am sorry," she murmured. "But I heard her leave and could wait no longer."
Rafe said nothing, merely reached out to draw Corinne in his arms. "Then you must have overheard some of what Kate was saying?"
She nodded. "She sounded so angry, spoke so loud. Is she truly your child?"
"Aye. It would seem I found a daughter and lost her in the space of one afternoon."
"But is she—" Corinne tipped back her head to peer up at him with a worried look. "Forgive me, but do you think the poor girl is entirely in her right mind? Some of what I overheard, some of the things she said made absolutely no sense. It—it almost sounded as though she was asking for your soul."
"Far worse than that, my dear." Rafe smiled sadly. "She wants to give it back to me."
He stroked his fingers through Corinne's hair, wanting to beg her to forget Kate's intrusion into their lives, longing to be able to do so himself. He held Corinne close, trying to recapture the happiness he'd felt earlier down on the beach, trying desperately to envision the future that shimmered before them.
He stared past Corinne into the deepening twilight, the light that was casting a final blaze over the rooftops. A sun that was setting, not rising, and all Rafe seemed able to see was Kate's dark, despairing eyes.
_C HAPTER TWENTY-ONE_
* * *
**_T_** HE STORM LAID SIEGE to Castle Leger, hurling rain and cannonades of thunder at the thick stone walls. Cold, wet, and tired, Kate straggled into the main hall like the sole survivor from a shipwreck. It was well past midnight and no one else was stirring. It was as though the entire household had fallen under a spell, the mansion encased in an eerie silence.
Exhausted footmen slumped over in their chairs, the ancient butler nodding off at his post. Even the mistress of the house had fallen asleep perched in a chair positioned before the parlor window, the better to keep watch of the road, lines of strain streaking Madeline St. Leger's beautiful countenance.
Just like in some fairy tale, they all kept their sleep-ridden vigil, waiting for a miracle, the knight to come riding to break the enchantment, the warrior to capture the dragon. Only Kate had never felt less like any valiant warrior and she had certainly failed to fetch home the dragon.
Weary and defeated, she crept upstairs, taking care to make no noise. If anyone guessed what she was about to attempt, she feared they might try to stop her. Most of all she dreaded the interference of Prospero. But she sensed no hint of the great sorcerer's presence as she slipped inside Val's bedchamber. A fire blazed on the hearth as though someone had hoped the warmth, the glow would be enough to draw Val back to the light.
It hadn't been. He looked exactly as he had when Kate had left. His dark head rested upon the pillow, his hands folded on the coverlet as pale and unmoving as an effigy carved in wax. Kate's heart clenched, fearing she might already be too late.
Anxiously she pressed her head to his chest, breathing a small sigh of relief when she heard the faint thud of his heart. Val was not dead and one look at his face should have been enough to have told her that. His gentle countenance had not settled into that repose of eternal sleep. The set of his mouth was grim, deep furrows creasing his brow as though even lost in his deep slumber he found no release from the inner darkness tormenting him.
Kate stood over him, heart aching as she stroked the hair back from his brow.
"Everything is going to be all right," she said. "I am here now and I know what I have to do to save you. Even though I am quite sure you would not approve."
Her lips curved in a sad smile. "You would give me a thunderous scold, tell me to leave the crystal alone, that it is too dangerous, and as usual, you would be right. If this transference works, I have no idea what I will be like after—after—"
Kate trembled, but she was quick to hide her trepidation behind a shaky laugh. "Hellfire! I am already so wicked, I daresay the crystal won't have any effect on me at all. But if it does, if I am changed past all recognition, there is one thing I want you to know.
"I love you, Val. I always will. There is no dark magic in the world that can ever alter that."
She stared down at him, seeking some sign that he could hear, that he understood. But there was no response at all in those cold, still features. She forced herself to turn away and marched over to the dresser where the small wooden jewel case was waiting with its deadly object tucked inside.
Kate released a tremulous breath as she lifted the box into her hands. A shiver of dread coursed through her, but she fought to suppress it, sending up a fervent prayer.
"Please, God. I don't care what happens to me. Just let me save him," she whispered.
Prospero had sealed the casket again, but it took Kate little effort to pick the lock open with one of her hairpins. She felt the catch give and then, steeling herself, she flung back the lid.
The silver chain nestled against the velvet lining, the shard of crystal looking insignificant and harmless until lightning flared just outside the bedchamber window. The crystal blazed with a sudden intensity that blinded Kate, dazzling her eyes. Don't stare at it; don't look at it too long, she adjured herself. She couldn't afford to fall under its power, not until she had done what she needed to do.
But she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away. The crystal sparkled and gleamed with a beauty that mesmerized. Scarce able to breathe, Kate reached to lift the hypnotic stone into her hand.
She fastened the chain around her neck, feeling at once a strange surge of power and an overwhelming despair.
_You will never be able to do this,_ an icy voice seemed to taunt. _Who are you to tamper with such magic? A foundling wretch, a bastard child. And even if you can, why take such a risk for Val St. Leger? You'll never be anything to him now, only another cursed Mortmain._
Kate closed her eyes. It was the crystal, trying to work on her already, magnifying her every bitter thought and despair. She forced herself to stifle such black emotions, thrusting them away.
Rushing over to the bed, she bent and pressed her lips to Val's, stealing one last desperate kiss. Then bracing herself, she reached for his hand....
* * *
Lightning illuminated the imposing front door to Castle Leger, making Rafe Mortmain feel like a beggar huddled on the doorstep. Soaking him to the skin, the rain poured down his face, icy rivulets trickling past the collar of his greatcoat. But he scarce felt the chill. It was nothing compared to the cold dread that gripped his heart.
He must be quite mad to have come back here to this place, the very bastion of his enemies. The stone manor loomed above him, flooding him with painful memories of the brief time during his youth when he'd actually been welcomed behind these doors, offered kindness and friendship.
It hadn't lasted long before he been driven away by the suspicion and mistrust that seemed to be his legacy, the curse of bearing the infamous name of Mortmain. He'd finally managed to escape all that, find love and happiness for an all too brief, sweet time.
Why was he risking that, preparing to surrender it? Rafe backed away from the door, wishing he'd been able to overtake Kate long before she reached the castle. But he had been fortunate that old Rufus had performed as well as he had. Kate had been far better mounted and the girl rode like the very devil.
But then why not? Rafe thought grimly. She was the devil's own daughter, poor child. Likely he was too late to stop her from pursuing her reckless attempt to save Val St. Leger. He should turn and ride away while he still could.
But somehow he could not bring himself to do that. Bad enough he had unwittingly cursed the girl with his own infamous heritage, his mad Mortmain blood. He couldn't allow her to be cursed yet again with the power of that damned crystal. If there was anyone who deserved to be cursed, it was him.
He approached the front door and started to reach for the knocker, when the heavy portal suddenly creaked open, almost as though someone had expected him. Yet there was no one there, the hall beyond dark, silent, and empty.
Rafe stepped inside, further unnerved when the door slammed shut behind him as though pulled by the wind.
"H-hello?" Rafe rasped. He braced himself, expecting at any moment to be discovered, pounced upon by several burly St. Leger retainers. But the entire house seemed curiously deserted.
He paced toward the stairs, the only place he could see any light glowing. He thought he detected a movement on the landing above.
"Is anyone there?" Rafe called.
There was no response, but Rafe felt a chill sweep through him, a strange compulsion that beckoned him upward to follow the mysterious light. He moved forward cautiously, mounting the stairs until he emerged in the upper hall.
It had been many years since he had been inside Castle Leger and his memory of the layout of the new wing was not good. He saw doors leading to what he knew were the family bedchambers, all closed, except one.
Light spilled across the threshold into the hallway, and Rafe scarce fathomed how, but somehow he knew that was where he was meant to go. He crept toward the light, entering the bedchamber that seemed eerily silent, removed from the force of the storm brewing outside.
A fire blazed on the hearth, casting a flickering light over the curtains and the dark-haired girl. Kate knelt by the bed, clutching Val's hand, her head bowed. Her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs, and Rafe caught the glint of that hellish crystal fastened around her neck.
"No!" he cried hoarsely. Flinging himself across the room, he seized hold of Kate and wrenched her away from Val. Hauling her to her feet, he spun her around to face him.
The crystal glinted evilly. Kate's face was death white, streaked with tears, her eyes dark empty pools.
"My God, Kate. What have you done?" Rafe demanded. She shuddered and seemed unable to answer him. Gripped by his own terror, Rafe gave her a brisk shake.
She blinked, staring up at him like a lost child.
"It—it didn't work," she said despairingly. "I—I couldn't make the crystal work."
"Oh, thank God," Rafe breathed, flooded with relief. Instinctively he tried to draw Kate into his arms, comfort her, but the movement seemed to snap her out of her grief.
Striking out at him like a wild thing, she wrenched herself free. Backing away from him, she glowered through her tears.
"What—what the devil are you doing here?"
Rafe wished he had a sane answer to that question. "I suppose I came to stop you from doing something stupid."
"What I do is none of your concern. N-now you just get away from Val before I scream for the servants."
Rafe gave a tired sigh. "Don't be foolish, Kate. I mean him no harm. I only want to help him."
"Help him?" Kate sniffed, eyeing Rafe with suspicion and mistrust. He didn't blame her. The words he'd just spoken surprised even him.
"Why?" she demanded fiercely. "You refused before. You said you would rather die. Why did you change your mind?"
Rafe slicked back the damp ends of rain-wet hair from his eyes. Why? Damned if he knew himself. Perhaps it was because of the man lying on the bed, so still and silent. Val St. Leger had sacrificed a great deal to give Rafe back his life; more than that, to give him a new life that Rafe had never dreamed possible.
Or perhaps it was because of Kate, the child he had unwittingly abandoned to danger and hardship, just as his own mother had done to him. Kate, his daughter, who obviously loved Val St. Leger, valued him more than her own life.
"What does the reason matter?" Rafe asked wearily. "I am here, so let's get this blasted thing over with. Give me the crystal, Kate, while you still can."
Kate's hand closed protectively over the shard, and he could see that the devilish stone had already had some effect on her. It obviously took a great deal of her will to be able to remove it, hand it to him.
Rafe shuddered as his fingers closed over the stone. He felt like a prisoner who had known an all too brief taste of freedom consenting to be shackled back in the cold darkness of his cell. He flung the chain over his head and felt the crystal settle like an icy weight over the region of his heart.
Rafe stumbled past Kate over to the bed to peer down at Val, the man's quiet features shadowed by a torment Rafe knew all too well.
Val St. Leger, his enemy, but also the man who had given him his greatest gift. One month free of his own evil and darkness, one month to find love, happiness. Rafe supposed it was more than many men were ever granted.
He closed his eyes briefly, conjuring up Corinne's wistful face, Charley's solemn eyes. Then he forced himself to banish the image, knowing if he didn't, he would never be able to go through with this.
He bent down, taking hold of Val's hand. The man felt so cold and lifeless, for one moment Rafe was ashamed to feel himself hope that he was too late. But he wasn't. He could already sense a strange shift in the atmosphere of the room, and his heartbeat quickened.
It was growing colder, darker, the fire suddenly dying. The storm seemed to rage closer, lighting the room with intermittent flashes of lightning. Rafe was dimly aware of Kate hovering anxiously at the foot of the bed, but his gaze never wavered from Val.
Of a sudden, the window casement flew open, causing Kate to cry out. Wind and rain invaded the room, but Rafe ignored it, focusing intently on the man before him. Had he imagined it or had he felt the faintest stirring in Val's fingers?
Another flare of lightning illuminated the bed and Val jerked. His eyes flew wide, staring straight up at Rafe.
"M-Mortmain," he whispered hoarsely.
"It is all right, St. Leger," Rafe said. "You know why I'm here."
Val shuddered and tried to withdraw his hand. Incredible, Rafe thought. Even infected with Rafe's own villainy and damnable pain, Saint Valentine was still trying not to hurt him.
"Damn you, St. Leger," Rafe growled. "No more blasted heroics. Give me my pain. Give it back to me."
He clutched down so hard, his knuckles turned white. Val groaned, twisting back toward Rafe with an agony too great to resist, to contain. He had to release it.
Val's fingers convulsed and Rafe gave a sharp gasp. It was as though razors were tearing through his flesh, slicing through his veins. The poison was flowing back to him, all the darkness, bitterness, and despair.
Rafe cried out, wanting to break the contact, but he forced himself to hang on. He felt the crystal sway about his neck, and then there was a blinding flash of light, a deafening explosion.
Rafe felt himself flung away from the bed and tumbled to the carpet, rolling in agony. He panted, closing his eyes, surrendering himself at last to merciful oblivion.
A terrible silence settled over the room. Kate crouched down behind the bed, covering her eyes. She finally dared move. Trembling, she lifted her head, half fearing she would find the entire bedchamber reduced to rubble. But all seemed returned to normal, even the fire crackling on the hearth. The storm sounded as though it had receded.
Seizing hold of the bedpost, Kate pulled herself up, peeking over the side of the bed. Val had fallen back against the pillows, his head tumbled to one side and eyes fast closed. Heart thudding with trepidation, Kate rushed to his side. His face had relaxed, gentled into an expression of such repose that for a moment Kate feared the worst. The transference had gone terribly wrong, killed him. But then she saw the even rise and fall of his chest, the color starting to steal back into his cheeks.
She touched trembling fingers to his brow. Warm, he was so warm and very much alive. Kate pressed a fervent kiss against his cheek, tears of relief streaming down her face. Val was going to be all right now. She felt certain of it. For long moments she was so caught up in her joy, she almost forgot about the other man.
Kate glanced around sharply, discovering Rafe crumpled beneath the windows as though the force of the explosion had flung him across the room. The casement was still open, rain blowing in on his unconscious form.
Kate hastened to close the window, then crept closer to Rafe as cautiously as she would have approached an injured wolf. Rafe Mortmain. Her father. She would never be able to think of him that way, but neither could she think of him with her former loathing.
Whether he had been reluctant to do so or not, he had saved Val's life and she could not help but be grateful to him for that. He had done so at considerable cost. Val might appear eased into a gentle, restoring sleep, but it was obvious Rafe was locked in a nightmare. The set of his mouth was grim, his brow contracted with torment as though he once more wrestled with his inner demons.
It may be no more than he deserved, but Kate could not help feeling compassion for the man. There was nothing she could do for Rafe, except perhaps relieve him from the terrible influence of the crystal fastened around his neck.
She was afraid to touch the cursed stone again but steeled herself to do so. Kate reached for the chain, only to draw back with a sharp gasp. The crystal...Either she was going completely mad or the stone had moved by itself.
Her pulse gave a frightened leap as she watched the shard rise up, taking the chain with it, snapping it free of Rafe's neck. She scrambled fearfully back, watching with stunned eyes as the crystal floated across the room toward the fireside.
And straight into Prospero's outstretched hand. The wizard materialized by the hearth, his hooded eyes regarding Kate with that familiar inscrutable expression.
Kate released a long breath of relief. At least one mystery was now solved for her, the reason behind Rafe Mortmain's sudden appearance, his dramatic change of heart. She beamed at Prospero. "It was you all along. I might have known. You used your magic on Rafe. It was you who brought him back here."
Prospero secreted the crystal away, coming to stand over the inert man with a bemused frown. "Certainly I used my powers to ease his entry into the castle, but as for fetching him here...No, my dear. I told you the Mortmain had to surrender of his own free will and that was what he did."
"But he sacrificed everything to save Val—his happiness, his freedom. Why did he do it?"
"I have no idea. You will have to ask him, although I doubt he will ever be able to tell you."
"Why?" Kate glanced at Rafe, surprised to feel a stab of anxiety. "Isn't he going to be all right?"
"Oh, he'll do well enough, especially since I have taken the crystal. Both Rafe and your Val will be essentially the men they were before, which means you had better summon your servants to have the Mortmain restrained before he regains consciousness."
"Restrained?" Kate faltered.
"Aye, Rafe Mortmain is completely restored to his old self. When he awakes, he will be as dangerous as he ever was."
"Oh, aye, of course," Kate murmured. But somehow Rafe did not look dangerous, merely broken and defeated. Yet she was unwilling to take any risks, especially when Val's life might be prove to be the one at stake.
She hurried to do Prospero's bidding while the sorcerer himself took steps to make sure the dangerous crystal was sealed away for all time. Neither of them saw Rafe Mortmain's lashes flutter or the single tear that slid down his cheek.
_C HAPTER TWENTY-TWO_
* * *
**_V_** AL BRACED HIMSELF on the wooden cane Jem had carved for him and slipped quietly out the library door into the garden. The gloom-ridden silence that had hung over the house for days was dispelled by the chatter of excited voices. Not only had Lance returned with his father and Marius, but the grim report of Val's illness had reached his sisters as well.
Mariah, Phoebe, and Leonie had descended upon Castle Leger with their families and the manor was now full of rejoicing women, women who had feared to attend Val's funeral and were now happily planning his wedding.
Val appreciated all the outpouring of love and congratulations from his family, but he was finding it a bit overwhelming. He stole out into the relative quiet of the sunlit garden with a grateful sigh. To the rest of the St. Legers, it was as though this last dark month had never been.
Val wished he could as easily forget some of it, the violent outbursts of his temper, the ruthless things he'd said and done. He had a good many fences to mend with many people: his brother, Lance; his cousin Victor; Carrie Trewithan; her husband, Reeve. Well, no, Val was obliged to admit. He still felt no compulsion to apologize to Reeve.
But there was one person more than any other whom Val did long to see and crave her pardon. Kate. His lady, now his chosen bride. Val smiled softly, his heart flooding with a quiet joy at the mere thought of that.
Effie had stunned everyone by appearing early at the castle that morning, not with her usual flood of tears, but with a courage and sad dignity that had been astonishing. But no more astonishing than her revelation, the secret that she had kept hidden for years that she was Kate's natural mother and Rafe Mortmain was Kate's father.
Effie and Rafe...that still seemed to Val too incredible for belief. But he had scarce taken as much heed of that confession as Effie finally admitting that Kate had always been Val's destined bride.
The revelation had astounded Val and yet somehow it hadn't. In some corner of his St. Leger heart, he felt he had always known. He was surprised only that Kate had not come with Effie to tell him the truth. With Effie? Damnation! Val would have expected Kate to turn up on his doorstep with the vicar and the ring.
But his wild girl had seemed oddly subdued since his recovery and even more strangely absent from his side. Kate was exhausted, Effie had explained, worn out by the events of the past few days and Val could scarce blame Kate for that. He had put his love through a terrible ordeal this past month and he intended to spend the rest of his life making up for that.
Leaning on his cane, Val ignored the familiar twinge in his knee and headed down the worn path leading toward the stables. He met his brother coming from the opposite direction. Val froze at the sight of Lance, feeling stiff and awkward, remembering the last time they had exchanged words alone, the grim quarrel that day on the beach.
But Lance did not appear to suffer from any such constraint. He grinned at Val, giving him a hearty clap on the shoulder.
"Aha, what's this, Sir Galahad? Attempting to flee from the ladies? Not very chivalrous."
Val sighed. "I fear they are apt to drown me with their tea and solicitude. Even Mama is not showing her customary restraint."
Lance chuckled, but as his gaze raked over Val, his eyes grew uncomfortably misty for a moment. "Damn, Val," he murmured. "But it is good to see you up and about, looking like your old self again, although I would have preferred that it be without—without this." Lance gestured awkwardly toward the cane.
Val smoothed his hand over the rough wooden knob. "Actually I think Jem did a remarkable job carving this on such short notice. I am sure you will understand I have no desire ever to set eyes again on my silver one with the sword stick."
"I daresay Victor doesn't either."
Val attempted to smile, but some remembrances, such as the night when he had attacked Victor and injured Kate, were still too raw for jesting about.
"Lance," he began hesitantly. "This past month I discovered that there are far worse things that can afflict a man than an injured knee. About the quarrel we had that day after my fight with Trewithan—"
But Lance was already shaking his head, attempting to cut him off. "Good God, Val, you don't have to try to explain to me. I know you were under the influence of that crystal."
"The crystal might have exacerbated my temper, but it didn't put the words in my mouth. All those things that I said to you—"
"Were things that likely finally needed saying. I know that what you did for me on that battlefield, you did willingly. You are my brother. I would just as quickly have made the same sacrifice for you, if I could. But that is not to say that I wouldn't have felt some regrets afterward when I had to live with the consequences."
Lance regarded him earnestly. "I think you always felt guilty for your regrets, tried to deny you ever had them. But you are only human, Val."
"Aye," Val agreed with a grimace. "If this past month has taught me nothing else, it has taught me that."
"Then perhaps some good will come of this yet because you always did strive to be too perfect, Saint—" Lance checked himself, looking so abashed, Val had to smile.
"Saint Valentine. Go ahead and say it, Sir Lancelot."
Lance grinned. "No, because then we will have to start cuffing each other and end up wrestling through the garden. Not only are we getting too old for such behavior, I would not want to end up blackening your eye before your wedding day."
"You could try to do so," Val retorted. He added anxiously, "You will stand up with me, won't you, Lance?"
"Lord, haven't I been waiting forever to do so? And speaking of weddings and your blushing bride, where is the little hellion?"
"Kate is at Rosebriar. I was just on my way to fetch her."
To Val's surprise, an uneasy expression settled over Lance's face. He cut an odd glance back in the direction of the stables.
"Uh...Val, there is one other matter we have to discuss. It's about Rafe."
"What of him?" Val asked. "When I woke up from the transference, he had disappeared again. I assume he is long gone."
Lance scratched his jaw, looking uncomfortable. "Er, no, actually when I returned to the castle, I discovered that Jem and one of the grooms had shackled Rafe in the old dungeon beneath the keep. I—I let him go."
Lance angled a glance at Val that was both guilty and defiant. "Damn it, Val, I know you have long despised and mistrusted the man, but I always believed there was much good to be found in Rafe and he did return of his own accord to save your life. And like it or not, he is Kate's father and—and—"
"Lance!" Val held up one hand to halt his brother's breathless flow of words. "You did the right thing. I am glad you released him."
"You are?" Lance stared at him in astonishment. "Well, that is a mighty good thing because Rafe is down at the stables even now saddling up to leave, except that he insists upon speaking to you before he goes."
Val tensed a little at the prospect, but nodded solemnly. He headed off in the direction of the stables, Lance trailing anxiously behind. Val paused long enough to thrust out his cane, halting his brother.
"Lance, if you don't mind, I would prefer to speak to Rafe alone."
When a look of alarm sprung to Lance's eyes, Val said with a dry laugh, "Don't worry. I promise you that Rafe and I will not be trying to kill each other this time."
Lance did not appear completely reassured, but he hung back while Val continued on. As Val approached the stable door, he noticed grooms and stable hands scattering as though they too feared some sort of grim confrontation, like two rival knights about to collide.
Gripping his cane, Val stumped inside the stables, his eyes adjusting to the shadows of the interior, his nostrils filling with the sweet scent of hay, leather, and horses. He peered down the long row of stalls to where Rafe stood adjusting the bridle on an old gelding even more disreputable looking than Val's Vulcan.
Rafe appeared much as Val had always remembered, cold, distant, and arrogant. Except he now knew all too well the pain and despair Rafe concealed behind his hard exterior.
He glanced up from his task, perceiving Val's entrance, and the two men measured each other in silence for a long moment. It was most strange, Val thought, staring into the eyes of one who had long been his enemy and realizing that he now understood the man, almost better than he did his own brother.
Rafe was the first to speak, gruffly clearing his throat. "I am glad you are up and about, St. Leger. Your brother has given me permission to leave. But I didn't feel as though the decision should rest with Lance. You are the one I wronged, the one who should say whether I go or stay."
"You are entirely free to leave, Rafe," Val said. "As soon as you answer me one question."
"And what would that be?"
"I lived with your nightmares and your pain for only a month and it was nearly enough to drive me mad. I don't think I could have willingly taken on such a burden again. You didn't have to come back here to save me. Why did you do it?"
Rafe shrugged. "You forget I have lived with a part of you, too, St. Leger. You seem to have made for a brief time some sort of God-cursed hero out of me who rescues widows and orphans."
A shadow passed over Rafe's face. He lowered his eyes, concealing his expression as he continued, "There is a woman and her son I left back in Falmouth. Corinne and Charley Brewer. I realize I have no right to ask any favors of you, St. Leger, but—but I would be grateful if you would find them, see that they both remain safe, well cared for."
"Aye, I would be happy to do so, but why will you no longer be looking out for them?"
"Have you forgotten?" Rafe said bitterly. "The crystal has restored me to my old self. I am nobody's hero now."
He led his horse out of the stall, but Val caught his arm, gently restraining him.
"Rafe, before you leave, there is one thing you have to understand. The transformation that came over me wasn't merely owing to whatever bitterness I absorbed from you. I have my own darkness."
Rafe frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I don't think that the change that came over you was entirely due to me either. All these years, Lance tried to tell me that I was wrong about you and I should have listened to him, given you a chance. I am sorry."
Rafe gave a mirthless laugh. "Now you are starting to believe that beneath my evil Mortmain hide, you might actually find traces of a decent man. Is that why you have decided to let me go?"
"Partly. And also because it would seem rather ill-mannered to hang the father of my prospective bride."
"You intend to marry Kate?"
"Aye."
"Even knowing she is my daughter?"
"Aye, what difference could that possibly make to me? I love her."
Rafe's eyes widened. "It is only that for a St. Leger and a Mortmain to marry..." He let out a long low whistle. "That will be enough to send all of our ancestors spinning in their graves."
"Or perhaps it will finally be a fitting an end to this senseless feud."
Rafe's mouth creased into a reluctant smile. "Perhaps."
Val held out his hand and after a brief hesitation, Rafe took it. As their palms met Val felt the stirring of the old urge. To reach out to Rafe, to ease some of the pain he saw shadowed in the other man's eyes.
But it was not his responsibility to try to save the entire world. Rafe would have to find his own healing. Val withdrew his hand.
He followed Rafe out into the sunlight. As Rafe swung up into the saddle, he said, "You will tell Kate good-bye for me?"
"You have no wish to see her yourself?"
Rafe shook his head. "She has no need of a father now. It is a husband she'll be wanting. But I wish you could make her understand one thing. I may be a thorough scoundrel, but if I had known about Kate, I would never have left. I would never have abandoned her."
"I know you wouldn't have," Val said softly. "And I will make sure Kate does, too."
Rafe gave a grateful nod. Then with a brief salute, he wheeled his mount about and rode away. Val watched him until he was out of sight and then headed back into the stable himself, preparing for the one thing he felt he had waited a lifetime to do. He was going to claim his chosen bride.
A short while later, Val knocked at the door to Rosebriar Cottage, trying to contain his eagerness and impatience. When seconds ticked by and no one answered his summons, he raised his cane to rap again.
But even as he did so, the door was flung open, not by one of the servants, but by the mistress of the house herself. Effie took one look at Val and promptly burst into tears.
"Oh, please, Effie," Val said hastily. "It is all right. I told you this morning that I forgive you so there is no need—"
"I—I am not weeping about that," Effie sobbed. "It's Kate."
"What about her?" Val demanded. "Is she ill?"
When Effie appeared unable to answer him, Val pressed anxiously past her into the hall. "Where is Kate? Let me speak to her."
"I c-can't."
"Why the devil not?"
"Be-because I don't know where she is," Effie wailed. "Kate is gone."
Val marched up the worn stone stairs, scarce feeling the throb in his knee as sharper emotions overrode any physical discomfort. Kate had been missing for hours. No one had seen her anywhere at Castle Leger or in Torrecombe. Val had been making desperate inquiries of every living soul in the village when it had suddenly occurred to him he was seeking answers in the wrong place, that he shouldn't have been asking the _living_ at all.
His mouth set in a taut line of worry and fear, Val emerged into the tower chamber, the mysterious room as silent as though it had been abandoned for centuries. His own senses heightened by his apprehension for Kate, Val wasn't fooled.
"Prospero?" he called.
There was no answer. The sorcerer had materialized to many members of the St. Leger family, but he had never deigned to put in an appearance for Val before. That was going to have to change right now, Val thought, clenching his jaw.
"Prospero!" he roared, striking the tip of his cane loudly against the stone floor.
"I heard you the first time," a silken voice replied. "I happen to be dead, not deaf."
The response, quiet as it was, startled Val, the sudden chill in the room causing the back of his neck to prickle. He came about slowly to find the sorcerer standing behind him, leaning up against the bedpost, studying Val through narrowed eyes.
At any other time, Val might have been filled with a sensation of amazement and wonder. Once he would have given anything to encounter Prospero, to ply the shade of his ancestor with a hundred questions about the St. Legers' history. But now there was only one thing he needed to know.
"Where is Kate? Where has she gone? What have you done with her?" he demanded.
Instead of replying, Prospero eyed him with an amusement Val found infuriating. "By St. George, first you invade my tower bellowing and now you rap out questions like a grand inquisitor. And I thought you were supposed to be the quiet one."
"I'll show you quiet," Val growled. "If you don't tell me where Kate is, I'll raise enough of an uproar to bring this tower crashing down about your ears."
Prospero yawned, looking singularly unimpressed by the threat. "So you have lost your lady? Careless of you. What makes you think I would know where she is?"
"Because from what I have gleaned, you and Kate have been thick as thieves of late. During the past month, I have a feeling it is you she has been coming to for—for—"
"The comfort and friendship she once had from you? Aye, she has. Jealous?" Prospero taunted. "I confess, were our situations reversed, if Kate were my lady, it would make me so."
He gave a deprecating cough and added quickly, "Of course, always presuming that I am prey to such petty mortal emotions, which I am not."
"Well, I fear I am prey to a good many of them." Val sighed. "I do envy you for every moment of Kate's company you have had, every smile she bestowed upon you. But at the moment, I am far more worried than jealous so will you please tell me where she has gone?"
Prospero locked his arms across his chest and frowned. "Why do you want to find her?"
"Why do you think?" Val asked impatiently. "I love her and I want to marry her."
"Even though she is a Mortmain, the daughter of your great enemy?"
"Aye, what does that matter?"
"Kate seems to feel that it would matter a great deal to you."
Val stared at Prospero, at first stunned by the sorcerer's words, then stricken with remorse. Of course, now it began to make sense, Kate's subdued manner, why she had been avoiding him since his recovery.
Val gripped the knob of his cane, silently cursing his own stupidity. What a thickheaded insensitive clod he had been, so caught up in his own rejoicing to discover Kate was his chosen bride. He had given little thought to what she must be feeling, be going through as she struggled to deal with the shock of learning her father's identity.
"My God," Val murmured. "So is that why Kate ran away? Because she learned that she is descended from the Mortmains? How could she possibly think that would make any difference to me?"
"Oh, I don't know. Let me see," Prospero drawled, stroking his beard. "Perhaps it is the history you wrote, meticulously recording every black deed of her family. Or perhaps it is the way you taught her to curse all Mortmains as evil, especially the man who turned out to be her own father."
Val flinched. "Aye, I fear that I did. I was mistaken about Rafe, mistaken about a good many things in the past, but never about my feelings for Kate."
"So you would not now look into her eyes and see the reflection of your enemy?"
"Of course not."
"Never be tempted to regard her with suspicion and mistrust?"
"No, damn it," Val insisted. "I would not care if Kate were descended from the devil himself. It would not change who she is, a warm, wonderful, courageous woman."
"I trust you are clear on that point, Dr. St. Leger, because if you harbor even the whisper of a doubt, you need to stay away from her. Kate has been through enough hurt and rejection in her life. I won't see her subjected to any more."
Prospero's unexpected fierceness astonished Val. "By God," he said softly. "I do believe you have half fallen in love with Kate yourself."
Prospero at first looked taken aback by the suggestion, and then he drew himself up indignantly. "What a complete fool you are. I told you I am not subject to any such idiotic human failings."
He stalked past Val, the picture of such regal outrage, Val was forced to bite back a smile. "I do crave your pardon, my lord."
"So you should," Prospero snapped. He stormed over to the arrow slit and stood staring outward for a long time. At last he said reluctantly, "You will find your lady where you would expect to find a Mortmain."
The sorcerer's cryptic words puzzled Val at first. Then understanding dawned on him along with a jolt of alarm.
"Lostland!" Val breathed. "You permitted Kate to go to that bleak forsaken place?"
"You should be familiar enough with your Kate to realize that no one ever permits her to do anything," Prospero said dryly.
Heart thudding with renewed alarm, Val barely took the time to thank Prospero for the information. Tightly gripping his cane, he bolted for the tower stairs.
_C HAPTER TWENTY-THREE_
* * *
**_R_** AFE MORTMAIN trudged down the narrow cobblestone street that led to the wharf, his collar turned up against the bite of the wind, his battered portmanteau clutched in his hand. He calculated that he had just enough money left to take the packet boat to France. From there he could find a berth on some oceangoing vessel as a first mate, a bosun, even an ordinary seaman; the employment scarce mattered.
The crystal was gone. His health and vitality were restored. At least he had come away from Castle Leger with that much. As for the rest, the bitterness and despair that had always dogged his footsteps—Rafe fetched a wearied sigh. He'd survive. He always had. He was good at that.
He focused on the harbor ahead of him, the masts wreathed in the early morning mist. Rafe tried to summon up his old eagerness for setting sail, but the sight of all those ships riding at anchor left him feeling strangely as cold and gray as the water lapping against the pier.
Against his will, his thoughts kept drifting back to the cozy chamber above the inn. The woman and boy had been still asleep when he had stolen away. But Corinne would rise soon to find his letter of farewell. It would come as no surprise to her. Since his return from Torrecombe yesterday, she had to have noticed the change in him, the icy distance and the surly withdrawal from both her and the boy.
He supposed he should have had the decency to bid her good-bye to her face, tell her he was going. But a farewell note was more than most of his mistresses had ever received from him.
Except Corinne had never been his mistress. Whatever she had been, whatever he had imagined that he'd felt for her, it was gone. All part of the madness induced by the crystal on All Hallows' Eve. After he left Falmouth, he doubted that he would even remember her face.
As though to hasten the process of forgetting, he quickened his pace. He scarce heard the woman rushing after him until she called out his name.
"Rafe! Please...wait!"
Rafe froze at the sound of Corinne's voice. He came about slowly, grimacing to find her racing down the street toward him. He'd planned to make good his escape before Corinne realized he was gone, or barring that, he'd hoped she would have enough sense not to come after him. But he knew how to handle the situation. His icy disdain and cold glare had always been enough to send any female packing.
He drew himself up to his full height, attempting to fix his mouth into his familiar hard sneer. But the expression wavered as soon as he realized Corinne had scarce taken time to dress herself properly. The worn black shawl she had flung over her thin cotton dress made poor protection against the damp, morning air.
"Damnation, Corinne," he growled as she overtook him. "What are you trying to do? Catch your death?"
Corinne said nothing, too out of breath to reply. She shivered, the sharp wind tangling strands of brown hair across her eyes.
"Have you no sense at all, woman? Coming out here half-naked and not even wearing a bloody bonnet!" He plunked down his portmanteau. Seizing hold of her shoulders, he dragged her ruthlessly behind the shelter of some crates stacked near a dockside warehouse.
Rafe positioned himself in front of her, glaring as she struggled to brush the hair back from her face. Her nose was already nipped red although her eyes remained remarkably clear. She obviously hadn't been weeping, which was a relief. But the wistful expression she turned upon him was almost worse.
"What are you doing here, chasing after me?" Rafe growled. "Didn't you read my letter?"
"Y-yes," she faltered. "Although I didn't quite understand all of it."
"What was there not to understand? I think I left you an accurate and lengthy accounting of all the crimes I've ever committed. I am a thoroughly bad lot and you and your son are well rid of me. I am a wanted man."
"But I always knew that, Rafe."
Rafe was doing his best to recover his icy, remote bearing but her soft admission caught him off guard.
"You knew? How?" he demanded.
Corinne shrugged, trying to drag the meager warmth of her shawl more closely about her shoulders. "You have this way sometimes of looking over your shoulder as though you were expecting trouble, even when you were at your most carefree, playing with Charley on the beach. And whenever there was a constable about, you always took great care to steer us to the opposite side of the street."
Rafe stared at her. He hadn't thought she had ever noticed, but knowing Corinne, it didn't surprise him that she had. But one fact did fill him with astonishment.
"You guessed that I might be a criminal, a man with a price on my head, and yet you never did anything about it?"
"What would you have me do, Rafe?"
"You should have summoned the constable yourself, turned me in. If not for the reward, at least to protect yourself and your son."
"Charley and I were never in any danger from you."
"No, but only because of what happened to me on All Hallows' Eve."
"Aye, the piece of crystal and that St. Leger doctor with his unusual healing power. You explained all that in your letter, too."
"But of course it sounds completely mad to you and you don't believe me."
"Oh, I believe you," Corinne said. "There is only one thing that confuses me."
Rafe rolled his eyes. After his insane account of St. Legers, crystals, sorcerers, and changes wrought by dark magic, there was only _one_ thing Corinne didn't understand?
"And just what would that be?" he demanded.
Corinne fixed him with her clear honest gaze. "I was wondering what spell you were under this morning that caused you to leave me and Charley nearly all your money."
"Well, I—I—" Rafe scowled at her and blustered. "I told you before money does not mean that much to me."
"And what spell are you under right now," Corinne continued inexorably, "that is making you be so kind to me?"
"Kind to you? In case you haven't noticed, madam, I have been growling and swearing at you ever since you caught up to me."
"Aye," Corinne said softly. "But, Rafe...you are also standing between me and the wind."
Rafe opened his mouth to refute her words, but was discomfited to find that he couldn't, because she was right. He was still trying to protect Corinne, would have done so with his last breath.
No matter how hard and distant he struggled to appear, it didn't stop her from smiling up at him, nor raising herself up on tiptoe to brush her lips against the grim set of his mouth.
He should have prevented her from doing so, but he felt as though he was the one frozen, vulnerable to the icy blast of the wind. But it was a cold that started to crack and melt with the first touch of her lips.
What a fool he was, Rafe thought desperately, to have ever imagined he was going to be able to forget this woman. Her sweet lips, her gentle touch, her soft brown eyes were going to haunt him until the end of his days.
With a low groan, he caught Corinne hard against him, crushing her mouth with a fierce kiss. He strained her close, whispering harshly into her ear.
"Damn you, Corinne. Why did you have to do this? Don't you understand I was trying to do the decent thing by leaving and I no longer have St. Leger's magic to help me?"
"I am glad," she said, clinging to him, kissing him just as fiercely, his chin, his lips, his cheeks, any part of his face she could reach. "I don't want you trying to be that noble. I love you the way that you are."
"The way that I am?" Rafe gave a bitter, despairing laugh. "A pirate, a thief, a damned Mortmain. What kind of husband would I make for you? What kind of father for Charley?"
"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?" Corinne shifted in Rafe's arms to peer at the street beyond him. Rafe twisted around himself and groaned aloud at the sight of the small figure standing but a few feet away.
Oh, God, not the boy, too. Charley stared up at Rafe with wide solemn eyes that were already filling with tears. Rafe peeled himself away from Corinne, trying to regain some control of the situation, groping for his icy mask.
But it was too late. Charley had already launched himself at Rafe, wrapping his thin arms tightly about his legs, nearly sending Rafe staggering back.
"Oh, Rafe. P-please don't go."
Rafe swore under his breath, attempting to stiffen. But it was quite impossible to strike a pose of icy hauteur, not with a small boy wrapped sobbing around one's legs. Rafe bent and lifted the child into his arms.
Large tears streaked down the boy's freckled cheeks. "You—you don't have to leave, Rafe. No matter what you did. I—I've done plenty of bad things, but Mama always forgives me."
He melted against Rafe, burrowing his face against Rafe's shoulder. Rafe patted his back, giving over any attempt to be cold and stern. He sought to reason with the boy, but found his own throat strangely too constricted to say a word.
Rafe turned toward Corinne, shooting her a look that appealed for her to be sensible, to help him to do the right thing. But the woman offered him no quarter.
Her own eyes now luminous with unshed tears, she murmured, "A boy shouldn't be abandoned by his father either, Rafe Mortmain."
Rafe regarded her helplessly, wondering what had become of his cold Mortmain heart, the one that was supposed to have been restored to him. Perhaps there were other forms of magic to be found in the world that didn't come from crystals and St. Legers.
Healing magic as simple as the love of a small boy and the faith to be found shining in one woman's honest brown eyes. But would it be enough to change him, to banish his bitterness and darkness?
Rafe prayed that it would because he didn't have the strength to put the boy down, turn his back on Corinne, and walk away.
Bracing Charley with one arm, he used his other hand to reach out to Corinne and brush aside the single tear that had escaped to trickle down her cheek. Swallowing hard, he said, "You are a madwoman, Corinne Brewer. But if you are stubborn enough to persist in this, if you are crazed enough to wed me, I—I vow to both you and the boy, I will never give you cause to regret it."
"I know you will not." Corinne smiled mistily up at him.
Rafe pulled her into the circle of his arm, catching her against him in a fierce hug. For a moment the three of them were lost in their own world, hovering somewhere between laughter and tears.
Rafe was the first to recover, setting Charley on his feet and saying brusquely, "All right. Enough of all this—this sentiment. We have a decision to reach." Rafe cast Corinne a glance full of love, apology, and regret.
"You know I cannot stay here in England. The St. Legers have been remarkably forgiving, but I doubt the local authorities will be as pardoning if I am caught."
"I realize that and it doesn't matter, Rafe," Corinne said. "As long as we are together, I can make a home wherever we go."
Rafe felt Charley tug at his coat sleeve. The boy dashed aside what remained of his tears and peered hopefully up at him. "What about Africa, Rafe? I've always wanted to see a lion."
"Er, ah, well, I had some place a little tamer in mind. America, perhaps."
Charley beamed. "Oh, America would be fine. And can we bring Rufus, too?"
Drag that broken down old horse on a long sea voyage? Rafe looked over the boy's head and met Corinne's laughing eyes.
"What the devil," he said with a resigned sigh and a grin. "Why not?"
Charley let out a whoop of joy, slipping his hand into Rafe's. Rafe stole his other arm about Corinne and began herding them back to the inn, to claim their belongings, to book passage for his family to a new world, a new life.
Corinne and Charley, his _family_ , Rafe thought, his heart swelling with love and pride. He very much liked the sound of the word.
_C HAPTER TWENTY-FOUR_
* * *
**_T_** HE WIND BLEW IN from the sea, whistling mournfully through the barren branches of some blighted oak trees. Kate shrank deeper beneath the hood of her cloak and picked her way carefully through the blackened ruins of what had once been an elegant manor house.
The few stone walls that remained looked ready to totter and crash down at any moment, their windows blasted out, rotting beams littering the ground. The grim aspect of the house seemed to match the land that surrounded it, an isolated valley stretching down to a narrow cove.
Normally Kate would have been drawn toward the sea, straight to the water's edge. But she hung back, shivering, finding the beach with its dunes and sparse tufts of sea grass bleak and uninviting. The waves breaking against the shore appeared cold and melancholy, the jagged reef beyond said to have brought more than one ship to grief.
So this was Lostland, once home to the proud and villainous Mortmains, her ancestors. Kate had trudged the property for hours, trying to feel some connection to the place. But all she felt was cold, tired, and sore at heart.
Turning away from the beach, she prepared to head back to where she had left her horse tethered when she spied the rider galloping over the hill. Kate tensed, knowing most honest folk avoided this deserted spot like the plague. She was considering the advisability of concealing herself until this stranger had galloped past when she stiffened.
Kate shielded her eyes from the pale stream of sunlight, squinting in disbelief. It was no stranger approaching. It was Val. Or at least that was whom she thought it was, his dark hair tangled across his pale face, his worn cloak flowing out from his shoulders. Her heart gave a painful leap. She might have known he would seek to come after her. He had been protecting her for most of her life. He would not stop now no matter how repulsive he found her ancestry. The man was far too noble for that.
Kate felt the old longing to rush forward to greet him, cast herself into his arms. But the blackened ruins of the house seemed to cast a long shadow over her, reminding her of what she now was...a Mortmain.
She remained where she was, her eyes widening when she realized that Val was still riding his demon of a white horse. Kate watched anxiously as Val drew rein and prepared to dismount. He swung out of the saddle, favoring his good leg, flinching only a little as his feet struck the ground.
Despite his limp, he moved nimbly enough to tether the stallion's reins to a branch of the oak tree. Kate hurried forward to free his cane from the saddle and hand it to him.
"Thank you," he said as calmly as though she were meeting him in the stable yard of Castle Leger instead of this wild, desolate place.
"Val, what are you doing here?" Kate asked in dismay. "And riding Storm. I thought you would have gotten rid of him."
"I planned to do so, but we seem to have reached an understanding." Val stroked the stallion's velvety muzzle. "He now agrees it would be bad manners to try to throw the man who pays for his oats."
"But—but the strain of riding him. Your leg—"
"Is just fine." Val shrugged. "Oh, perhaps my knee will exact a price from me later, but it will be worth it. I gave up on my riding far too easily. Besides, I will have need of a swift horse if you persist in running away from me."
"I—I wasn't running away," Kate was quick to deny.
"No? Then you do a fine imitation of it, my dear. Disappearing without a trace, worrying me half to death."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to distress you."
"Then next time leave word of your whereabouts with someone other than a recalcitrant ghost. Except that there isn't going to be a next time. I much doubt that I will ever let you out of my sight again."
Val crooked his fingers beneath her chin, forcing her to look up. His touch was as gentle as his familiar half-smile, but there was something different in his eyes. Not the feverish light of the past month, but not the resigned patience of the old Val either. His gaze held hers, strong, steady, and determined. The look of a man who knew what he wanted and had come to claim it.
Kate felt her heart miss a beat.
"Now, my dear, what is all this nonsense?" he demanded tenderly. "Why have you been avoiding me?"
"I am sure you know why I have stayed away and it isn't nonsense, Val," Kate said miserably. "I—I am a Mortmain."
"If that is all that is troubling you, dear heart, it is a situation easily remedied. You once asked me to share my name with you and I am more than willing to do so."
He bent to kiss her and it was all that Kate could do to pull away, resist him. He was as usual trying to be far too kind.
"N-no, Val."
Val folded his arms, staring down at her with a slight frown. "So what are you planning to do, Kate? Leave me and set up housekeeping here?"
"No, I—I don't know," Kate faltered. She was not sure herself what she had hoped to accomplish by fleeing to Lostland. "I have always heard that this place is evil, as evil as the Mortmains themselves. I suppose I just wanted to see for myself."
"And have you seen anything evil?"
Kate glanced uncertainly around her at the blackened ruins of the house, at the bleak aspect of the cove. "No," she was obliged to admit. "This place seems more sad and neglected than anything else, lonely and deserted."
"Aye," Val astonished her by agreeing. "I had the same feeling myself when I seemed compelled to ride over here all those afternoons. If there is anything haunting Lostland, it is the tragedy of so many lives wasted in frustration and bitterness."
Val smiled tenderly at her. "The same thing that would have happened to me, but for you, Kate."
"Oh, no, Val," she said. "It was only the crystal that made you that way and—"
But Val cut her off with a firm shake of his head. "No, Kate. You have always wanted to imagine me this perfect being, but I have the same weaknesses as other men. I fear I would long ago have become a recluse, shut away with my books and my pain, except for you."
"Pestering and plaguing you," Kate said ruefully.
"Making me laugh, forcing me to remain in the sunlight." Val sighed. "Oh, Kate, I have made so many mistakes, one of the worst being the way I taught you to despise Rafe Mortmain. He was not a total villain any more than I was a perfect hero.
"I can tell you one thing about the man. I lived with his nightmares and pain enough to know. If he had known about you, Kate, he would have cared for you and loved you. He would never have deserted you. You have to believe that."
Val stared down at her, his eyes dark and earnest.
"I—I believe you," Kate said, her own eyes filling with sudden tears she had to blink fiercely away. It should not have mattered so much to her, hearing this about Rafe, but somehow it did. The one thought more than any other that had always given her pain had been believing that she had been rejected, abandoned by both her parents to die.
"I never gave Rafe a chance simply because his last name happened to be Mortmain," Val continued. "It took one strange All Hallows' Eve and a dangerous shard of crystal to make me able to understand him, to understand myself as well.
"I am no saint, Kate. I never was."
"Oh, Val." Kate could not stop herself from reaching up to tenderly touch his cheek. "I never wanted you to be."
"Good." He stole his arm about her waist, seeking to draw her close, but Kate braced her hands against his chest, wanting so desperately to believe in this miracle, but still unsure.
She searched his face anxiously. "Val, are—are you truly sure you still want me? That you are not just being kind and—and doing your duty. You must feel obliged to marry me now that Effie says I am your chosen bride."
"Obliged?" Val laughed. He gave her a look rife with both tenderness and exasperation. "My dear Kate, you still don't comprehend my family's legend, do you? It has nothing to do with duty or obligation, only the magic of two hearts being brought together. Two people destined to find each other, to love forever. Just like you and I."
"Like you and I," Kate repeated, held fast, mesmerized by the love she saw shining from his dark eyes.
He swept her hands impatiently aside, drawing her close and claiming her mouth in a way that left her no room for any more doubts. His kiss was long, slow, and tender, rendering Kate breathless and trembling.
"And now will you cease all this foolishness and consent to be my wife?" he demanded with mock sternness.
"Oh, yes, Val," Kate whispered, agreeing more meekly than she had ever done to anything in her life.
He flung down his cane and seized her with both arms, hauling her hard against him. He kissed her in earnest this time, tenderness melding with heat, with a fierce passion that Kate had never expected to experience from her gentle Val again.
She broke off to stare at him, dazed and panting. "Val, you are not still under the influence of some kind of spell, are you?"
He gave a hearty laugh. "Not unless you have been dabbling in witchcraft again."
Kate shook her head.
"Then I reckon it must be purely me responsible for all these wicked thoughts that are springing into my head." Val caressed the back of his fingers down her cheek, his eyes blazing with such love and desire, it robbed Kate of what little breath she had left.
"Considering the scandal we have already created, I suppose we should attempt to behave with some sort of propriety until we are married."
"I suppose we should," Kate agreed. But her sigh was as regretful as his own.
Their resolve lasted only until their eyes chanced to meet. Then they were immediately back in each other's arms.
They spent the rest of the afternoon in Val's great bed, the tangled sheets bearing mute testimony to the heat of their passion. Kate curled up close to Val, nestling her head against his shoulder, savoring the fact that there were no longer any barriers between them.
Val lay completely naked beside her. Sated as she was, she could not seem to stop touching him, running her fingers over the muscular contours of his chest, the dark matting of hair. Val cuddled her close, brushing a kiss against the top of her head with a contented sigh.
"I don't think I ever fully understood how uncontrollable it is, the St. Leger urge to mate with one's chosen bride." Val gave a rueful chuckle. "At some point, my dear, we are going to have to get dressed and go find the vicar."
Kate's only response was to roll on top of him, playfully pinning him beneath her. She smiled lazily down at him, lightly tracing her fingers along his beard-roughened jaw.
"Don't worry. No one will blame our wickedness on you. They will say it is all the fault of that horrid Kate Fitzleger, the foundling brat.
"It is so strange," Kate mused softly. "All my life I have been called a foundling. But I never truly felt 'found' until that day you took me in your arms."
Val returned her kiss and her smile, but his expression turned immediately serious. "Kate, I know the people in Torrecombe have not always been kind to you. If you like, once we are wed, we could move away from here, make a fresh start."
Kate shook her head stubbornly. "No, this is my home as well as yours. Besides, there is Effie to consider."
"Aye, she will doubtless be quite lonely once you have moved from Rosebriar. We—we could have her live with us," Val said, but Kate laughed at the dismay she saw filling his eyes at the prospect.
"That is very generous of you, my love. And you claim you are not heroic. But, no, I have far different plans for Effie. I am determined to see her wed to her adoring Mr. Trimble."
"Turning matchmaker, my Kate?" Val teased.
"Perhaps. You realize, as Effie's daughter, I am likely destined to be the next Bride Finder. Look how well I have already done with Victor. This morning before I left Torrecombe, I saw him heading out toward Mollie Grey's farm.
"I believe I may have inherited Effie's gift, only I will never be as tame about it as she was," Kate said, steeling her jaw. "Just let me catch any St. Leger balking at the bride I choose and see what happens."
"Heaven help us all." Val chuckled.
"Except for you, sir. There is no one to save you now." And Kate proved it to him by claiming his mouth in a fierce kiss.
Val's arms tightened around her immediately, rolling her onto her back, touching, stroking, and caressing, fire melding with tenderness, passion with love.
"Oh, Kate," he murmured. "My wild g—No." Val stopped to correct himself with a loving glance.
"My lady. My sweet wild lady," Val said huskily before kissing her again.
They had known each other forever, first as friends, then lovers. But there still seemed so much to learn about each other, so much left to discover. But they had all the time in the world now to do so.
Forever, in fact.
**Praise for _Midnight Bride_**
"[A] bewitching 19th-century historical romance...Carroll's swift-moving tale won't disappoint her fans."
_—Publishers Weekly_
"Once again Carroll, who sets the standard for paranormal romance with her beautifully crafted tales of the gifted St. Legers and the women who love them, enchants readers by subtly enhancing her alluring love story with lush historical details."
_—Booklist_
**Praise for _The Bride Finder_**
"Carroll succeeds in creating an atmosphere that is as foreboding as her characters are appealing, and the effect is fairy tale magic."
_—_ Minneapolis _Star Tribune_
" _The Bride Finder_ is an absolutely beautiful love story, a spellbinding combination of magic, passion, and destiny."
—KRISTIN HANNAH, author of _Magic Hour_
"Perfection from start to finish...Susan Carroll writes sparkling dialogue and exquisite prose. I adored this book!"
—TERESA MEDEIROS, author of _After Midnight_
"An intriguing tale proving that the wounds of the heart can be healed by the magic of true love."—NORA ROBERTS
**Praise for _The Night Drifter_**
"Carroll's mystical world will ensnare you with knightly deeds of honor and ladies fair as Lance and Rosalind seek their destiny while risking a deadly fate."
_—BookPage_
"Remarkable...wondrous...There are few finer books this season than _The Night Drifter_."
_—Romantic Times_
" _The Night Drifter_ is a classic.... Carroll has topped herself and proved her genius by creating a romantic situation without equal."
_—Rendezvous_
Also by Susan Carroll
WINTERBOURNE
THE PAINTED VEIL
THE BRIDE FINDER
THE NIGHT DRIFTER
THE DARK QUEEN
THE COURTESAN
THE SILVER ROSE
_Midnight Bride_ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
2006 Ivy Books Mass Market Edition
Copyright © 2001 by Susan Coppula
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ivy Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
IVY BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Originally published in hardcover in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., in 2001.
www.ballantinebooks.com
eISBN: 978-0-345-49351-4
v3.0
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Books3
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Microphallus: eventual phallic size is dependent on the timing of androgen administration.
Micropenis secondary to hypogonadotropic hypogonadism in the Sprague-Dawley rat was induced by either injection of supraphysiological doses of dihydrotestosterone to the timed pregnant dam on gestational days 16 and 17 or by long acting microspheres of the gonadotropic agonist, leuprolide acetate. Following the induction of micropenis the animals were treated with dihydrotestosterone beginning at either day 7, 28, 56 or 84 of life. Within the study populations all animals treated with dihydrotestosterone had phallic enlargement greater than untreated controls (p < 0.01). However, animals beginning treatment on day 7 or 28 had persistent microphallus (p < 0.01). In contrast, if hormonal therapy was initiated on day 56 or 84 the phallus became normal in length. Immunohistological studies for androgen receptor expression revealed that early androgen exposure accelerated the loss of androgen receptor protein from the penis during growth. These data suggest that prepubertal exposure of the penis to androgens may significantly reduce the eventual penile size of the hypogonadotropic hypogonadal micropenis.
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PubMed Abstracts
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Solar cells fabricated with various III-V compound semiconductors, such as galium arsenide (GaAs) and indium phosphide (InP), are generally well known in the solar cell art and have been fabricated with layers of both monocrystalline P-type and monocrystalline N-type materials to define the PN junction of the cell. Alternatively, these cells have been constructed using a combination of polycrystalline and monocrystalline semiconductor layers to form a PN heterojunction therebetween.
Examples of an all monocrystalline type of compound semiconductor solar cell are disclosed in Applied Physics Letters, Vol. 26, p. 457-467 (1975). An example of a combination monocrystalline-polycrystalline solar cell with a PN heterojunction is disclosed, for example, by S. Wagner et al in Applied Physics Letters No. 26, page 229 (1975).
While the above generally described cells represent some improvements relative to certain prior art solar cell fabrication techniques, their requirement for at least one monocrystalline semiconductor layer clearly limits the fabrication cost reduction of the cells as a result of the well-known refined process requirements for growing monocrystalline semiconductor materials. Therefore, because of the widespread interest in reducing the cost of solar cell fabrication while maintaining an acceptable conversion efficiency for same, the desirability to provide a commercially feasible all polycrystalline solar cell is manifest.
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USPTO Backgrounds
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June 01, 2011 18:58 IST
There was a clear polarisation of Christian and (especially) Muslim votes in favour of the UDF. This caused enough misgivings to start a consolidation of Hindu votes behind the LDF, says T V R Shenoy.
"I have come to an insane asylum!" Swami Vivekananda reportedly exclaimed after touring Kerala.
My own memories, obviously, do not stretch as far back as 1892 but I can easily recall the time before the reorganisation of states gave Kerala not just its current contours but also its current name, remember back when it was Travancore-Cochin at the dawn of independent India, and even farther back when it was two princely states and a Malabar integrated into the giant British province of Madras.
Delving into 70 years of memories I cannot recollect another time when Kerala was so split on communal lines. Look no farther than the newly-elected Kerala assembly if you want to see proof of that.
If I had to sum it up I might use the abbreviation 'PCM'. In the season of the IIT-JEE results some might mistake that for 'Physics, Chemistry, Maths', and that is true in a sense. (More on that later.)
But it could also easily be shorthand for 'Polarisation of Christians and Muslims' -- inevitably leading to a counter-aggregation of Hindus.
Kerala is still, technically, a state where the majority of the population is Hindu. The data for the 2011 Census are not out but according to the 2001 numbers, 56.2 percent of Keralites were Hindus, 24.3 percent were Muslims, and 19 percent were Christians. Those values have almost certainly changed over the past decade; the 2001 Census also revealed that the Hindu and the Christian figures had fallen since 1991, the Christian population dropping by 0.32 percent and the Hindu population by 1.48 percent.
Assuming, however, that Hindus still constitute about 50 percent you would think the majority community make up roughly half of the assembly. As they, nominally, represent the majority that assumption should be particularly true of the treasury benches.
Wrong. 49 of the 72 MLAs in the ruling United Democratic Front are non-Hindus -- a tad over 68 percent. Contrariwise, only 19 of the 68 MLAs in the Left Democratic Front are non-Hindus -- just under 28 percent.
There was a clear polarisation of Christian and (especially) Muslim votes in favour of the UDF. This caused enough misgivings to start a consolidation of Hindu votes behind the LDF. (And yes, I recognise the irony of Hindus surging behind nominally atheist Marxists but that is the reality of Kerala!)
At this point, I know there are some readers who will whine about journalists writing about 'communal' topics. Spare me the rubbish!
We live in a day where the Manmohan Singh cabinet has approved a caste-based census. This is also a time when, in the wake of the Sachar Committee Report, reservation for Muslims is being openly discussed.
I hope you realise what this means. It was the Congress, at the urging of Mahatma Gandhi, that ensured there would be no separate enumeration of castes in the census after 1931. And the founding fathers of the Republic of India -- memories of where Muslim reservation had led India fresh in their minds -- did not opt for religion-based reservation.
If the Sonia Gandhi-Manmohan Singh duopoly wish to overturn over 60 years of Congress policy let us admit that there will be consequences. Both caste and religion will play increasingly larger roles in public life. Berate it if you like but start getting used to the fact.
The second reason for writing about the make-up of the Kerala assembly is that every section of society in the state is already talking about it -- from mailmen to ministers -- but privately. Nobody wants to come out and admit the obvious, that in a democracy it is deeply flawed to have a government where the majority community is severely under-represented.
It makes for some bad physics, worse chemistry, and some absolutely horrible maths.
The current set-up is bad from the point of view of physics because it is inherently unstable. Ideally, a ministry would be like a pyramid -- resting on a broad base of support. What we have right now is a ministry that is like a spinning top -- narrow at the base and broader above. A top is nice to look at while it works but we all know how it ends -- thrashing about, then toppling over.
Ministries have been given to one-MLA and two-MLA parties because there is no other option. The numbers are so finely balanced that a couple of disgruntled MLAs could topple the Oommen Chandy ministry.
I have already mentioned how skewed the Hindu to non-Hindu ratio is on the treasury benches. But, in the spirit of the caste-based enumeration approved by the Congress high command, it gets even worse when you look at the caste break-up. The Ezhavas, for instance, are numerically the largest Hindu community, and yet they have but three MLAs to represent them on the UDF benches. And soon the Nairs shall start counting how many they have, and then each of the rest.
It makes for rotten chemistry because, as noted above, the Congress is only too aware of the lack of support from Hindus. This has already led to a face-off between the Congress and its principal partners in the UDF before the Chandy ministry was two weeks old.
The Congress has ten representatives in a 20-strong ministry. Since the Congress has only 38 MLAs that is a ratio slightly better than 1:4. The Muslim League (whose name reveals its leanings) and the Kerala Congress (whose name conceals its Christian base) think they should enjoy the same ratio of MLAs to ministers. In other words, the Muslim League thinks itself entitled to five ministerships while the Kerala Congress wants three, one more each than has been allotted.
Panakkad Sayyid Hyder Ali Shihab Thangal, president of the Muslim League, set the cat among the pigeons before the Chandy ministry was a week old. He unilaterally announced the name of Manjalamkuzhi Ali as the candidate for the proposed fifth berth. This may have been either a bid for 'parity' with the Congress, or an attempt to keep the MLA in good temper since he had quit the LDF.
The Kerala Congress is not to be left behind. It has delicately suggested that a ministerial berth for, say, P C George would be welcomed.
It leads to bad chemistry within parties when 'X' gets a ministry and 'Y' does not, particularly so when a 'Y' was once part of another bloc. But trying to settle the chemistry within the Muslim League and the Kerala Congress would lead to a mathematical nightmare for the Congress.
The first difficulty lies with the Ninety-First Amendment. The relevant part reads: "The total number of ministers, including the chief minister, in the council of ministers in a state shall not exceed fifteen percent of the total number of members of the legislative assembly of that state."
Kerala elects 140 MLAs, meaning there cannot be more than 21 ministers. The current cabinet is already 20-strong, so there is no way that both the Muslim League and the Kerala Congress can be satisfied.
Second, consider what happens if the Congress sacrifices one of its own seats to keep the two powerful allies happy. The Muslim League will put up a Muslim and the Kerala Congress shall field a Christian. That will further dilute the Hindu element in the cabinet.
As we all know, the Congress is promoting not just a caste-based census and greater opportunities for Muslims but also gender-based representation. I note without comment that there is exactly one woman MLA in the UDF benches, P K Jayalakshmi.
It used to be said that what Bengal thinks today India shall think tomorrow. When it comes to politics it would be more accurate to say that what Kerala suffers today India must endure tomorrow. Kerala was experimenting with coalition governments long before they took shape in New Delhi -- and Kerala is seeing the effects of communal polarisation on government well before the caste-based and religion-based policies of the UPA regime are felt in India as a whole tomorrow.
Yes, it is disgusting to see so decent and secular (in the noble sense of the word) a man as Chandy immersed in calculating by caste and creed. Get used to it; the policy is set in Delhi, not Thiruvananthapuram.
How might Swami Vivekananda react if he were to return to Kerala today? Perhaps he might say, "The inmates have taken over the asylum!"
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OpenWebText2
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Q:
ISNULL from Mysql not showing Results on webpage via PHP
I'm working on a server based POS and I have a php page that displays the client current money on a table, I have 2 tables (Mov_ctes and Clientes), it works fine when I add WITH ROLLUP on the mysql query, It displays the Total but without A Name (NULL value), so I used
IFNULL(Clientes.Nombre,'TOTAL')
so It could change the NULL value to TOTAL, I entered the whole command on mysql and worked fine, however if I enter the same query via PHP it doesnt output the "Nombre" column
heres my code and a Mysql screenshot
<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd">
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<head>
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" />
<style type="text/css">
<!--
@import url("source/style.css");
-->
</style>
</head>
<body>
<?php
session_start();
$log=$_SESSION['sesion'];
$nombr=$_SESSION['username'];
if($log==1)
{
$con=mysqli_connect("localhost","user","pw","My_db");
if (mysqli_connect_errno())
{
echo "Failed to connect to MySQL: " . mysqli_connect_error();
}
//Mysql query
$result = mysqli_query($con,"SELECT Clientes.cliente_id,IFNULL(Clientes.Nombre,'TOTAL'), sum(Mov_ctes.Movimiento) FROM Clientes NATURAL LEFT JOIN Mov_ctes GROUP BY Nombre WITH ROLLUP");
echo "<table id='hor-minimalist-b' summary='Employee Pay Sheet'>";
echo "<thead>";
echo "<tr>";
echo "<th scope='col'>ID</th>";
echo "<th scope='col'>Nombre</th>";
echo "<th scope='col'>Saldo</th>";
echo "</tr>";
echo "</thead>";
echo "<tbody>";
while($row = mysqli_fetch_array($result))
{echo "<tr>";
echo "<td>" . $row['cliente_id'] . "</td>";
echo "<td>" . $row['Nombre'] . "</td>";
echo "<td>" . $row['sum(Mov_ctes.Movimiento)'] . "</td>";
echo "</tr>";
}
echo "</tbody>";
echo "</table>";
mysqli_close($con);
}
?>
A:
You need an alias for the column, otherwise the column name will be IFNULL(Clientes.Nombre,'TOTAL'):
SELECT IFNULL(Clientes.Nombre,'TOTAL') AS Nombre
...
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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StackExchange
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Combine my love of Thai food and my love of pickles, and you have ajat. A traditional Thai condiment that’s really easy and quick to make and pairs perfectly with a variety of Thai dishes – although it’s most notably served alongside satay to balance the richness and greasiness of the grilled meat (or fried tofu) and peanut sauce. The part of this quick pickle that seems ingenious is the preparation of the syrupy pickling liquid separately ahead of time – it’s only poured over the fresh sliced vegetables (cucumber, mild peppers, and shallots) right before serving, so the prep at serving time is minimal, and the veggies stay nice, bright, and crisp. The cilantro garnish is optional, but I thought the herb’s flavor was a great addition, especially towards the end of the meal as the delicate leaves macerated slightly in the syrup. The recipe as given makes quite a lot of ajat, but if you need less, I recommend making the full recipe of pickling liquid to use on multiple occasions, cutting up as many vegetables as you want at a time and pouring over only as much liquid as needed to barely cover them.
Related Posts:
I’ve long been enamored of Thai food, and that’s probably no surprise since it’s right up my alley in many ways – strong, bold flavors with no fear of spice, often filled with fresh vegetables and herbs, and, of course, delicious salty-sweet combinations. This sauce is a perfect example. It’s packed with flavor from a generous helping of Thai red curry paste, and the savory richness of peanut butter is well-balanced by sugar. It certainly doesn’t hurt that it’s also ridiculously simple to make and addictively tasty. The sauce can be thinned out with extra vinegar for a salad dressing, or used as is for dipping raw veggies. But, of course, it’s most amazing in its traditional use, alongside Thai satay (I’ll be posting a recipe for Thai chicken satay next week). The recipe makes quite a lot – enough for you to try it in a variety of applications, so long as you can resist eating up spoonfuls plain.
Related Posts:
I’ve heard nam pla prik (also sometimes called prik nam pla) referred to as the “salt and pepper” of Thai food. Only instead of salt, it’s fermented fish, and instead of black peppercorns, it’s extra spicy Thai bird’s eye chiles. For garlic-lovers like myself, some slices of raw garlic are added to the mix. And a little sugar helps balance the fish sauce (although it can be safely left out, too). Something so simple really shouldn’t be as addictive as the resulting sauce is. The key is, of course, the main ingredient – fish sauce (the “nam pla” in nam pla prik). I know, I know, it sounds weird and smells weirder, but I’ve come to love this pungent sauce made from fermented, salted fish that’s crucially important to Thai cuisine (and other Southeast Asian cuisines as well). Like salt, it brings out the flavor of whatever it’s added to, but it also adds complex umami (savory) notes. The bird’s eye chiles (which can be replaced with jalapenos for a milder version) give the sauce a kick – and (like all hot peppers) have great health benefits, including the ability to speed up your metabolism and high levels of vitamin C. Along with being a natural pairing to Thai dishes, nam pla prik is amazing over rice (or quinoa), eggs, or even just fresh vegetables.
Related Posts:
I think I’ve mentioned that food in general is surprisingly expensive here in Montevideo. The prices are nearly what I encountered back in DC – except now I don’t have a full time job. So I haven’t been eating out a whole lot here, since there aren’t really options like the $10/dozen empanadas back in Buenos Aires. Instead, I’ve turned back to sandwiches – once you have a couple basic ingredients on hand, they take mere minutes to put together, and having great condiments like these pickled roasted peppers on hand make them truly amazing. I’ve pickled raw bell peppers, and I’ve roasted them, but I’d never thought to combine the two before. This is an interesting mix, since the natural sweetness of the bell pepper, concentrated and enhanced by the roasting, plays well with the tartness of vinegar. It’s surprisingly mellow for a pickle, actually, but I think pickle lovers will definitely appreciate swapping these in for the traditional roasted bell peppers on their sandwiches (and salads).
Related Posts:
The hardest part of moving, for me, is adapting to a new kitchen. Here, I only have a two-burner electric stove and a tiny sink (far too small for the amount of dirty dishes I produce), alongside a small square of counter space. I’m doing my best to adjust my habits, planning ahead to make sure I’ll have a burner free and being extra strict about cleaning dishes as I go. But, unlike my last place, there’s a full-sized refrigerator, so I have room again to stock up on little goodies like these pickled red onions. The onions still have a crunch to them and retain some of their characteristically strong taste, but the bite is mellowed by vinegar and sugar, with hot peppers tossed in to add a lingering kick of spiciness. They’re surprisingly addictive, and I find myself reaching for them over and over, an amazing addition to salads and sandwiches and great complement to all sorts of beans and meats. I like how versatile their simple flavor is, fitting in with a variety of cuisines – anything from Mexican (perch them atop tacos) to Indian (use as a side to balance rich curries) to Greek (sprinkle on a salad with feta). Although my favorite might just be snacking on them plain, something I can’t resist doing any time I open the refrigerator and spy them.
Related Posts:
Cherries are in season here in South America, and while I’ve been enjoying eating them out of hand (and using them in place of strawberries in my strawberry bourbon lemonade), I wanted to get a little more creative. I’m a big fan of pickled fruit (like peaches), since I find the natural sweetness of fruit is well-complemented by the tartness of vinegar. This recipe caught my eye – although I’d never seen anything pickled with balsamic vinegar before, cherries and balsamic seemed like a perfect match. The result was everything I’d hoped for. An amazing blend of sweet and tart, these cherries are amazing on salads and sandwiches, and I think they’d also make a great addition to a cheese plate. The added benefit to this recipe is the cherry-infused balsamic vinegar – great for salad dressings or drizzling anywhere you’d use balsamic.
Related Posts:
Did you know the best way to keep sweet corn sweet is to store it in the refrigerator? This helps slow down the conversion of the sugars to starches. I only have a small refrigerator here (think slightly larger than one in a dorm room), so I don’t have a lot of space to dedicate to storing corn. But I can’t resisting buying some when it shows up fresh at the market (currently in season here, of course), so I had to think up a quick easy use for the cobs sitting on my refrigerator shelf. I opted for this take on a basic corn salsa, roasting the corn for extra depth of flavor. The rest of the flavors here are pretty traditional (green onion, cilantro, hot pepper, lime), though I did toast the garlic, which I find mellows it perfectly for things like this. This salsa is great as a dip, on tacos, to add a pop of color and flavor to a plate of beans, or as a side for grilled fish or meat.
Related Posts:
One of my best friends in middle school was Korean, and I remember fondly much of our time spent together after school. We would take the school bus to her house, and there was always perfectly cooked rice waiting in the rice cooker, sheets of seaweed to wrap it in, and delicious homemade kimchi. At the time, I wasn’t even a fan of standard pickles, and kimchi, with its fermented odor and strangely bright red, nearly unrecognizable vegetables, seemed quite intimidating when my friend first offered it to me. But I knew it was rude to refuse, so I tried it. And somehow I was quickly taken in by the bold flavors, a mix of sour, spicy, and even a little sweet that made plain rice into a treat.
I’ve eaten a lot of kimchi since then, and these days, it’s hard for me to resist, whether it’s a side to Korean barbecue, flavoring ramen, or in an omelet. I tried my hand at making my own before, but the flavor wasn’t quite right. Now that I’m in Buenos Aires, where there seems to be a dearth of good Asian food (and certainly a dearth of spicy food), I figured it was worth another shot. I compared several recipes and techniques and tried to keep things simple but authentic with my take. The only specialty ingredients here are the Korean red chili pepper flakes (gochugaru) (which I actually carted along with me from the U.S.) and fish sauce; both shouldn’t be hard to find in an Asian market (and the gochugaru can be replaced, if necessary). As I was chopping the cabbage (feeling pleasantly surprised at having been able to find Napa cabbage at my neighborhood verduleria), I started to worry that this would make too much kimchi. And even after it reduced dramatically from the initial salting, I was still concerned. But as I packed the ready-to-ferment kimchi into its large jar, I tasted a piece, and suddenly I wondered if maybe I hadn’t made enough. The fermentation only adds more complexity and the characteristic tang to the kimchi (oh, and some great health benefits, too), and I can easily say now that I’m quite happy with this recipe. I’ve been snacking on it plain, drizzled with a little sesame oil and sprinkled with sesame seeds, and loving it.
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I love basics like this recipe. An infused simple syrup is a great building block that’s great to have in your refrigerator because even though it’s trivial to throw together, it makes it easy to add a gourmet touch. Suddenly, it’s no problem to make ginger mint lemonade or ginger mint iced tea. Or you can pour a little bit over a fruit salad to take dessert to the next level. And, of course, it’s the perfect addition to mixed drinks, a great foil for whiskey, gin, rum, tequila, or whatever your favorite spirit might be.
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First, for those of you who follow this blog, let me apologize for not posting on Friday – I’ve been recovering from a cold and subsisting mainly on tea (with ginger and honey, yum), and I haven’t had a chance to re-build my backlog of posts for such times yet. But I’m back in the swing of things now and have been cooking up some great new recipes for this week. Let’s start with this mushroom ragu. I was craving a bowl of pasta with meat sauce, but wanted to eat something a little healthier instead. While I usually try not to create “imitations” of other foods (though I’ve been known to do sobefore), I figured what I was really craving was something with a lot of umami (as meat sauce typically has) and something nice and filling (as pasta is). So I cooked up this sauce, with the meatiness of cremini mushrooms standing in for the usual ground beef, while the liquid they release serves as the base for the sauce. It’s thickened up with tomato paste and minced black olives, then given a flavor boost from red wine, for a savory sauce that would be great on pasta in place of your usual sauce. I wanted an extra nutritional boost, so I actually served this on top of white beans which worked quite well. I think it would also be a great sauce on top of chicken or roasted vegetables.
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Pile-CC
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A: You'll need to un-comment the line HID2HCI_ENABLE=true in the /etc/sysconfig/bluetooth file. Start the bluetooth service again with service bluetooth restart as root (or restart your machine) and the Bluetooth device should now be available.
Note: this is not a configuration option in Fedora 11 (updates), and later versions, it will be automatic.
A: This is a fall-out of the above. We unfortunately don't have hardware specifications to be able to read the setup devices from the Bluetooth adapter, so you will need to use a wired keyboard or mouse to set them up the first time. For Logitech keyboards and mice it should be enough to press the "Connect" button on the device to make them appear in the Bluetooth wizard.
Browsing files on a remote device
Prerequisites:
gvfs-obexftp
nautilus
bluez-gnome (gnome-bluetooth from F11)
In your panel, right-click on the Bluetooth icon, and select the Browse files on device... menu item. This will bring up a list of devices in the vicinity, as well as known devices. Select the one you want to browse, and click Connect.
Stand-alone Bluetooth printing
Prerequisites:
bluez-utils-cups (bluez-cups from F10)
system-config-printer
Select System → Administration → Printing. After having typed in the administrator password, select New Printer in the toolbar. Your printer should appear in the list of printers. Proceed through the wizard.
Note: If it does not, make sure the printer was made discoverable, following its manual.
Note: If the printer isn't detected at all, run /usr/sbin/lpinfo -v in a terminal, and file a bug against bluez with the output in the Red Hat bugzilla.
Note: If the printer driver wasn't automatically detected, run /usr/lib/cups/backend/bluetooth in a terminal, and file a bug against system-config-printer with the output in the Red Hat bugzilla.
Sending SMS/texts via Bluetooth
Prerequisites:
gnome-phone-manager
Launch the Phone Manager from the System Tools section of the Applications menu.
Setup your mobile phone in the Preferences (right-click on the mobile phone icon in the panel). After having connected to the phone, you should be able to send new messages by right-clicking and selecting Send Message, reception should be automatic.
Using input devices (keyboards, mice, joypads, etc.)
Prerequisites:
bluez-gnome (gnome-bluetooth from F11)
Right-click on the Bluetooth icon in your panel and select Setup new device..... Go through the wizard.
Note: Make sure the input device is discoverable (as per the user manual), and that it has enough battery power.
Note: If you are trying to pair an Apple Wireless keyboard, you might have to remove the batteries for it to be discoverable and connectable again.
Remote controls (PS3 Blu-Ray remote)
Make the remote discoverable by pressing and holding the Enter and Start buttons at the same time
Follow the instructions to setup keyboards and mice above
If your application supports LIRC (such as Totem or Rhythmbox), you can set up the remote for use with it by launching the Infrared Remote Control preferences.
Audio devices
Prerequisites:
pulseaudio 0.9.15
gnome-bluetooth 2.27.2
Right-click on the Bluetooth icon in your panel and select Setup new device..... Go through the wizard.
Note: If your audio device does not reconnect to your computer after turning it on, you can connect it using the drop-down menu in the Bluetooth applet. If it is connected, it will show up in bold in the list.
Note: The support is included in Fedora 11 as a technology preview. Don't expect the support to be flawless, support all device types, or all the features of specific devices.
Internet access through a phone (PAN and DUN)
Prerequisites:
gnome-bluetooth 2.27.6
NetworkManager-gnome 0.7.995-0.git20090728 (Fedora 12, for PAN)
NetworkManager-gnome 0.8.0-0.2.git20100129 (Fedora 13, for DUN)
Set up your phone through the bluetooth-wizard (accessible in the applet and preferences as Set up new device...), and tick the Access the Internet using your mobile phone checkbox. Internet access will now be available from the NetworkManager applet's menu. For DUN, the only difference is that you will have to select your provider's details.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
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This invention relates to printing and more particularly, to a screen printing frame cleaning apparatus and method.
In some printing processes, for example, a silk screen printing process, a silk screen fabric is adhered or glued to a screen printing frame, and the silk screen fabric is used to produce an image on a substrate, for example, a CD disk label. As the images are changed, the current silk screen fabric is torn off or removed from the silk screen printing frame; and a new silk screen fabric with a new image is then adhered or glued to the frame. Normally, the same type of glue or adhesive is used, and it is not necessary that the old adhesive or glue be completely removed from the screen printing frame prior to the new silk screen fabric being glued thereon. Further, normally it is not a problem if the new silk screen fabric is glued over some older residual glue on the screen printing frame.
However, occasionally, the type of adhesive or glue being used is changed, for example, a solvent based glue is replaced with a water-based or latex glue. Further, in this example, the new water-based glue does not adhere or stick to the old solvent based glue. Therefore, before the new glue can be used, the surfaces on the screen printing frame on which the new glue is to be applied must be cleaned of the old glue. In some production environments, there are tens of thousands of screen printing frames used in production. Therefore, the task of cleaning the old glue from so many screens in daunting. Commercially available machinery is often used to clean screen printing frames. However such cleaning machinery is very expensive and is normally designed to clean large wooden screen printing frames. Thus, such machinery is less effective at cleaning smaller metal frames. Further, such machinery has additional disadvantages of using harsh chemicals in the cleaning process; and often, such chemicals require special handling and disposal.
To facilitate the adherence of a silk screen fabric, the surfaces of the screen printing frame to which the silk screen fabric is applied are often sandblasted to provide a textured surface. Further, to provide a more durable textured surface, the sandblasted surfaces are nickel plated. The old glue can physically be removed by mechanical methods such as sanding, brushing or grinding; however, all of those processes often damage or destroy the nickel plated finish. Further, the metal screen printing frames can be cleaned by using a manual scraper; however, such manual scraping is often performed inconsistently which results in damage to the nickel plated finish of the screen printing frame. In addition, the prospect of cleaning a large number of silk screen printing frames by a manual process is unacceptable.
Consequently, there is a need for a screen printing frame cleaning device and process that does not have the limitations and disadvantages of known devices and processes.
The present invention provides a simple, reliable, inexpensive, easy to use scrapping machine and a process for cleaning glue or adhesive from surfaces of screen printing frames. In addition, the scraping machine of the present invention cleans the frames relatively quickly with a minimum of labor. The scraping machine of the present invention is especially useful when a very large number of metal screen printing frames must be cleaned.
According to the principles of the present invention and in accordance with the preferred embodiments, the invention provides a scraping machine for scraping material off of a screen printing frame that includes a base adapted to support a screen printing frame. A first actuator is mounted on the base and has a carriage movable by the first actuator. A scraper blade is mounted on the carriage and contacts the screen printing frame. The scraper blade is moved across the screen printing frame by the first actuator, thereby scraping the material off of the screen printing frame. The scraping machine of the present invention is the only apparatus known to Applicant that can reliably clean thousands of metal frames without damaging the surfaces of the frames.
In one aspect of the invention, the scraping machine includes a scraper vibrator for imparting a vibration to the scraper blade. In a further aspect of the invention, the scraper vibrator is pivotally mounted to the carriage, and an actuator is used to pivot the scraping blade into and out of contact with a surface of the screen printing frame to be scraped.
In another embodiment of the invention, a method is provided of scraping material from a screen printing frame that includes the provision of a scraper blade. Next, a vibratory motion is imparted to the scraper blade with a scraper vibrator; and the vibrating scraper blade is then moved with a first actuator across a surface of the screen printing frame to scrape the material therefrom.
These and other objects and advantages of the present invention will become more readily apparent during the following detailed description taken in conjunction with the drawings herein.
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USPTO Backgrounds
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Produced by Julio Reis, Moises S. Gomes, Julia Neufeld and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
* * * * *
[Illustration: cover]
[Illustration: titlepage]
The World's Great Sermons
VOLUME VI
H. W. BEECHER TO PUNSHON
THE
WORLD'S
GREAT
SERMONS
COMPILED BY
GRENVILLE KLEISER
Formerly of Yale Divinity School Faculty;
Author of "How to Speak
in Public," Etc.
With Assistance from Many of the Foremost
Living Preachers and Other Theologians
INTRODUCTION BY
LEWIS O. BRASTOW, D.D.
Professor Emeritus of Practical Theology
in Yale University
IN TEN VOLUMES
VOLUME VI--H. W. BEECHER TO PUNSHON
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
NEW YORK and LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
_Printed in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
VOLUME VI
Page
H. W. BEECHER (1813-1887).
Immortality 1
CHAPIN (1814-1880).
Nicodemus: The Seeker after Religion 27
STANLEY (1815-1881).
In Memoriam--Thomas Carlyle 51
VAUGHAN (1816-1897).
God Calling to Man 67
NEWMAN HALL (1816-1902).
Christian Victory 85
ROBERTSON (1816-1853).
The Loneliness of Christ 111
HITCHCOCK (1817-1887).
Eternal Atonement 131
KINGSLEY (1819-1875).
The Shaking of the Heavens and the Earth 147
CAIRD (1820-1898).
Religion in Common Life 167
STORRS (1821-1900).
The Permanent Motive in Missionary Work 195
PUNSHON (1824-1881).
Zeal in the Cause of Christ 219
HENRY WARD BEECHER
IMMORTALITY
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
HENRY WARD BEECHER, preacher, orator, lecturer, writer, editor,
and reformer, was born at Litchfield, Connecticut, in 1813. He
was by nature and training a great pulpit orator. Mr. Beecher
kept himself in perfect physical condition for his work. He has
described a course of vocal exercises which he pursued in the open
air for a period of three years. "The drill I underwent," he says,
"produced, not a rhetorical manner, but a flexible instrument, that
accommodated itself readily to every kind of thought and every shape
of feeling."
He had deep sympathy for all men, and this with his intense dramatic
power often carried him into the wildest and most exalted flights
of oratory. Phillips Brooks styled him the greatest preacher in
America, and he is generally regarded as the most highly gifted of
modern preachers. He was fearless, patriotic, clear-headed, witty,
and self-sacrificing. Dr. Wilkinson calls him "the greatest pulpit
orator the world ever saw." He died in 1887.
H. W. BEECHER
1813-1887
IMMORTALITY[1]
[1] From "Plymouth Pulpit Sermons." By permission of the
Congregational Sunday-School and Publishing Society.
_If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most
miserable._--1 Cor. xv., 19.
This is not the declaration of a universal principle: it is
biographical and personal. And yet, there is in it a principle
of prime importance. It is true that Paul and his compeers had
sacrificed everything that was dear to man for the sake of Christ.
Paul had given up the place that he held among his countrymen, and
the things which surely awaited him. He had consented to be an
exile. Loving Palestine and the memory of his fathers, as only a Jew
could love, he found himself an outcast, and despised everywhere
by his own people. And the catalog that he gives of the sufferings
which he felt keenly; which perhaps would not have been felt by a
man less susceptible than he, but which were no less keen in his
case--that catalog shows how much he had given up for Christ. And if
it should turn out that after all he had followed a mere fable, a
myth; that Christ was but a man; that, dying, He had come to an end;
that He stayed dead, and that there was no resurrection, no future,
but only that past through which he waded, and that present in which
he was suffering, then, surely, it would be true that of all men he
was most miserable.
This is the biographical view; but it may be said of all men, in
this respect, that no persons can so ill afford to lose faith of
immortality as those who have had all their affections burnished,
deepened and rendered sensitive by the power of Christianity.
When Christianity has had the education of generation after
generation, and has shaped the style of its manhood, and ordained
the institutions by which its affections have been enlarged and
purified; when, in short, generations of men have been legitimately
the children of Christianity, to take away from them the faith of
immortality would be a cruelty which could have no parallel in the
amount of suffering which it would entail.
It is not necessarily true that men without a hope of Christianity
would have no incitement to virtue--certainly not in the ordinary
way in which it is put to us. Abstractly, it is said that virtue
is its own reward--and it is. If there was enough of it to amount
to anything, it would be a great, an exceeding great, reward; but
where it is a spark; a germ; where it is struggling for its own
existence; where it bears but a few ripe fruits, the reward is
hardly worth the culture. If all that we get is what we have in this
life, it is but little.
Many men are favorably organized and favorably situated; they have
an unyearning content; things seem good enough for them; and they do
not understand why it is that persons should desire immortality and
glory--that is, at first. In general, I think there are few persons
that live long in life who do not, sooner or later, come to a point
in which they wake up to the consciousness of a need of this kind.
It is not always true in the case of persons of refined moral and
intellectual culture that they are conscious of needing a belief in
immortality; but a belief in immortality is the unavoidable result
and the indispensable requirement of all true manhood. When you
look at growth, not in each particular case, but largely, as it
develops itself in communities; when you consider it, not only in a
single individual, but in whole communities, as they develop from
childhood to manhood, or from barbarism through semi-civilization to
civilization and refinement, the law of development is always away
from animal life and its sustaining appetites and passions toward
the moral and the intellectual. That is the direction in which
unfolding takes place.
The naturalist watches the insect, and studies all the stages
through which it goes, till it becomes a perfect insect. We look at
a seed, and see how it develops stem and leaf and blossom all the
way through, till we find out what the plant is in its final and
perfect condition. And in studying men to know what is the perfect
condition of manhood, looking at them from the beginning to the end,
which way does manhood lie, in the direction of the bodily appetites
and senses, or in the other direction?
Men come into life perfect animals. There is very little that
culture does in that direction, giving them a little more or a
little less use of themselves, as the case may be. That which we
mean when we speak of developing manhood in a child, is something
more than the development of symmetry of form and power of physical
organization. When we speak of the civilization and refinement
of the race at large, development does not mean bodily power or
bodily skill: it means reason; moral sense; imagination; profounder
affection; subtler, purer, sweeter domestic relations. Manhood
grows away from bodily conditions, without ever leaving them. The
body becomes a socket, and the soul is a lamp in it. And if you
look narrowly at what we mean by growth in mankind, whether it be
applied to the individual or to the race, you will find that we mean
an unfolding which takes a man away from the material toward that
which is subtler, more spiritual, existing outside of the ordinary
senses, tho acting from them, as something better than bone and
muscle, nerve and tissue.
All development, then, is from the animal toward the spiritual and
the invisible. This is the public sentiment of mankind even in the
lower forms of society. What are considered heroic traits, the
things which bring admiration to men, if narrowly examined will
be found to be not the things which belong to men as brutes--tho
these things may be employed by them as instruments. Even in the
cases of such men as Samson and Hercules, who were rude, brute
men, it was not their strength that drew admiration to them: it
was their heroism; it was their patriotism; it was that which they
did by their strength for their kind, and not for themselves. And
in lower societies it is courage, it is self-devotion, it is the
want of fear, it is the higher form of animal life, that attracts
admiration. But as we develop out of barbarous into civilized
conditions, we admire men, not because they can lift so much,
or throw such heavy weights, or endure such hardships of body.
Admiration on these accounts has its place; but higher than these is
the power of thought, the power of planning, the power of executing,
the power of living at one point so as to comprehend in the effects
produced all circuits of time in the future. Thought-power;
emotion; moral sense; justice; equity in all its forms; higher
manhood, and its branches, which stretch up into the atmosphere
and reach nearest to the sun--these are something other than those
qualities which develop earliest, and are lowest--nearest to the
ground.
True manhood, then, has its ripeness in the higher faculties.
Without disdaining the companionship of the body the manhood of man
grows away from it--in another direction. There is not simply the
ripening of the physical that is in man; but there is, by means of
the physical, the ripening of the intellectual, the emotional, the
moral, the esthetic life, as well as the whole spiritual nature.
When reason and moral sense are developed, there will inevitably
spring up within a man an element the value of which consists in
perpetuating things--in their continuance. It is spontaneous and
universal for one to seek to perpetuate, to extend life. I do not
mean by this that one wants to live a great while; but men are
perpetually under the unconscious influence of this in their nature:
the attempt to give form and permanence to that which is best in
their manhood. We build, to be sure, primarily, to cover ourselves
from the elements; but we very soon cease to build for that only:
we not merely build for protection from cold and from wet, but we
build for gratification. We build to gratify the sense of beauty,
the sense of convenience, and the sense of love. And we go on beyond
that: we build in order that we may send down to those who are to
come after us a memorial of our embodied, incarnated thoughts. In
other words, when men build, they seek, by incarnation, to render
things permanent which have existed only as thoughts or transient
emotions. There is a tendency to incarnate the fugitive elements in
men, and give them permanence. And the element of continuing is one
of the elements which belong to the higher manhood.
This throws light upon the material growths of society. Men strive
to perpetuate thoughts and feelings which are evanescent unless they
are born into matter. Men build things for duration. There is this
unconscious following out of things to make them last; to give them
long periods. And it opens up to men the sense of their augmented
being. Largeness of being is indissolubly connected with extended
time of being.
We admire the pyramids, not because they have been associated with
so many histories, but because they have stood so many ages. We
admire old trees, not because so many tribes have sat under them,
nor because so many events have taken place beneath them, but simply
because they have age with them. For there are mute, inexplicable
feelings connected with the mere extension of time which belong to
the higher development of manhood in us. Frangible things are of
less value than things that are infrangible. Things that last are of
more value, on the same plane, than their congeners are that do not
last.
Who can equal the pictures which are painted on the panes of glass
in our winter rooms? Where can you find a Lambineau, or any painter
who can give a mountain scenery such as we have for nothing, every
morning, when we wake up, and such as the sun outside, or the stove
inside, destroys before ten o'clock? These pictures are not valued
as are those which are painted on canvas, and which are not half
so good; but the element of enduring is with the latter, while the
element of evanescence is with the former. Tho the pictures on the
pane are finer than those on the canvas, they lack the element of
time, on which value so largely depends. The soul craves, hungers
for, this quality of continuance as an element for measuring the
value of things. This element of time is somewhat felt in the
earlier conditions of humanity; but it grows with the development of
men, and attaches itself to every part of human life.
I never saw a diamond that was so beautiful as are the dew-drops
which I see on my lawn in summer. What is the difference between a
dew-drop and a diamond? One goes in a moment; it flashes and dies;
but the other endures; and its value consists in its endurance.
There are hundreds of things which are as beautiful as a diamond in
their moment; but the endurance of the diamond is measured by ages,
and not by moments, and so carries on the value.
I do not draw these reasonings very close as yet--I do not desire to
put too much emphasis upon them; but I think you will see that there
is a drift in them, and that they will bear, at last, an important
relation to this question of immortality. The element of manhood
carries with it a very powerful sense of the value of existence.
The desire to live is a blind instinct. A happy experience brings
to this instinct many auxiliaries--the expectation of pleasure; the
wish to complete unfinished things; the clinging affection to those
that have excited love; and habits of enterprise.
Besides all these, is a development of the sense of value in simply
being. We have said that in external matters the continuity of being
is an element of value in the judgment which mankind at large have
put upon things. We say that the same is true in respect to the
inward existence--to manhood itself. The savage cares very little
for life. He lives for to-day; and in every to-day he lives for
the hour. Time is of the least importance to him. The barbarian
differs from the savage in this: that he lives to-day for to-morrow,
perhaps, but not for next year. The semi-civilized man lives for
next year; but only for the year, or for years. The civilized man
begins to live in the present for the future. And the Christian
civilized man begins to live with a sense of the forever.
The extension of the sense of time goes on with the development of
manhood in men. The sweet, the tender, the loving, the thoughtful,
the intellectual, live not simply with a sense of life as a
pleasure-bringer: there grows up in them, with their development
toward manhood, an intrinsic sense of the value of being itself.
The soul knows the cargo that it carries. It knows that that cargo
is destined to immortality. As men are conscious of seeing more,
of thinking more, and of feeling more; as thought becomes more
precious; as emotion becomes deeper and more valuable; so men more
and more feel that they cannot afford to have such things go to
waste.
A man who takes in his hands a lump of mud and molds it to some
pleasing form, cares but little when, dropping it, he sees it
flatten on the ground. The man that grinds a crystal, and sees it
broken, thinks of it for a moment, perhaps, with regret, but soon
forgets it. No one, however, can see an organized thing, having its
uses, and indicating exquisite skill and long experience, dashed
to pieces without pain. But what is anything that is organized in
life worth in comparison with the soul of a man? And if that soul
be pure, and sweet, and deep, and noble, and active, and fruitful,
who can, without a pang, look at it, and think that it must in an
instant go to nothing, dissolving again as an icicle from a roof in
the spring?
The feeling is not the fruit of mere reflection. It is instinctive.
It is universal. Men do not cultivate it on purpose. They cannot
help having it. No man of moral culture can regard human life as
without immortality except with profound melancholy. No man that is
susceptible to reflectiveness can bear to think of man's existence
here without the bright background of another life.
The sense of the continuity of existence is grounded in men, and
grows with their refinement and development and strength, and gives
color to their life, and change to their opinions, it may be.
To men who have developed moral sense and intellectual culture,
every element of value in life is made precious by some conscious or
some unconscious element of time and continuance. It is the nature
of our better faculties, in their better states, to place a man in
such relations to everything that is most precious to him, that
it gives him pleasure in the proportion in which it seems to be
continuous and permanent, and gives him pain in the proportion in
which it seems to be evanescent and perishing.
We are building a crystal character with much pain and self-denial;
and it is to be built as bubbles are blown? What is finer in
line than the bubble? What is more airy? Where are pictures more
exquisite, where are colors more tender and rich and beautiful--and
where is there anything that is born so near to its end as a
bubble? Is the character which we are building with so much pain
and suffering and patience, with so much burden of conscience, and
with so much aspiration; is the character which we are forming in
the invisible realm of the soul--is that but a bubble? Is that only
a thin film which reflects the transient experiences of a life of
joy or sadness, and goes out? Then, what is life worth? If I had no
function but that of a pismire; if I were a beetle that rolled in
the dirt, and yet were clothed with a power of reflection, and knew
what the depths of feeling were, what intense emotions were, and
what struggling and yearning were; if, being a mere insect, I had
all the works in the intellect of man, and all the aspiration that
goes with spiritual elements; if I were but a leaf-cutter, a bug in
the soil, or about the same thing on a little larger pattern, and
were to be blotted out at death, what would be the use of my trying
to grow? If by refining and whetting our faculties they become more
susceptible to pleasure, they become equally susceptible to pain.
And in this great, grinding, groaning world, pain is altogether out
of proportion to pleasure, in an exquisite temperament. The finer
men are the better they are, if they are forever; but the finer men
are the worse they are if they are only for a day; for they have a
disproportion of sensibility to suffering over and above present
remuneration and conscious enjoyment.
Men feel an intrinsic sense of personality and personal worth. They
have self-esteem, which is the only central, spinal, manly faculty
which gives them a sense of personal identity and personal value,
and which is an auxiliary counselor of conscience itself. This sense
of "I" demands something more than a short round of physical life,
to be followed by extinction. I am too valuable to perish so; and
every step in life has been training me in the direction of greater
value. As men grow broader, and stronger, and finer, and deeper, and
sweeter, they become more and more conscious of the intrinsic value
of their being, and demand for themselves a harbor in order that
they may not be wrecked or foundered.
Nor do I think that there can be found, to any considerable extent,
or developed, friendships which shall not, with all their strength
and with all their depth, resist the conception of dissolution or
of fading. For friendships are not casual likings. Friendships are
not merely the interchange of good nature, and the ordinary friendly
offices of good neighborhood. These things are friendly, but they
do not comprise friendship. Two trees may grow contiguous, and throw
their shade one over upon the other; but they never touch nor help
each other; and their roots quarrel for the food that is in the
ground. But two vines, growing over a porch, meet each other, and
twine together, and twist fiber into fiber and stem into stem, and
take shape from each other, and are substantially one. And such are
friendships. Now, one cannot have his life divided as two trees
are. He cannot enter into partnership with others, and be conscious
that that partnership shall be but for an hour or for a moment. The
sanctity, the honor, the exaltation, the exhilaration of a true and
manly friendship lies in the thought of its continuance. There can
be no deep friendship which does not sign for endlessness.
Still more is this true of love: not that rudimentary form
which seeks lower fruitions, and which is often but little more
than passion done up in friendship; but that higher love which
manifests itself chiefly in the spiritual realm; that love which
is not forever asking, but forever giving; that love which is not
centripetal, but centrifugal; that love which, like a mother's,
gives for the pleasure of giving; that love which reveres; that love
which looks up; that love which seeks to exalt its object by doing
what is pleasant and noble; that love which demands continuance,
elevation, yea, grandeur, it may be, in the thing beloved. How
little will such a love tolerate the idea of evanescence, the
dread of discontinuing! Can such a love do other than yearn for
immortality?
So then, if you take the thought, it is this: that if men develop,
they come under the dominion of higher faculties; and that it is
then their nature to stamp on all their occupations, on their
self-consciousness, on the whole development of their affections,
the need of continuance, of immortality. There are, therefore, in
the growth of the mind itself, as a department of nature, these
elements of conviction. The mind cannot do other than develop in
itself a faith in immortality.
It may be said, and it sometimes is said, that the origin of the
belief of existence out of the body, of spiritual existence, may
be traced directly back to the dreams of the barbarous ages, to
a period when men were so low that they did not recognize the
difference between a dream and a waking reality--to a time when
persons dreamed that their friends came back to them, and waked up
and believed that they had been back. Thus, it is said, began the
thought of continuity of life after death. For my part, I do not
care how it began. The question is not how it started; the question
is, What becomes of it now that it has begun? No matter how it was
born, what purpose is it to serve? What is it adapted to do? How
is it calculated to influence our manhood? In what way shall it be
employed to lead man God-ward? How shall it be used to work most
effectually in the direction of civilization and refinement? It so
fits every human soul, that men will not let it go. They cling to it
with their inward and best nature.
All experiences of human life fall in with this tendency of the
mind. When men look out upon the incoherent and unmannerly course
of things in time, I can understand how, believing in the future,
they may live with patience; but in every age of the world where
the clear light of immortality has not shone, men have mostly been
discouraged, have been generally indifferent to public superiority,
and have taken no interest in things done for the sake of humanity.
Such is the worthlessness of time, to the thought of those that
have no faith in the future, that they have cared for little except
present physical enjoyment. And on the whole, when such men crowd
together, and tribes take the place of individuals, or kingdoms
take the place of tribes, with all their complications in the
working out of their clashing results, they look upon human life,
and feel that the world is not worth living for. Things are so
uncertain, products are in such disproportion to their causes, or
to the expectations of men, that if there is to be nothing but this
life, then, "Eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die," is
not only the philosophy of the epicurean, but the temptation of the
most wise and frugal and self-restraining. The nature of life to a
man who is highly educated requires that he should believe in the
continuity and existence of the myriads that he sees in such a state
of quarreling infelicity and wretchedness in this mortal condition.
The utter futility of the best part of man's life here, the total
bankruptcy of his best endeavors, the worthlessness of his career
from the material standpoint, makes it imperative on him to believe
that he shall have another chance in another sphere of being.
Is it enough to have been born, to have lived till one is of age,
and then to be launched out to founder in mid-ocean? Is it enough
that one should devote the best part of his life to the building
of a character, only to see the fabric which he has constructed
tumbling about his ears? Is this enough in the day of distress
and bankruptcy? Is it enough, in the time when a man's ambitions
are crossed, and the sky is dark, and he can do nothing but stand
amid the ruins of his hopes and expectations? Is not the thought
revolting to every instinct of manhood?
But if there is another life; if all our labor has this value in
it, that while a man is building up his outward estate, if it is
certain that the man himself will live, no matter what becomes of
his property and his reputation, then all his endeavors have endless
scope, and his life becomes redeemable and radiant.
Nowhere else so much as in the realm of grief, I think, is the
question of immortality interpreted. It is true that the first shock
of overwhelming grief sometimes drives faith out of the mind; that
it sometimes staggers the reason; that it sometimes dispossesses
the moral sense of its accustomed health, and leaves the mind in
weakness. As in a fever, the natural eye can see nothing aright,
and things then seem to dance in the air, and take on grotesque
forms, so persons who are bewildered with first sorrow oftentimes
see things amiss. And there is no skepticism which is so deep and
pulseless as that which often takes possession of people in the
first great overmastering surprize and shock of grief. But after
one had recovered a little, and the nerve has come to its wonted
sensibility, the faith of immortality returns. There is that in
every soul which knows what is the strength of life and noble deeds
and aspirations; and therefore there is that in every soul which
calls out for immortality.
I cannot believe, I will not believe, when I walk upon the clod,
that it is my mother that I tread under foot. She that bore me, she
that every year more than gave birth to me out of her own soul's
aspiration--I will not believe that she is dust. Everything within
me revolts at the idea.
Do two persons walk together in an inseparable union, mingling their
brightest and noblest thoughts, striving for the highest ideal, like
flowers that grow by the side of each other, breathing fragrance
each on the other, and shining in beauty each for the other; are
two persons thus twined together and bound together for life, until
in some dark hour one is called and the other is left; and does
the bleeding heart go down to the grave and say, "I return dust to
dust?" Was that dust, then? That trustworthiness; that fidelity;
that frankness of truth; that transparent honesty; that heroism
of love; that disinterestedness; that fitness and exquisiteness
of taste; that fervor of love; that aspiration; that power of
conviction; that piety; that great hope in God--were all these
elements in the soul of the companion that had disappeared but just
so many phenomena of matter? And have they already collapsed and
gone, like last year's flowers struck with frost, back again to the
mold? In the grief of such an hour one will not let go the hope of
resurrection.
Can a parent go back from the grave where he has laid his children
and say, "I shall never see them more?" Even as far back as the dim
twilight in which David lived, he said, "Thou shalt not come to me,
but I shall go to thee"; and is it possible for the parental heart
to stand in our day by the side of the grave, where the children
have been put out of sight, and say, "They neither shall come to me,
nor shall I go to them; they are blossoms that have fallen; they
never shall bring forth fruit"? It is unnatural. It is hideous.
Everything that is in man, every instinct that is best in human
nature repels it.
Is not the human soul, then, itself a witness of the truth of
immortality?
Men say, "You cannot prove it. There is no argument that can
establish it. No man has seen it, and it cannot be substantiated. It
is not a ponderable thing." Men demand that we should prove things
by straight lines; by the alembic; by scales; by analysis; but I
say that there is much in nature which is so high that scales and
rules and alembics cannot touch it. And is not man's soul a part of
nature--the highest part?
I hold that even the materialist may believe in immortality.
For, altho there is a gross kind of materialism, there may be a
materialism which is consistent with a belief in immortality.
Because, on the supposition that the mind is matter, it must be
admitted that it is incomparably superior to any other matter that
we are familiar with. Is there any matter outside of mind that
produces thought and feeling such as we see evolved among men? If
it be the theory that mind is matter, and if the matter of which
the mind is composed be so far above all other kinds of matter in
its fruit and product, is it not on so high a plane as presumably
not to be subject to the lower and coarser forms of examination and
test? I know no reason why cerebral matter may not be eternal. I do
not belong to those who take that material view of the mind; but I
do not know that immortality is inconsistent even with materialism;
and how much more easily may it be reconciled to the view of those
who believe in the ineffable character, the imponderable, spiritual
condition, of the soul!
In addition to these arguments, when we come to the Word of God, we
hear the voices of those who sang and chanted in the past. We hear
the disciple crying out, "Christ is risen!" and we hear the apostle
preaching this new truth to mankind. So that now the heavens have
been broken open. The secrets of the other life have been revealed.
And is there not a presumption, following the line of a man's
best manhood, that immortality is true? Does one need to go into
a rigorous logical examination of this subject? Should one stand
jealously at the side of the sepulcher of Christ, and examine this
matter as a policeman examines the certificate of a suspected man,
or as one takes money from the hand of a cheating usurer and goes
out to see if it is gold? Shall one stand at the door from which
issue all the hopes that belong to the best part of man; shall one
look upon that which is demanded by the very nature of his better
manhood, and question it coldly, and tread it under foot?
What do we gain by obliterating this fair vision? Why should not
heaven continue to shine on? Why should we not look into it, and
believe that it is, and that it waits for us? Have we not the
foretokens of it? Is not the analogy of the faculties one that leads
us to believe that there is some such thing? Does not the nature of
every man that is high and noble revolt at flesh and matter? Are
they not rising toward the ineffable? Are not all the intuitions and
affections of men such that, the better they are, the more they have
of things that are manly, the more indispensable it is that they
should have endurance, etherealization, perpetuation?
The heart and flesh cry out for God. They cry out for immortality.
Not only does the Spirit from the heavenly land say to every
toiling, yearning, anxious soul, "Come up hither," but every soul
that is striving upward has in it, if not a vocalized aspiration,
yet a mute yearning--a voice of the soul--that cries out for heaven,
"As the hart panteth after the waterbrooks, so panteth my soul
after thee, O God!"
On such a day as this, then, in a community of moral feeling, how
blest is the truth which comes to us, that we are not as the beasts
that die; that we are as the gods that live! That for which we were
made is immortality; and our journey is rough, straight, sharp,
burdensome, with many tears. Our journey is not to the grave. I
am not growing into old age to be blind, and to be deaf, and to
be rheumatic, and to shrink a miserable <DW36> into the corner,
shaking and tottering and forgetting all that I ever knew. The best
part of me is untouched. The soul; the reason; the moral sense; the
power to think; the power to will; the power to love; the power
to admire purity, and to reach out after it--that is not touched
by time, tho its instrument and means of outer demonstration be
corroded and failing. No physical weakness touches the soul. Only
the body is touched by sickness. And shake that down! Shake it down!
Let it go! For, as the chrysalis bursts open, and the covering
which confines the perfected insect is dropt, that he may come out
into brightness of form and largeness of life, so this body is but
a chrysalis; and when we break through it, we rise on wings by the
attraction of God, and by the propulsion of our own inevitable
desire and need, and are forever with the Lord.
CHAPIN
NICODEMUS: THE SEEKER AFTER RELIGION
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
EDWIN HUBBELL CHAPIN, Universalist divine, was born in Union
Village, Washington County, N. Y., in 1814. He began his very
successful ministry 1837 in Richmond, Va., subsequently he preached
in Charlestown, Mass., from which place he was called to the
pastorate of the Fourth Universalist Church in New York City. His
preaching attracted large congregations, and he was generally
regarded as one of the greatest preachers of this country. He spoke
from a manuscript, using no gesture, but his magnetic personality
never failed to drive his message home. He published numerous
volumes of sermons and lectures. He died in 1880.
CHAPIN
1814-1880
NICODEMUS: THE SEEKER AFTER RELIGION
_There was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of
the Jews: The same came to Jesus by night._--John iii., 1, 2.
Altho we have but few glimpses of Nicodemus in the gospels, he is
a personage of peculiar interest. A Pharisee, and a member of the
great Jewish senate, or Sanhedrin, he shows us that the influence of
Christ was not limited to the poor and the obscure; but that, while
His words and works awoke enmity and fear among the higher classes,
they struck, in the breasts of some of these, a holier chord.
It may not be certain that Nicodemus ever openly confest Christ;
yet, in this chapter, he appears in the attitude of a disciple, and
we find him defending Jesus before the Sanhedrin, and assisting at
His burial. Still, unless the last-mentioned act be considered as
such, we do not discover, in his conduct, that public and decisive
acknowledgment which the Savior required; we do not behold the frank
avowal of Peter, or the intrepidity of Paul. There is an air of
caution and of timidity about him. He carefully feels the ground of
innovation, before he lets go the establishment; and, indeed, he
appears to have taken no step by which he forfeited his caste or
his office. It is difficult, too, to discover the precise purpose
of this visit to Jesus. Perhaps he sought the interview from mixed
motives. A religious earnestness, kindled by the teachings and the
character of Christ, may have blended with speculative curiosity,
and even with the throbbings of political ambition. His coming by
night, too, may have indicated timidity, or he may have chosen that
season as the best time for quiet and uninterrupted discourse. But,
whatever may have been his motives, the position in which we find
him shows, I repeat, that the power of Christ's ministry was felt,
not only by the excitable multitude, but by the more thoughtful and
devout of the Jewish people.
Nicodemus, however, presents a peculiar interest, not only because
he exhibits the influence of Jesus upon the higher orders of his
nation, but because he appears as a seeker after religion, and as
one personally interested in its vital truths. His interview with
the Savior gives occasion for one of the most important passages in
the New Testament. The conversation of Christ, in this instance, is
not uttered in general principles and accommodated to the multitude,
but it is directed to an intelligent and inquiring spirit, in the
calm privacy of the night-time laying bare its very depths, and
craving the application of religion to its own peculiar wants. To
be sure, Nicodemus did not profess this want, but commenced the
conversation with the language of respect, and with suggestion
of more general inquiry. But He who "knew what was in man," had
already penetrated the folds of the ruler's breast, and saw the
real need that had sent him; so, putting by all compliments, and
all secondary issues, He struck at once the conscious chord that
throbbed there, and exclaimed: "Verily, verily, I say unto thee,
except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God!"
These words must have filled Nicodemus with surprize, both from
their sudden heart-searchingness, and as addressing to him a term
which was usually applied to men of very different condition. For
the phrase, "new birth," was a customary one to express the change
through which the Gentile passed in becoming a Jew. But it was
indeed a strange doctrine that he, a son of Abraham, a Pharisee, a
ruler, must be born again, before he could be fit for the Messiah's
kingdom. Therefore, really or affectedly, he misunderstood the
Savior's words, and gave to a phrase, plain enough when applied to
a heathen, the most gross and literal interpretation. But Christ
reiterated the solemn truth assuring him that an inward change,
and an outward profession, a regeneration of the affections and
the will, and a renunciation of pride and fear, by the symbol of
baptism--a new birth of water and of the Spirit--was essential to
true discipleship. And thus, stripping away all the reliances of
formal righteousness, and all the supports of birth and position, in
reply to the earnest question of Nicodemus: "How can these things
be?" the great Teacher proceeded to utter some of the sublimest
doctrines of the gospel.
As I have already said, whether Nicodemus became an avowed follower
of Jesus, or not, is uncertain; but we know that the truths which
he then heard are of everlasting importance, have a personal
application to every man, and appeal to wants in our own souls,
which are as real and as deep as those of the ruler of old.
But while thus Nicodemus exhibits a need of our common humanity,
he especially represents a class who may be called "seekers after
religion," either as being unsettled and inquiring in their spirits,
or as resting upon something which is not religion, but only,
perhaps, a tendency toward it--they are seekers after it, as not
having actually found it. In other words, for this class, religion
has its meaning and its pressure; they think about it, and they
feel its claims, yet they do not thoroughly and mentally know it;
or, like Nicodemus, they rest upon some substitute. Some of these
positions I propose now to illustrate.
I observe, then, in the first place, that some seek religion in
rituals and sacraments. The tendency of the human mind, as to
matters of faith and devotion, has always been to complicate
rather than to simplify, and to associate these with set forms and
symbols. In all ages, men have shrunk from naked communion with God,
from the solitude of an intense spirituality, and have conducted
transactions with the Invisible, through the mediation of ceremony.
But that which, at first, was an expression of the individual soul,
has grown into a fixed and consecrated rite. Gestures and modes of
worship, suggested by the occasion, have been repeated in usage, and
grown venerable with age, until they have become identified with
religion itself. They have been exalted into mystic vehicles of
grace, have been considered as possessing virtue in themselves, and
as constituting an awful paraphernalia, through which, alone, God
will deign to communicate with man, and through which man may even
propitiate and move God. Christianity has not escaped this tendency;
and, even now, there are many with whom the sacraments are something
more than expressive signs and holy suggestions, and with whom the
position of an altar, the shape of a vestment, and the form of a
church are among the essentials of religion. With such, baptism
speaks, not merely to the eye of an inward washing, but it is of
itself a regenerative process. In their view, the communion bread
is not simply a representation of the broken body of the Redeemer;
but is itself so sacred, so identical with that body, that they must
receive it by a special posture, and upon a particular part of the
hand. As a matter of course, to such, religion must appear eminently
conservative and retrospective; the genius of the established and
the past, rather than of the reformatory and the future. Cherishing
the minutest fibers of these ancient rites, they chiefly venerate
the men who authenticate them, and the soil out of which they grow.
With them, the fluent spirit of religion became organized, and fixt
into a form, with fast-days and feast-days, with miter and cassock,
and a lineal priesthood, ages ago.
It cannot be said that this method is entirely unfounded. It has its
justification in human nature, if not elsewhere. There are those
who can find peace only in the arms of an hereditary faith: who can
feel the inspiration of worship only among forms that have kindled
worship in others for a thousand years: with whose earliest thoughts
and dearest memories is entwined a ritual and an established
church, so that personal affection and household sanctity, as well
as religious feeling, demand that every great act of life--of joy
or sorrow--should be consecrated, by the familiar sacrament. For
that church, too, their fathers have died in darker times, and
beneath its chancels, sainted mothers molder into dust. All, too,
that can exalt the ideal, or wake the pulses of eloquent emotion,
is connected with such a church. To them it opens a traditional
perspective, the grandest in all history. Behind its altars, sweep
the vestments of centuries of priests, and rises the incense of
centuries of prayer. In its stony niches, stand rows of saints, who
have made human life sublime, and who, through all the passing ages,
look down upon the turmoil of that life with the calm beatitude of
heaven; while its flushed windows still keep the blood-stain of its
own martyrs, plashed against it ere yet it had become an anchored
fact, and while it tossed upon the stormy waves of persecution. I
can understand, then, how an imaginative and reverential mind can
find the truest religious life only in connection with ritual and
sacrament.
I can understand, moreover, the reaction in this direction, which is
taking place at the present day.
It is the retreat of the religious sentiments from the despotism of
an imperious reason. It is the counter-protest of loyal affections
against what is deemed an anarchical tendency. It is the clinging
of men's sympathies to the concrete, alarmed by the irreverent and
analytic methods of science. It is the retirement of faith and
devotion to those cloistered sanctities that shut out the noise of
the populace, and the diversions of the street. It is the reluctance
of taste and imagination at our new and varnished Protestantism,
with its bare walls, its cold services, and its angular churches, of
which one wing, perchance, rests upon a market, and the other upon a
dram-shop. Especially would I not deny the profound spiritual life,
the self-sacrifice, and the beautiful charities which have consisted
at all times, and which consist in the present time, with this
ritual and sacramental form of religion.
But when men claim that this alone is the genuine form--that
these are essentials of the only true Church--then I deny that
claim. If it fills some wants of our nature, it repudiates others
equally authentic. If one class of minds find peace only under
its consecrated shadows, others find no satisfaction but in the
discipline of a spontaneous devotion, and the exercise of an
individual reason. If it suffices for men like Borromeo or Newman,
it does not suffice for men like George Fox or Channing; and the
religion of these is as evident, in their simple spirituality, as
those in their mystic symbolism. When it sneers at the Puritan, then
I must vindicate that rugged independence of soul, that faithfulness
of the individual conscience, that sense of the divine sovereignty,
which could kneel at no man's altar, and to God alone; which
sacrificed all things for the right, but yielded not a hair to the
wrong; which could find no medicine for the spirit in sacraments,
but only in the solitude of the inner life; and which has, under
God, wrought out this noble consummation of modern times, whereby
others may plant their vine of ritual under the broad heaven of
toleration, and have liberty to sneer. When the ritualist deprecates
the ultraism and irreverence of the anti-formalist, I must urge
the tendency of his own principles to mummery and absolutism. And,
finally, when he falls back upon tradition, I must fall back upon
the Bible. The spirit of the New Testament is not that of rituals
or sacraments; and the universal sentiments of the Old are not. The
prophet Isaiah, who exclaims: "Bring no more vain oblations; incense
is an abomination unto me; your new moons, and your appointed
feasts, my soul hateth.... Wash you, make you clean ... cease to
do evil, learn to do well!" joins with the apostle, who says that
Christ "blotted out the handwriting of ordinances ... nailing it to
his cross," and that no man should judge us in meat or drink, or
times, or seasons. And surely, there is no argument for forms or
places in those Divine Words, which declare that "God is a Spirit,
and they who worship him, must worship him in spirit and in truth."
We cannot deny, then, that pure religion may consist with rituals
and sacraments; we cannot deny that it may exist without these.
But I insist upon this point: that the sacrament, the ritual, is
not, itself, religion. It may be a beautiful sign--it may be a
quick suggestion--it may be a medium of spiritual influence; but,
alone, it cannot take the place of inward, personal piety, of right
affections and an obedient will. No punctilious form can stand
substitute for a vigilant conscience; no posture of devotion can
supply the place of living deeds; no ascetic mortification can
atone for guilt; no auricular confession can speak, instead of
the breathings of repentance, in the ear of God, and out from the
depths of the solitary soul. He who relies upon these forms, and
finds sanctity only in them, may be sincere, may be serious about
religion, but as yet he is only a seeker; and, speaking to his heart
with all-penetrating meaning, comes to him the decree: "Ye must be
born again."
Again; there is a class who seek religion in philosophy. They
believe in God by a course of reasoning. They believe in
immortality, because it is a conclusion riveted in their minds by
the iron links of induction. They pray, or not, according as it
seems logical to do so. They would be good, because goodness is
useful.
But every proposition upon which they act, must first be strained
through the alembic of the intellect, and must stand out in the
clear definition of science. They verify and build up their
religion with callipers and dissecting-knife. It is a system of
digestion and pneumatology. They find an organ for veneration, and
another for conscientiousness, and therefore conclude that religion
has a legitimate place in the harmony of human character. But all
must be calm and balanced. They dare not trust the feelings and give
but little scope to enthusiasm. Sometimes, indeed, they rise to
eloquence in expatiating upon the truths of natural theology, and of
"the elder Scripture"; tho they believe in Christ also, because He
seems well authenticated as an historical fact. In short, such men
are religious like Cicero, or Seneca, with some modification from
modern science and from the Sermon on the Mount.
Now there is a close alliance between true philosophy and true
religion. That the New Testament is eminently free from fanaticism,
and makes no appeal to mere credulity, any one will see who
examines. That it is rational and sober, constitutes one of its
great internal evidences. A Christian philosopher is no anomaly,
but a beautiful expression of the essential harmony of all truth.
Knowledge and piety burn and brighten with an undivided flame.
Revelation and science are continually interpreting one another,
while every day the material universe is unfolding a more spiritual
significance, and indicating its subservience to a spiritual end.
But, after all, in order to be religious, it is not necessary that
a man should be a philosopher, and it is certain that often he is
a philosopher without being religious. Religion and philosophy
may coalesce, but they are two different spheres. Philosophy is
out-looking and speculative; religion is inner and vital. In the
scheme of philosophy, religion is reasoned out as a consequence,
and adopted as an appendage to character. In the true scheme, it
is the central germ of our being, the controlling force of life.
The religion of philosophy consists of right views of things, and a
prudential schooling of the passions. True religion consists in a
right state of the affections, and a renunciation of self. In the
one case, religion may "play round the head, but come not near the
heart"; in the other, it breaks up the great deep of conscience,
and pours an intense light upon the springs of motive. Philosophy
contains the idea of intellectual rectitude; religion, of moral
obedience. Philosophy speaks of virtue; religion, of holiness.
Philosophy rests upon development; religion requires regeneration.
In short, we make an every-day distinction between the two which is
far more significant than any verbal contrast. It is the one, rather
than the other, that we apply, in the profounder experiences of our
moral nature, in the consciousness of sin and in the overwhelming
calamities of life. The one pours a purifying, healing, uplifting
power into the homes of human suffering, and into the hearts of the
ignorant and the poor, that the other has not to bestow. Philosophy
is well under all circumstances; but it is not the most inner
element of our humanity. Religion, in its humility, penitence, and
faith--at the foot of the cross, and by the open sepulcher--rejoices
in a direct and practical vision, to which philosophy, with its
encyclopedia and telescope, cannot attain.
Under this head, too, may be ranked a class of men who, tho they
may not be exactly philosophers, fall into the same conception
of religion, as a matter of the intellect--as the possession of
correct views--rather than a profound moral life. They estimate men
according to what they believe, and attribute the same sanctity to
the creed that others attribute to the ritual. And as religion, in
their conception of it, consists in a series of correct opinions,
the great work should be an endeavor to make men think right. So the
pulpit should be an arsenal of controversial forces, incessantly
playing upon the ramparts of dogmatic error, with the artillery of
dogmatic truth, and forever hammering the same doctrinal monotony
upon the anvils of logic and of textual interpretation. They are
satisfied if some favorite tenet is proved to a demonstration, and
go forth rejoicing in the superiority of their "views," without
asking if saving love has melted and transfigured their own hearts,
or whether personal sin may not canker in their souls, if hereditary
guilt is not there. Now, it is true that great principles lie at the
foundation of all practical life, and the more elevated and clear
our views, the more effectual are the motives to holiness and love.
But it matters little to what pole of doctrine the intellect swings,
if the heart hangs unpenetrated and untouched. It matters little to
what opinions in theology the pulpit has made converts, if all its
mighty truths have not heaved the moral nature of the hearer--if
it has not shot into the individual soul, like an arrow, the keen
conviction: "I must be born again!"
Once again: there are those who seek religion in a routine of
outward and commendable deeds--in mere morality. With such, the
great sum of life is to be sober, chaste, humane; laying particular
stress upon the business virtues, honesty, industry, and prudence.
In their idea, that man is a religious man who is an upright dealer,
an orderly citizen, a good neighbor, and a charitable giver. To be
religious, means to do good, to keep your promises, and mind your
own business. They tell us that benevolence is the richest offering,
and that the truest worship is in the workshop and the field--that
a man prays when he drives a nail or plows a furrow, and that he
expresses the best thanksgiving when he enjoys what he has got, and
is content if he gets no more.
Now, the world is not so bad that there is not a good deal of this
kind of religion in it. It would be unjust to deny that many golden
threads of integrity wind through the fabric of labor; that there
is a strong nerve of rectitude holding together the transactions
of daily life, and a wealth of spontaneous kindness enriching its
darker and more terrible scenes.
But, after all, these easy sympathies, and these prudential virtues,
lack the radicalness of true religion. Religion cannot exist without
morality; but there is a formal morality which exists without
religion. I say, a formal morality; for essential morality and
essential religion are as inseparable as the sap and the fruit.
Nor is morality a mere segment of religion. It is one-half of it.
Nay, when we get at absolute definitions, the two terms may be
used interchangeably; for then we consider religion presenting its
earthly and social phase, and we consider morality with its axis
turned heavenward. But, in the case of these outside virtues, which
are so common, we behold only one-half of religion, and that is its
earthly and social form; and even this lacks the root and sanction
of true morality. For the difference between the morality of a
religious man and that of another, consists in this: with the one,
morality bears the sanction of an absolute law, and God is at its
center. It is wrought out by discipline, and maintained at all cost.
With the other, it is an affair of temperament, and education, and
social position. He has received it as a custom, and adopted it as
a policy; or he acts upon it as an impulse. With the one, it is
a matter of profit and loss, or a fitful whim of sentiment. With
the other, it is the voice of a divine oracle within, that must be
obeyed; it is the consecrated method of duty, and the inspiration of
prayer. Now, to say that it makes no difference about the motive of
an act, so long as the act itself is good, indicates that very lack
of right feeling and right perception, which confounds the formal
morality of the world with religion. For, in the distinctions of the
Christian system, the motive makes the deed good or bad; makes the
two mites richer than all the rest of the money in the treasury;
makes the man who hates his brother a murderer. The good action may
bless others, but if I do not perform it from a right motive, it
does not bless me; and the essential peculiarity of religion is,
that it regards inward development, individual purity, personal
holiness--so that one essential excellence of the good deed consists
in its effect upon the agent--consists in the sinews which it lends
to his moral power, and the quantity it adds to his spiritual life.
When, from a right motive, with effort and sacrifice, I help a
weak and poor man, I enrich my individual and spiritual being. If I
bestow from a mere gush of feeling, I receive no permanent spiritual
benefit; if from a bad motive, I impoverish my own heart. Acts,
then, which appear the same thing in form, differ widely, considered
in the religious bearings. There is the morality of impulse, the
morality of selfishness, and the morality of principle, or religious
morality. The motive of the first-named, we obey instantaneously,
and it may do good, just as we draw our hands from the flame, and
thereby obey a law of our physical nature, tho we act without any
consideration of that law. A great deal of the morality in the world
is of this kind.
It may do good, but has no reference to the law of rectitude. It is
impulsive, and, therefore, does not indicate a steadfast virtue,
or a deep religious life. For the very impulsiveness that leads to
the gratification of the sympathies, leads to the gratification
of the appetites, and thus we often find generous and benevolent
characteristics mixed with vicious conduct. Then, as I have said,
there is the morality of selfishness. In this instance, I may
perform many good actions from sheer calculation of material profit.
I may be benevolent, because it will increase my reputation for
philanthropy. I may be honest, because "honesty is the best policy."
But is this the highest, the religious sanction of morality? No;
the morality of the religious man is the morality of principle.
The motive in his case is not "I will," or "I had better," but "I
ought." He recognizes morality as a law, impersonal, overmastering
the dictates of mere self, and holding all impulses in subservience
to the highest good. The morality of impulse is uncertain. The
morality of policy is mean and selfish. The morality of religion is
loyal, disinterested, self-sacrificing. It acts from faith in God,
and with reference to God.
But another trait separates the religious from the merely formal
moralist. It consists in the fact that with him, "morality," as
we commonly employ the term, is not all. Piety has its place. His
affections not only flow earthward, but turn heavenward. He not
only loves his neighbor as himself, but he loves the Lord, his
God. He not only visits the widows and the fatherless in their
affliction, but he keeps himself unspotted from the world. With
him, toil is prayer, and contentment is thanksgiving, because he
infuses into them a spirit of devotion, which he has cultivated by
more solitary and special acts. With him it is a good thing to live
honestly, industriously, soberly; but all life is not outward, is
not in traffic and labor, and meat and drink. There is an inward
world, to which his eyes are often introverted--a world of spiritual
experience, of great realities, and everlasting sanctions--a
world behind the veil--a holy of holies in his soul, where rests
the Shekinah of God's more immediate presence; yea, where he meets
God face to face. And it is this that directs his public conduct.
The orderly and beautiful method of his life is not the huddled
chance-work of good impulses, is not the arithmetic of selfishness;
but it is a serene and steady plan of being projected from the
communion of the oratory, and the meditation of the closet.
Again, I say, let us not depreciate morality. Let us condemn that
ostentatious piety which lifts up holy hands to God, but never
stretches them out to help man; which anoints its head with the oil
of sanctity, but will not defile its robes with the blood of the
abused, or the contact of the guilty; which is loud in profession
and poor in performance; which makes long prayers, but devours
widow's houses. Let us condemn this, but remember that this is
not real religion, only its form; as often, the kind deed, the
honest method, is not true morality, only its form. Of both these
departments of action let it be said: that these we have done, and
not left the other undone. Let us recognize the perfect harmony,
nay, the identity of religion and morality, in that One who came
from the solitary conflict of the desert, to go about doing good,
and who descended, from the night prayer on the mountain, to walk
and calm the troubled waves of the sea.
But those who rest in a mere routine of kind and prudential deeds
need the deeper life and the inner perception which detects the
meaning and gives the sanction to those deeds. Such need the vital
germ of morality--the changed heart, the new birth.
And as I have spoken of a subordinate yet somewhat distinct class
who may be ranked under the general head of seekers after religion
in philosophy, let me here briefly allude to some with whom religion
is a matter of mere sentiment and good feeling. Such are easily
moved by the great doctrines of the New Testament. They are affected
by the sermon; they have gushes of devout emotion during the prayer.
But with them, religion is not a deep and steady pulse of divine
life. Prayer is not a protracted aspiration--is not a habit. They
feel well towards God, because they consider Him a good-natured,
complacent being; but they do not meditate upon the majesty of His
nature, upon His justice, and His holiness.
From the doctrine of immortality they draw consolation, but not
sanctity. They regard it as a good time coming, but it furnishes
them with no personal and stringent applications for the present.
They need a more solemn and penetrating vision; a profounder
experience in the soul. They need to be born again.
Then, again, there are those who may be called amateurs in religion.
That is they are curious about religious things. They like to
speculate about it, to argue upon its doctrines and to broach or
examine new theories. They go about from sect to sect, and from
church to church, tasting what is novel in the reasoning, or
pleasing in the manner of the preacher; in one place to-day to
hear an orator; in another to-morrow to hear a latter-day saint;
it is all the same thing to them. All they want with religion is
entertainment and excitement. They are Athenians, ever seeking some
new thing. They smack at a fresh heresy as if they were opening a
box of figs, and are as delighted with a controversy, as a boy with
a sham-fight. They have no fixt place in the Church universal. They
are liberalists, without any serious convictions, and cosmopolites
without any home affections. In fact, to them religion is a
sham-fight--a matter of spectacle and zest--not a personal interest,
or an inward life. They would seek Jesus by night, because they hope
to learn something wonderful or new, and would be started to hear
His solemn words tingling in their hearts: "Ye must be born again!"
Nay, my friends, would not these solemn words startle many of us?
It may be, we have never made any inquiry concerning religion--have
never even come to Jesus, as it were, by night. Such, with their
barks of being drifting down the stream of time, have never guessed
the meaning of their voyage, or reckoned their course; nay, perhaps
they live as tho religion were a fable, as tho earth were our
permanent abiding-place, and heaven a dream. If such there are, they
have not even listened to the Savior's words. But there are others
among us perhaps, who are interested in the subject of religion,
who are in some way or another engaged in it; but who are restless
seekers after it, rather than actual possessors of it; who are
resting upon insufficient substitutes for it. And I ask, would not
these words breaking forth from the lips of Jesus, startle us in our
ritualism, our philosophy, our outside morality, our sentimentalism,
or our mere curiosity? And do they not speak to us? Are they not as
true now as when they struck upon the shivering ear of Nicodemus? Do
they not make us feel as intensely our obligation and our religious
wants, as he might have felt there, with the wind flitting by him as
tho the Holy Spirit were touching him with its appeal, and with the
calm gaze of the Savior looking into his heart? Do they not demand
of us, resting here awhile from the cares and labors of the world,
something more than mere conformity, or intellectual belief, or
formal deeds? Do they not demand a new and better spirit, a personal
apprehension of the religious life, a breaking up and regeneration
of our moral nature, a change of heart?
STANLEY
IN MEMORIAM--THOMAS CARLYLE
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, the English scholar and divine, was born
1815 at Alderley, of which his father was rector. He was educated
under Dr. Arnold at Rugby and in 1834 began a brilliant career at
Oxford. Having been ordained priest in 1843 he was made Canon of
Canterbury in 1851 and Dean of Westminster in 1864. At this date
began his career as an ethical preacher. His pulpit became the means
of reconciling many to the English Church because of its broad and
sympathetic feeling of Christian brotherhood. All of his discourses
are marked by a refined literary culture and a catholicity of
spirit. Stanley's most famous sermons are those in which he
celebrates the life and work of many illustrious men who had passed
away during his lifetime. He died in 1881.
STANLEY
1815-1881
IN MEMORIAM--THOMAS CARLYLE
_The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed
in his field._--Matt. xiii., 24.
The gospel of this day starts with a comparison of the kingdom
of heaven to a sower. It is the same as that with which the more
celebrated parable begins, "A sower went forth to sow." They both
fix our minds on the manner in which God's kingdom--the kingdom of
truth, beauty and goodness--is carried on in the world. The kingdom
of all that is good is fostered, not so much by direct and immediate
plantation or grafting or building or formations of any kind, but
rather by the sowing of good seed, which, in time, shall grow up and
furnish a rich harvest.
It is so with regard to the truths of the Bible. They are sown
in the world; the good which grows up after them is never, in
outward form, like the truth which came from the actual source.
Institutions spring up. They may derive their vitality from the corn
and wheat which sink into the ground; but they cannot be the very
thing itself. There is not a single form, or a single doctrine of
Christendom, of which the outward shape is not different, in some
way, from the principle of life which gave it birth.
There is only one instance of a ready-made scholastic doctrine in
the whole Bible, and that has been long known to be spurious. It is
not the verse of the three witnesses, but the parable of the Good
Shepherd, the poetry of the Prodigal Son, the pathetic story of the
Crucifixion, that have been the true seeds of the Christian life. In
this way it is that the divine origin of these truths proves itself.
The bright and tender words can never grow old, because they are not
flowers cut and dried, but seeds and roots, which are capable of
bearing a thousand applications.
Again, this is the ground of our looking forward with a hope, which
nothing can extinguish, toward the transformation, the renewal of
the human life, for a moment perishing, to reappear, we trust, in
some future world, instinct with the capacities for good or evil
with which it was endowed, or which it has acquired in the life
that now is. The seminal form within the deeps of that little chaos
sleeps, which will, we trust, in the almighty providence of God,
restore that chaos of decayed and broken powers into conditions more
elevated than now we can dream of.
Again, characters appear in the world which have a vivifying and
regenerating effect, not so much for the sake of what they teach
us, as for the sake of showing us how to think and how to act.
What Socrates taught, concerning man and the universe, has long
since passed away; but what he taught of the method and process of
pursuing truth--the inquiry, the cross-examination, the sifting of
what we do know from what we do not know--this is the foundation
of the good seed of European philosophy for all time. What St.
Paul taught concerning circumcision and election or grace is among
the things hard to be understood, which the unlearned and the
unstable may wrest to their own destruction, or, having served their
generation, may be laid asleep; but what he taught of the mode and
manner of arriving at divine truth, when he showed how "the letter
killeth and the spirit maketh alive"; when he set forth how charity
is the bond of all perfectness; when he showed how all men are
acceptable to God by fulfilling, each in his vocation, whether Jew
or Gentile, whether slave or free, the commandments of God--he laid
the true foundation of Christian faith; he planted in the heart of
man the seed, the good seed, of Christian liberty and Christian
duty, to bear fruit again and again amidst the many relapses and
eclipses of Christendom. When Luther dinned into the ears of his
generation the formula of transubstantiation and of justification
by faith only, this was doomed to perish and "wax old as doth a
garment"; but his acts, his utterances of indignant conscience
and of far-sighted genius, became the seed of the Reformation,
the hope of the world. When John Wesley rang the changes of the
well-known formula of assurance, it was the word of the ordinary
preacher; but, in his whole career of fifty years of testifying
for holiness and preaching against vice, this was the seed of
more than Methodism--it was the seed of the revival of English
religious zeal. Such seeds, such principles, such infusions, not of
a mechanical system, but of a new light in the world, are not of
every-day occurrence--they are the work of a few, of a gifted few,
and, therefore, are so much the more to be observed when anyone,
who has had it in his power to scatter such seeds right and left,
passes away and leaves us to ask what we have gained, what we can
assimilate, of the peculiar nourishment which his life and teachings
may have left for our advantage. Few will doubt that such an one
was he who yesterday was taken from us. It may be that he will not
be laid, as might have been expected, among the poets and scholars
and sages, whose dust rests within this Abbey; it may be that he
was drawn by an irresistible longing toward the native hills of his
own Dumfriesshire, and that there, beside the bones of his kindred,
beside his father and his mother, and with the silent ministrations
of the Church of Scotland, to which he still clung amidst all the
vicissitudes of his long existence, will repose all that is earthly
of Thomas Carlyle. But he belonged to a wider sphere than Scotland;
for, tho by nationality a Scotchman, he yet was loved and honored
wherever the British language is spoken. Suffer me, then, to say a
few words on the good seed which he has sown in our hearts.
In his teaching, as in all things human, there were, no doubt,
tares, or what some would account tares, which must be left to
after-times to adjust, as best they can, with the pure wheat which
is gathered into the garner of God. There were imitators, parasites,
exaggerators, of the genuine growth, which sometimes almost choked
the original seed and disfigured its usefulness and its value;
but of this we do not speak here. Gather them up into bundles and
burn them. We speak only of him and of his best self. Nor would we
now discourse at length on those brilliant gifts which gave such
a charm to his writings, and such an unexampled splendor to his
conversation. All the world knows how the words and the deeds of
former times became, as Luther describes in the apostle's language,
"not dead things, but living creatures with hands and feet." Every
detail was presented before us, penetrated through and through with
the fire of poetic imagination, which was the more powerful because
it derived its warmth from facts gathered together by the most
untiring industry. Who can ever, from this time forward, picture the
death of Louis XVI, or the flight of the king and queen, without
remembering the thrill of emotion with which, through the "History
of the French Revolution," they became acquainted with him for the
first time? Who can wander among the ruins of St. Edmunds's at
Bury without feeling that they are haunted in every corner by the
lifelike figure of the Abbot Samson, as he is drawn from the musty
chronicle of Jocelyn? Who can read the letters and the speeches of
Cromwell, now made almost intelligible to modern years, without
gratitude to the unwearied zeal which gathered together from every
corner those relics of departed greatness? What German can fail to
acknowledge that, not even in that much-enduring, all-exhausting,
country of research and labor--not even there has there been raised
such a monument to Frederick the Second, called the Great, as by the
simple Scotchman who, for the sake of describing what he considered
the last hero-king, almost made himself, for the time, a soldier and
a statesman?
But, on these and many like topics, this is not the time or place to
speak. It is for us to ask, as I have said, What was the good seed
which he sowed in the field of our hearts, and in what respects we
shall be, or ought to be, the better for the sower having lived and
died among us?
It was customary for those who honored him to speak of him as a
prophet. And, if we take the word in its largest sense, he truly
deserved the name. He was a prophet, in the midst of an untoward
generation: his prophet's mantle was his rough Scotch dialect, and
his own peculiar diction, and his own secluded manner of life. He
was a prophet, most of all, in the emphatic utterance of truth
which no one else, or hardly anyone else, ventured to deliver,
and which, he felt, was a message of good to a world which sorely
needed them. He stood almost alone, among the men of his time, in
opposing a stern, inflexible resistance to the whole drift and
pressure of modern days toward exalting popular opinion and popular
movements as oracles to be valued above the judgment of the few,
above the judgment of the wise, the strong, and the good. Statesmen,
men of letters, preachers, have all bowed their heads under the
yoke of this, as they believed, irresistible domination, under the
impression that the first duty of the chiefest man is, not to lead,
but to be led--the necessary conditions of success, to ascertain
which way the current flows, and to swim with it as far as it will
bear us. To his mind all this proved an insane delusion. That
expression of his, which has become, like many of his expressions,
almost proverbial in the minds of those who like them least, will
express the attitude of his mind, his answer to the question, "What
are the people of England?" "Thirty millions--mostly fools." The
whole framework and fabric of his mind was built up on the belief
that there are not many wise, not many noble minds, not many
destined by the supreme Ruler of the universe to rule their fellows;
that few are chosen; that "strait is the gate and narrow is the
way, and few there be that find it." But, when the few appear, when
the great and good present themselves it is the duty and the wisdom
of the multitude to seek their guidance. A Luther, a Cromwell, a
Goethe, were to him the born kings of men. This was his doctrine of
the work of heroes; this, right or wrong, was the mission of his
life. It is, all things considered, a fact much to be meditated
upon; it is, all things considered, a seed which is worthy of all
cultivation.
There is another feeling of the age to which he also stood
resolutely opposed, or, rather, a feeling of the age which was
resolutely opposed to him, the tendency to divide men into two
hostile camps, parted from each other by watchwords and flags,
and banners and tokens, which we commonly designate by the name
of party. He, perchance, disparaged unduly the usefulness, the
necessity, of party organization or party spirit as a mode of the
secondary machinery by which the great affairs of the world are
carried on; but he was a signal example of a man who not only could
be measured by no party standard, but who absolutely disregarded
it. He never, during the whole course of his long life, took any
active part, never, I believe, voted in those elections which, to
most of us, are the very breath of our nostrils. For its own sake
he cherished whatever was worth preserving; for its own sake he
hailed whatever improvement was worth effecting. He cared not under
what name or by what man the preservation or the improvement was
achieved. This, too, is an ideal which few can attain, which still
fewer attempt; but it is something to have had one man who was
possest by it as a vital and saving truth. And such a man was the
Prophet of Chelsea. But there was that in him which, in spite of his
own contemptuous description of the people, in spite of his scorn
for the struggles of party, endeared him, in no common degree, even
to those who most disagreed with him--even to the humblest classes
of our great community. He was an eminent instance of how a man can
trample on the most cherished idols of the market-place, if yet he
shows that he has in his heart of hearts the joys, the sorrows, the
needs of his toiling, suffering fellow creatures. In this way they
insensibly felt drawn toward that tender, fervid nature which was
weak when they were weak, which burned with indignation when they
suffered wrong. They felt that, if he despised them, it was in love;
if he refused to follow their bidding, it was because he believed
that their bidding was an illusion.
And for that independence of party of which I spoke, there was also
the countervailing source, that no man could for a moment dream that
it arose from indifference to his country. He was no monk; he was
no hermit dwelling apart from the passions which sway the destinies
of a great nation. There is no man living to whom the thrift, the
industry, the valor of his countrymen were so deeply precious. There
is no man living, to whom, had it been possible for him to have
been aroused from the torpor of approaching death, the news would
have been more welcome that the Parliament of England had been in
the last week saved from becoming a byword and reproach and shame
among the nations of the earth. And all this arose out of a frame
of mind which others have shared with him, but which, perhaps, few
have been able to share to the same extent. The earnestness, almost
the very word is his own, the earnestness, the seriousness, with
which he approached the great problems of all human life, have made
us feel them also. The tides of fashion have swept over the minds
of many who once were swayed by his peculiar tones; but there must
be many a young man whose first feelings of generosity and public
spirit were roused within him by the cry as if from the very depths
of his heart, "Where, now, are your Hengists and your Horsas? Where
are those leaders who should be leading their people to useful
employments, to distant countries, where are they? Preserving their
game!" Before his withering indignation all false pretensions, all
excuses for worthless idleness and selfish luxury, fell away. The
word which he invented to describe them has sunk, perhaps, into cant
and hollowness; but it had a truth when first he uttered it. Those
falsities were shams, and they who practised them were guilty of the
sin which the Bible, in scathing scorn, calls hypocrisy.
And whence came this earnestness? Deep down in the bottom of his
soul it springs from his firm conviction that there was a higher, a
better world than that visible to our outward senses. All, whether
called saints, in the middle ages, or Puritans, in the seventeenth
century, or what you like in our own day, he revered them, with all
their eccentricities, as bright and learned examples of those who
"sacrificed their lives to their higher natures, their worser to
their better parts." In addressing the students of Edinburgh, he
bade them remember that the deep recognition of the eternal justice
of heaven, and the unfailing punishment of crimes against the law
of God, is at the origin and foundation of all the histories of
nations. No nation which did not contemplate this wonderful universe
with an awe-stricken and reverential belief that there was a great
unknown, omnipotent, all-wise, and all-just Being superintending
all men and all interests in it, no nation ever came to very much,
nor did any man either, who forgot that. If a man forgot that, he
forgot the most important part of his mission in the world. So he
spoke, and the ground of his hope for Europe--of his hope, we may
say, against hope--was that, after all, in any commonwealth where
the Christian religion exists, nay, in any commonwealth where it
has once existed, public or private virtue, the basis of all good,
never can become extinct; but in every new age, and even from the
deepest decline, there is a chance, and, in the course of ages, the
certainty, of renovation. The divine depths of sorrow, the sanctuary
of sorrow, the life and death of the divine Man, were, to him,
Christianity. We stand, as it were, beside him whilst the grave
has not yet closed over those flashing eyes, over those granite
features, over that weird form on which we have so often looked,
whilst the silence of death has fallen on that house which was once
so frequented and so honored. We call up memories which occurred
to ourselves. One such, in the far past, may, perchance, come with
peculiar force to those whose work is appointed in this place. Many
years ago, whilst I belonged to another cathedral, I met him in St.
James' Park, and walked with him to his own house. It was during
the Crimean war; and after hearing him denounce, with his vigorous
and, perhaps, exaggerated earnestness, the chaos and confusion into
which our administration had fallen, and the doubt and distrust
which pervaded all classes at the time, I ventured to ask him,
"What, under the circumstances, is your advice to a canon of an
English cathedral?" He grimly laughed at my question. He paused
for a moment and then answered, in homely and well-known words;
but which were, as it happened, especially fitted to situations
like that in which he was asked to give his counsel--"Whatsoever
thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might." That is, no
doubt, the lesson he leaves to each one of us in this place, and
also to this weary world--the world of which he felt the weariness
as age and infirmity grew upon him--the lesson which, in his more
active days, he practised to the very letter. He is at rest, he is
at rest; delivered from that burden of the flesh against which he
chafed and fretted: he is at rest! In his own words, "Babylon, with
its deathening inanity, rages on to the dim innocuous and unheeded
forever." From the "silence of the eternities," of which he so often
spoke, there still sound, and will long sound, the tones of that
marvelous voice.
Let us take one tender expression, written three or four years
ago--one plaintive yet manful thought, which has never yet reached
the public eye: "Three nights ago, stepping out after midnight and
looking up at the stars, which were clear and numerous, it struck
me with a strong, new kind of feeling: 'In a little while I shall
have seen you also for the last time. God Almighty's own theater of
immensity--the infinite made palpable and visible to me--that also
will be closed--flung too in my face--and I shall never behold death
any more.' The thought of the eternal deprivation even of this, tho
this is such a nothing in comparison, was sad and painful to me. And
then a second feeling rose upon me: 'What if Omnipotence that has
developed in me these appetites, these reverences, these infinite
affections, should actually have said, Yes, poor mortal, such as
you who have gone so far, shall be permitted to go further. Hope!
despair not!' God's will, not ours, be done."
Yes, God's will be done for us and for him. The Lord gave, and the
Lord taketh away.
VAUGHAN
GOD CALLING TO MAN
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
CHARLES JOHN VAUGHAN, Church of England divine and educator, was
born at Leicester in 1816, and educated at Rugby under Dr. Arnold.
He was ordained in 1841 and in 1844 elected headmaster of Harrow.
But the post which gave him the best opportunity as a preacher, was
that of Master of the Temple which he occupied from 1869 to 1894. He
was a leader in the Broad Church party and his sermons are marked by
simplicity of diction, deep sincerity, and rare spiritual insight.
He died at Llandoff, of which he had been dean since 1879, in 1897.
VAUGHAN
1816-1897
GOD CALLING TO MAN
_And the Lord God called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art
thou?_--Genesis iii., 9.
"I wish," said a great man of our day, "that some one would preach
under the dome of St. Paul's, on the text, 'Where art thou, Adam?'"
A noble subject, my brethren, when we think of it! But who is
equal to the task of handling it? The work of God is quick and
powerful--may it be so now, He Himself using it, and prospering it
in the thing whereto He sent it.
I shall ask you to look very closely into the text itself. I need
not tell anyone whence it comes; from the midst of that awful story
which tells us of the first sin, and of its immediate consequences.
That same story is in substance acted over and over again in
every marked sin that is ever done by any man: the same mode of
temptation; first inward question, "Yea, hath God said? is this
thing which I wish to do really forbidden?" and then the thought
of the hardship; "God doth know that this which He has forbidden
is something desirable, something delightful; it is hard that it
should be denied me;" and then the growing confidence, "I shall not
surely die for it;" and then the last review of all the advantages,
"good for food--pleasant to the eyes--to be desired to make me
wise, or to make me happy, or to make me independent;" and then the
act itself--the taking and eating; and then the sense of leanness
entering into the very soul. But that is not all which sin brings
after it. The next tells us of a summons, and after the context of
an arraigning, and an examination, and at first a self-excusing,
and then of a conviction, and a silencing, and a judgment: only one
little word of comfort, one little streak of light, amidst all the
sorrow, and all the curse, and all the gloom.
But I intend to sever the text now somewhat from its context, and to
look into it, with you, by itself alone. "The Lord God called unto
Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou?" There is the speaker--God,
the Lord God. There is the person spoken to--Adam, the first man;
Adam, from whom we all sprang; the father, and the likeness, and
the representative of us all. There is the nature of the address--a
call, a summons, decisive, authoritative, majestic. There are, at
last, the words uttered--few and plain, yet, when looked into,
big with meaning--"Where art thou?" And we shall not end without
appealing to all of you, to each of you separately, to answer that
question; to answer it truly, as we shall all have to answer it one
day.
Now I shall not occupy your time, or use many words, about the
speaker. There are those who profess to doubt the being of God;
and there are those, on the other hand, who profess to prove it. I
shall not suspect you of the one, and I shall not endeavor to do the
other. I am quite sure that in your inmost hearts you do not doubt
His being; and I am quite certain that, if you do, I cannot prove
it to you. The being of God is not a matter of argument, it is a
matter of instinct. The doubt or denial of it may pass muster with
scoffing men in robust health and prosperous circumstances; but nine
out of ten of those same men, finding themselves in sudden danger,
by land or sea, from accident or disease, will be heard praying:
they may conceal it, they may disown it, they may be ashamed of
it afterwards--but they did it: and that prayer was a witness,
an unimpeachable witness, that down in the depths of their heart
there was a belief in God all the time; in their works alike and in
their words they deny Him, but in their inmost souls, like the very
spirits of evil, they believe and tremble. God, then, speaks here. I
tell you not who He is: you know it; you know that there is such a
person, your creator, your ruler, your judge: happy if you know also
that He is the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ!
Now, to whom does He here speak? I will say two things of His call
as here described: First, that it is an individual call; and,
secondly, that it is a universal call. We try to make God's call
a vague one. It is for some one, no doubt; but every natural man
tries to put it away from himself. In hearing a sermon, everyone
thinks how suitable this reproof or that warning is to his neighbor;
he goes away to wish that such a person had heard it, to hope that
such a person listened to it; but the person who thus hopes, and
probably, too, the person thus hoped about, never thought of taking
it home--never said to himself, tho he was but too ready to say
to another, "Thou art the man." Nevertheless, God's call is an
individual one. The only use of it is to be so. O that we could
hear it in that spirit! O that we could practise ourselves in so
hearing it! Where art thou? not, where is he? still less, generally,
where are they? Read the Bible thus, my brethren, as written for
you, for your learning, for your reproof, for your comfort--yours
individually and personally--and you will never need it in vain.
But this individual call is also universal. Let us not flatter
ourselves that we are more to God than others are: it is a very
common, tho a well-disguised notion. We think that our souls are
more important than any others; and that is the least form of the
error: but we go on to think our faults are more excusable, our
sins more venial, than those of others; we go on to think that God
will spare us when He does not spare others; we go on to think that
our virtues are greater, our self-denials more meritorious, than
those of others; and by this time we have got farther away from
the truth and the gospel, than the poor self-condemning sinner who
feels, and denies it not, that he is yet in the gall of bitterness,
in the very bond of iniquity.
The call of God, like the care of God, is universal. It is to
the race. It is to His creatures. Hear the word--"The Lord God
called unto Adam, and said unto him." If it had been, God called
to Abraham, or to Moses, or to David, there would have been some
particularity, perhaps some limitation, in the summons; but none of
us can say he is not included when Adam is spoken to; he is, indeed,
the father of us all: of him we all come. What God says to him, He
certainly says to us--to us all, as to each of us.
But we ask, perhaps, thirdly: How does God call to us? I will say,
in three ways. He calls within--in conscience. Can you tell me what
that thing is in each of us which seems at once so intimate with us,
yet so independent of us, that it knows everything we do, or say,
or even think, and yet sits in judgment upon us for everything? Is
it not a strange thing? We should expect that the whole man would
move together; that, if we did a thing, if we said a thing, if we
thought a thing, we should go along with it, we should approve that
thing: but is it so? No; we carry about within us a whole machinery
of judicature; a witness, a jury, a judge, yes, an executioner, too;
and, strange to say, it is in early life that the process is most
perceptible, just while we are most ignorant, least reflecting,
least logical in our judgments. It is the work of many men through
life to stifle the voice within, and at last they almost succeed:
but do not tell me that you have no such voice within--certainly you
will not say that you never had it; and I will tell you what that
voice is, or was. It was the voice of the Lord God within, calling
to Adam, and saying, "Where art thou?"
He calls also without--in providence. I really know not whether
this be not the most persuasive of all His modes of calling to us;
certainly it is the most authoritative of all. Conscience may be
stifled, but providence grasps us very tightly--we cannot escape
from it. Tell me, who caused you to be born where and what you were?
Who settled that you should be born in this country and not in that?
Who decided that you were to have poor parents or rich, Christian
parents or un-Christian? Who has managed your circumstances for
you since you had a being? Who gave you, who has continued to give
you, your vigor of mind and body, your power of enjoyment, or your
experience of kindness, or your principles of judgment, or your
instincts of affection? Who took away from you that friend for
whom you are now mourning--that parent, that brother, that sister,
that wife, that child? Yes, we may forget it, or we may fret under
it, but in the hands of a providence we all are; we are utterly
powerless in that grasp: and whether we will believe it or no, that
power is a voice too--a call from God without, even as conscience is
His voice and His call within.
Once more, God calls from above also--in revelation. My friend,
believest thou the Scriptures? I know that thou believest. Your
presence here seems to say that you do. And yet in this multitude
how many must there be who do not in their hearts believe! Let me
rather say, who do not in their lives believe; for in your hearts I
think you do: sure I am that there are some parts of the Bible which
you cannot read and disbelieve; of course you may leave them unread,
that is always possible--easier than to read them--but I do not
think you can read the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, for example,
in the Old Testament, and I do not think you can read one chapter of
St. John's Gospel in the New Testament, and shut the book, saying,
"There is nothing in it." I suspect that is why we so often leave
the Bible unread--just because we believe it; we feel, when we do
read it, that it is God's voice, and we do not want to hear that
voice. The Bible is more its own witness than we like oftentimes to
admit.
"Who that has felt its glance of dread
Thrill through his heart's remotest cells,
About his path, about his bed,
Can doubt what spirit in it dwells?"
God speaks; and speaks to us--to each of us and to all of us; and
speaks, chiefly in three ways--in conscience, in providence, in
revelation: and now, fourthly, what is His call? How is it here
briefly exprest? It might have been put, it is put in the Bible, in
different forms--but how is it here exprest? "The Lord called unto
Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou?" This is a call, first,
to attention. As tho God had said, Listen to Me. That is the first
step in all religion. What we want first is a spirit of attention.
It is the great art of our enemy to keep our thoughts off religion.
That is the meaning of the overwhelming cares of life. The devil
would occupy our whole time and thoughts with something which is
not, and has nothing (as he persuades us) to do with God. That is
the meaning of the excessive amusements of life. The cares of life
are not enough to engross the attention of all men always; and
therefore the enemy provides something which shall alternate with
them for some men, and take the place of them for others. It is this
art which God, in His mercy, in His long-suffering, in His desire
that we should not perish, has to counteract by His divine skill. He
takes a man aside now and then, from time to time--blest be His name
for it!--and makes him listen. He interposes by some chastisement,
some sickness, some bereavement, and constrains him to hearken to
what He, the Lord God, has to say concerning him and to him. This is
the first point gained. Behold, he listens! better still, Behold,
he prayeth! It is a call, next, to the recognition of God's being,
and of our responsibility to Him. "Where art thou?" It is as if He
had said, I am, and thou art Mine. As if He has said, I have a right
to know about thee, and thou canst not evade Me. As if He had said,
I am about, now, to enter into judgment with thee: give an account
of thy stewardship. Yes, my brethren, it is an awful moment, when a
man first becomes distinctly conscious that God is, and is something
to him. He may have talked of God before: he may have fancied that
he knew all about Him: he may even have prayed before, and confest
himself before, and asked grace and help before: but now, for the
first time, he sees how much more there is in all this than he has
yet dreamed of; and the only words which he can find at all to
express his new feeling, are those of the patriarch of old--"I have
heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth
thee: wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes."
It is a call, once more, and yet more particularly, to reflect upon
our place or our position. I know not how else to express the force
of the inquiry, "Where art thou?" It may be read literally--of
place. May not some one of those here assembled have been, ere
now, perhaps often, perhaps quite recently, in some place in which
the question, "Where art thou?" would have had a startling and
condemning sound?--some place where he was sinning? some place where
he had gone to sin? some place where he would not for the world have
been seen by any human eye, and where he gladly forgot that there
was yet one eye which did see him? Oh, if God stood this night upon
earth, and called aloud to the "Adam" of this generation--to the
men and women who form now the sum of the living human creation;
if He should call them suddenly from the east and from the west to
avow exactly where they were, and to come forth from that place as
they were, without an instant allowed them to cover up and disguise
themselves; oh, what a revelation would it be of action and of
character! Oh, who might abide the scrutiny of that question? Oh,
who could stand when that inquirer appeared? But, even if the
literal local question could be well answered, there would remain
yet another behind applicable to all men. "Where art thou?" is an
inquiry as to position no less than place. It says, "What is thy
present place as a man with a soul, as an immortal being? What is
thy present standing, thy present state? Art thou safe? Art thou
happy? Art thou useful? Art thou doing the work I gave thee to do?
Is it well with thee in the present? Is it well with thee in the
future? Say not, I can not answer, I know not. I have taught thee
how to judge of thyself; now therefore advise, and see what answer
thou wilt return to Him that made thee."
My brethren, I propose, in the last place, that we all answer this
question. It is a very serious thing to do; and it is what no man
can do for his brother. Each one of us has one secret place, one
sanctuary within the veil, into which, not even once a year, not
even in the character of a high priest, can earthly foot ever enter.
Yet in that secret place shines forth the light of God's presence;
a light never put out altogether in any man, so far at least as
its disclosing and revealing character is concerned, until sin and
perverseness have done their perfect work, and the awful words are
at length fulfilled, "If the light that is in thee be darkness, how
great is that darkness!" At present, we will humbly hope, that this
last ruin has not been wrought in any one who hears me. And if not,
I repeat it, we can all, if we will, answer God's question, when He
calls to each of us, as He does this night, and says, "Where art
thou?"
One of us, perhaps, answers, if he speaks truly, I am wandering.
I have left my Father's home; I took my portion of His goods, and
carried them away into a far country. Yes, He was very generous
to me; He grudged me nothing; life and health, food and clothing,
even success in the world, even human friendship and human love, He
gave me all these, and upbraided not: He warned me that I should be
sorry one day if I left Him; He cautioned me against the perils of
my way; He told me that I should not find happiness; He bade me, if
I wished for that, to stay; He bade me, if I should ever be sorry
that I had gone, to arise instantly and return. My heart was young
then, and I thought I knew best; I left Him, with little feeling,
with much expectation; His last look was one of regretful love that
I left Him and I am a wanderer still. Sometimes I have arisen to
go to my Father, but I went not: I was ashamed, I was afraid, I
thought I was too sinful, I felt myself unstable, I feared that I
might relapse, I dreaded reproach, I dreaded ridicule, I dreaded,
above all, the sight of that face:--and thus stayed where I was,
in the far country--I am a wanderer, an outcast still. And another
answers, like him to whom the question in the text was first put,
I am hiding. I have sinned and I have not repented. I have eaten of
the tree of which God said to me, "Thou shalt not eat of it, neither
shalt thou touch it, lest thou die." I believed the creature more
than the Creator--the tempter more than the Savior. I went to the
edge of temptation; I desired forbidden knowledge first, and then
I could not rest until I knew by experience also; and now my heart
is defiled, my conscience is defiled, my life is defiled; I have
lost all right to the beatific vision, for I am no longer pure in
heart; now, when I hear the voice of the Lord God, I hide myself,
because I know myself sinful, and because I know that He is of purer
eyes than to look upon or tolerate iniquity. And another answers,
I am resting. Earth is very pleasant to me; I have toiled and I
have reaped; I have gathered myself a competence; I have found the
happiness of lawful love; I have built myself a nest here, I have
fenced it against the blasts of fortune, I am warm and tranquil
within: let me alone a little while; it is not long that I can enjoy
it; soon calamity may come, loss, sickness, death, into my peaceful
home; then I will turn and seek Thee--not yet, O not just yet!
And another says, I am working. Am I not doing Thy work? Am I not
discharging the duties of my station? Am I not setting an example of
diligence and sobriety? Am I not availing myself of the faculties
which Thou has given to make myself respectable, and useful, and
exemplary in my generation? How can I do all this, and yet be
religious? How can I find time for both worlds at once? But yet,
indeed, am I not providing for that other world in making a proper
use of this? Let me alone a little while; when I have a convenient
season, I will call for Thee. And another says, honestly, I am
trifling. The world is so gay, so amusing, so exciting: hast Thou
not made it so for our enjoyment? Oh, grudge me not my brief time
of mirth and forgetfulness; I shall be serious enough one day. And
another says, I am coming. Yes, I am on my way. This is no world,
I see it, of rest for me. There is no peace but in God: I sought
it once elsewhere, and found it not: now I know my error; yes, I
am coming, I am coming, I am on my way: but give me time: so great
a change cannot be wrought all at once: heaven cannot be won in a
day: give me time, and I will reach Thee. I am now using the means:
I pray, I read the Bible, I go to Thy House, I partake in Christ's
supper: surely this is the way to Thee!
Yes, my brother, but why this delay? Why this postponement of the
desired result? Wilt thou be any fitter to-morrow than to-day
for that step across the barrier which now seems so premature,
so presumptuous? The word is very nigh thee: it is in thy mouth,
it is in thy heart--thou knowest it well, even the word of
faith--"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ," at once, "and thou shalt
be saved. Come unto me"--not to-morrow, but to-day--"all ye that
labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Are there any
here present--God grant that they be many!--who have yet one other
answer to return to the question on which we have dwelt? Thou sayest
to me, O Lord, "Where art thou?" Lord, I am a sinner in a world
of danger; and I have learned that danger in myself; for I have
fallen, and I have sinned against Thee, times without number; yet by
Thy grace I have risen, and I have returned to Thee, and Thou hast
accepted me in Thy Son, and hast endued me, according to my need,
with Thy Holy Spirit. And now, Lord, my life is hid with Christ in
Thee: He is my trust, He is my life, He is my hope, and the life
that I now live upon earth, I live by faith in Him. Under Thy care,
doing Thy work, thankful for Thy mercies, trusting in Thy strength,
even now I am Thine, and hereafter I shall see Thee. Guide Thou my
steps, make Thy way plain before me, in the days that remain to me,
and at last receive me to Thyself, disciplined, humbled, sanctified,
that I may rest in Thee forever, and forever see Thy glory!
My brethren, the work of God in each of us would be almost
accomplished if this one call were heard within. Once let us know
that God is speaking to us, and that He waits an answer; once let
us feel that He is, and that He will have us to be saved, and all
the rest will follow. May it be so now! May some wanderer this
night return to his Father; some hiding soul this night come forth
from its lurking place; some builder upon the sand lay this night
his foundations upon the rock; some trifler be made serious; some
worldly man turned heavenward--so that all may have cause to bless
God for His word here spoken, and ascribe to Him, through eternal
ages, thanksgiving, and blessing, and praise!
NEWMAN HALL
CHRISTIAN VICTORY
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
CHRISTOPHER NEWMAN HALL, Congregational divine, was born at
Maidstone, Kent, in 1816. He was widely known as a writer, lecturer,
and preacher of great eloquence. During the Civil War he was
enthusiastic in advocating the cause of the North, and subsequently
two extended tours in the United States brought him international
fame. His tract, "Come to Jesus," published in 1846, has been
translated into over twenty languages. He died in 1902.
NEWMAN HALL
1816-1902
CHRISTIAN VICTORY
_To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and
will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written,
which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it._--Rev. ii., 17.
The Christian life is often compared in Scripture to a warfare.
Followers of Jesus are "soldiers." They are exhorted to put on "the
whole armor of God." They "fight the good fight of faith." Some of
you have been engaged in the conflict: others have more recently
entered upon it. But, whether young or old in the Christian career,
all find it necessary to be constantly stirred up to watchfulness
against the never-ceasing assaults of the foe. It is not enough to
put on the armor and to commence the battle. He that overcometh, and
he alone, will receive the salutation, "Well done, good and faithful
servant,"--he alone shall "lay hold upon eternal life."
But we are not left to fight without encouragement. As generals
before a battle go in front of their troops to stimulate them
to valor, so Christ, the Captain of our Salvation, leads on
the consecrated hosts of His elect; and having himself set us a
glorious example of valor and victory, animates us to follow in His
footsteps by the "exceeding great and precious promises" of His
word. Christian warrior! let your eye be lifted up to Him. Behold
Him beckoning you onward. Listen to Him, as from His throne of
glory He exhorts you to persevering valor against the foe; and pray
earnestly that His promise may be fulfilled in your case: "To him
that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and will
give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which
no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it."
Let us consider first, the promise; then, the condition attached to
it.
I. The promise. This is twofold,--the hidden manna and the white
stone.
1. The hidden manna.--God fed the Israelites in the wilderness
with manna. A portion of this was laid by in the ark, and thus was
hidden from public view. It is here referred to as a figurative
representation of the spiritual blessings bestowed upon the victor
in the heavenly fight. Christ, speaking of the manna as a type of
Himself, said, "I am the bread which came down from heaven." The
manna in the wilderness sustained the life of the Israelites.
But there is another life more important than that of the body. By
sin the soul is dead, dead toward God. By the Holy Spirit, the
"dead in trespasses and sins" are "quickened," or made alive. As the
life of the new-born infant cannot be preserved without food, so
the new spiritual life which God imparts needs continual support.
Both the life, and the nourishing of it, come from Christ, and
Christ alone. By His sacrifice that life becomes possible; and by
His spirit working within our hearts that life becomes actual. He
sustains as well as imparts spiritual vitality. He is the food of
our faith: "believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be
saved." He is the food of our love: "we love him because he first
loved us." He is the food of our obedience: "the love of Christ
constraineth us." He is the food of our peace: for when "justified
by faith, we have peace with God through Jesus Christ our Lord." He
is the food of our joy: for if "we joy in God" it is "through Jesus
Christ our Lord."
The manna which sustained the Israelites was evidently the gift of
God. And so this "hidden manna" is from heaven. It is no contrivance
of man--no philosophy of human invention. It is a divine plan for
the salvation of our ruined race. "God so loved the world that he
gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should
not perish but should have everlasting life." That manna in the
wilderness was sweet to the taste; yet they who fed on it grew
weary of it. But the more we eat of the bread of life, the more
we relish it--the greater is our appetite for it. That manna in
the wilderness was needed daily. And so with this heavenly bread.
Yesterday's supply will not suffice for to-day. The prayer is as
needful for the soul as for the body: "Give us this day our daily
bread." But if that manna was needed daily, so it was supplied; none
went in vain at the appointed season--and no soul that "hungers
and thirsts after righteousness" is sent empty away. The manna was
supplied to the Israelites till they came to the promised land--so
God has promised that His grace shall not fail His people through
their wanderings.
It is spoken of as the "hidden manna." Such is the Christian's life.
"Our life is hid with Christ in God." The outward effects of it may
be seen, but the inner life is invisible. So is the nourishing of
the life. You may see the Christian on his knees, you may hear the
words which he utters, but you cannot see the streams of divine
influence which are poured into his spirit; nor hear the sweet
whispers of divine love which fill him with joy; nor comprehend the
peace passing all understanding which he is permitted to experience.
Unbelievers are often amazed at what they see in the Christian. He
is troubled on every side, yet not in despair. Waves of sorrow beat
upon his frail vessel, yet it does not sink. Men now threaten, now
allure, but he holds on his way. What to others is an irresistible
charm, is no attraction to him. What is a terror to others, deters
not him. Why does he not faint beneath the burden? why does he not
sink in the storm? Because he eats of the "hidden manna." "The
secret of the Lord is with them that fear him." "He hath taken him
into his banqueting-room, and the banner over him is love."
Were this promise merely the reward of final victory, that victory
itself would never be gained. We need to eat this manna during our
pilgrimage. We cannot live without it. Every act of overcoming will
be followed by a verification of the promise, "I will give him to
eat of the hidden manna." Yet we must look beyond the present life
for its full accomplishment. "To him that overcometh" at the last
"shall be given the hidden manna," in a sense of which at present we
have but a very faint conception.
As the manna was hidden in the ark, and that ark was hidden behind
the curtain of the Holy of Holies, so the Christian's hope, "as
an anchor of the soul, sure and stedfast, enters into that which
is within the veil." Those joys we cannot yet conjecture; their
splendor is too intense; we should be blinded by excessive light; we
should be overpowered by the excellent glory.
One look of heaven would unfit us for earth. It is wisely appointed
that at present this manna should in one sense be hidden, even from
ourselves. We are as yet but babes--such strong meat would not suit
us now; we must be content with simpler fare. But oh! if the manna,
tho at present so partially and imperfectly appreciated, can produce
such peace and joy, what must be the bliss of entering into the
holiest of all, and there, in the presence of God Himself, feasting
on it eternally! Unceasing, unlimited reception of divine influences
into the soul!
Uninterrupted fellowship with Him who is the only fountain of life,
and purity, and happiness! Perfect love! But at present such full
fruition is "hidden." "Now we see through a glass darkly"; "now we
know but in part"; "it doth not yet appear what we shall be." But
how unspeakably blest are they to whom, partially in this world and
perfectly in the next, the promise shall be verified: "To him that
overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna"!
2. The white stone.--Reference is made to the _tessera hospitalis_,
the tally or token of hospitality employed by the ancients. At a
time when houses of public entertainment were less common, private
hospitality was the more necessary. When one person was received
kindly by another, or a contract of friendship was entered into,
the _tessera_ was given. It was so named from its shape, being
four-sided; it was sometimes of wood; sometimes of stone; it was
divided into two by the contracting parties; each wrote his own name
on half of the _tessera_; then they exchanged pieces, and therefore
the name or device on the piece of _tessera_ which each received,
was the name the other person had written upon it, and which no one
else knew but him who received it. It was carefully prized, and
entitled the bearer to protection and hospitality.
Plautus, in one of his playes, refers to this custom. Hanno inquires
of a stranger where he may find Agorastocles, and discovers to his
surprize that he is addressing the object of his search.
"If so," he says, "compare, if you please, this hospitable
_tessera_; here it is; I have it with me."
Agorastocles replies, "It is the exact counterpart; I have the other
part at home."
Hanno responds, "O my friend! I rejoice to meet thee; thy father was
my friend, my guest; I divided with him this hospitable _tessera_."
"Therefore," said Agorastocles, "thou shalt have a home with me, for
I reverence hospitality."
Beautiful illustration of gospel truth! The Savior visits the
sinner's heart, and being received as a guest, bestows the white
stone, the token of His unchanging love. It is not we who in the
first instance desire this compact. Far from it.
But Jesus, anxious to bless us, kindly forces Himself on our regard.
By His spirit, he persuades us to give Him admission to our hearts.
"Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any man hear my voice
and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him,
and he with me." We often disregarded His appeal. Yet, with what
condescending kindness did he persevere! And when at length we
opened the door, we saw Him laden with blessings which He had been
long waiting to bestow. The feast which was then spread was all
of His providing. He who went to be "the guest of one that was a
sinner," inverts the usual course. He invites Himself and brings the
feast. What have we fit to set before so august and holy a visitant?
But He who chooses the sinner's heart as His banqueting-chamber,
spreads there His choicest gifts, His exceeding great and precious
promises, His finished sacrifice, His human sympathy, His perfect
example, His pure precepts, His all-prevailing intercession, the
various developments of His infinite love.
He "sups with us," and makes us "sup with Him." He enrolls our
name among His friends. "He makes an everlasting covenant with us,
ordered in all things and sure." He promises never to leave nor
forsake us. He tells us we "shall never perish." He gives us the
_tessera_, the white stone!
Is not this "the witness of the Spirit," the "earnest of the
promised possession"? Does not "the Spirit witness with our spirit
that we are born of God"? Does not our experience of the friendship
of Jesus correspond with what we are taught of it in the Scriptures?
"I know in whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to
keep that which I have committed unto him, against that day." The
"love of God is shed abroad" in the heart of the believer. He says,
with humble confidence, "My Lord, and my God!"
On this white stone is inscribed a "new name." The part of the
_tessera_ which each of the contracting parties received contained
the name of the other. And, therefore, "the new name" on the "white
stone," which he that overcometh receives, is that of Him who gives.
By the unbeliever, God is known as Power, as Majesty, as Justice. He
is dreaded. "The carnal mind is enmity against God." The Christian
alone knows Him as "Love!" Jehovah has now "a new name." He was once
a ruler--now He is Friend; He was once judge--now He is Father.
Do you know God by His "new name"? Do you so know Him as to wish
no longer to hide from Him, but to hide in Him, as the only home
the universe can furnish in which you can be safe and happy? Have
you learned to say, "Our Father which art in heaven"? If we have,
indeed, received this "white stone," let us continually be reading
the "new name" engraven on it. Here I am assured that the Holy Ghost
is my teacher, my guide, my comforter; that the eternal Word, the
only begotten Son, is my Savior, my Friend, my Brother; that the
infinite Jehovah is my Father, and that "like as a father pitieth
his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him."
We are told that no man knoweth this new name, "saving he that
receiveth it." He knows it for himself, but no one else can read it
for him. Thus it resembles the "hidden manna." The frivolous may
deride, fools may mock, the unbeliever may deny, the sceptic may
bring forth his objections in all the pride of a false philosophy,
but the Christian, even if unable to reply to the caviller, or to
make intelligible to any other mind his own strong assurance, has an
evidence within him which nothing can shake, for God has written on
his heart "His new best name of Love."
Fellow pilgrims to the heavenly Canaan, how precious is this token!
We are travelers through the desert; for tho the enjoyments of
earth are many, yet this life, compared with what is to come, is a
wilderness. We are away from home; we are exposed to privations,
tempests, foes; we constantly need a refuge. But we are never far
from the house of a friend. Everywhere, in every city and in every
village, on the desert and on the ocean, in the solitude of secrecy,
and in the solitude of a crowd, in the bustle of business, and in
the sick chamber, a Friend is at hand, who will always recognize the
white stone He gave us, a token of His love. We have only to present
it to claim the fulfilment of His promise.
How wide will the door be thrown open for our reception! What divine
entertainment we shall receive! what safety from peril! what succor
in difficulty! what comfort in trouble! what white raiment! what
heavenly food! O that we valued the _tessera_ more, that we sought
more frequent interviews with our heavenly Friend, that we more
habitually resorted as invited guests to Jesus, and dwelt in Him as
the home of our souls! We shall never find the door closed against
us; we shall never be received reluctantly; He will never allow us
to think that we are intruders. Jesus is never ashamed of His poor
relations, nor treats them coldly because they need His help. The
greater our distress, the more shall we prove His liberality and
tender sympathy.
And as regards this stone, as well as the hidden manna, we can look
beyond the present life. A day is coming when we shall be compelled
to leave the homes of earth, however endeared. We must embrace
for the last time the friends united to us as our own souls. Tho
we have traveled along the road many a year together, we must now
separate, and go alone. They may accompany us to the river side, but
we must cross it by ourselves. What cheering voice will greet us
then? What kind roof will receive us then? What loving friend will
welcome us then?
But we shall not have left our best treasure behind us! No! we shall
carry the white stone with us; and with this we shall look for no
inferior abode, but with unhesitating step shall advance at once
right up to the palace of the Great King. We present the _tessera_;
the "new name" is legible upon it; the angelic guards recognize the
symbol; the everlasting gates lift up their heads; and the voice of
Jesus Himself invites us to enter, saying, "Come, ye blessed of my
Father, inherit the kingdom!"
Such is the welcome that every soul shall experience to whom the
promise is fulfilled: "I will give him a white stone, and in the
stone a new name written, which no man knoweth, saving he that
receiveth it."
II. The condition annexed to the promise, "To him that overcometh!"
A great war is going on between the Church and the powers of
darkness. It is not an affair of strategy between two vast armies,
wherein skilful maneuvers determine the issue, many on either side
never coming into actual combat; but every Christian has to fight
hand to hand with the enemy. We cannot be lost in the crowd. We may
not stand in the middle of the hollow square, without sharing the
perils of the outer rank. Every Christian must not only occupy his
post in the grand army, but must personally grapple with the foe.
Before conversion there was no fighting. The devil's suggestions
and the heart's inclination were allied. Then we did the enemy's
bidding, or were lulled to sleep by his intoxicating cup. But when
light shone into the soul, and we strove to escape, the struggle
began. God, as our Creator and Redeemer, justly demands our
obedience and love. Whatever interferes with these claims, is an
enemy summoning us to battle. The world of frivolity is our foe.
How numerous and insinuating are its temptations--the more perilous
because of the difficulty of defining them!
Moreover, lawful pleasures and necessary cares become dangerous when
they cease to be subordinate to the love of God. The enjoyments
He bestows and the labors He appoints are calculated to minister
to godliness,--and yet they may be perverted to idolatry by our
forgetting Him on whom our highest thoughts should be fixt. What
danger is there that things in themselves holy and beautiful may
thus become pernicious and destructive!
The flesh, too, furnished its contingent to the army of our foes.
Not that any of our natural appetites, being divinely bestowed, can
have in them the nature of sin. No! the flesh, as God made it, is
pure and holy. But those instincts, which, regulated by the revealed
will of their Author, are "holiness to the Lord," may, by unhallowed
gratification, become those "fleshly lusts which war against the
soul." As we carry about with us these animal propensities, there is
necessity for constant vigilence lest our own nature, being abused,
should become our destroyer.
Inbred depravity lurks in the heart of even the true believer. Tho
dethroned, it is not completely expelled. With what selfishness,
covetousness, vanity, hastiness of temper, uncharitableness, have we
not to contend! Who has not some sin which most easily besets him?
How varied are the forms of unbelief! Spiritual pride, too, corrupts
our very graces, piety itself furnishing an occasion of evil, so
that when we have conquered some temptation or performed some duty,
our victory is often tarnished, our holy things corrupted, by our
falling into the snare of self-complacency.
Above all, there is that great adversary who "goeth about as a
roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour." He avails himself of the
world, and the flesh, and the infirmities of the spirit, to tempt
the soul of sin. This is no fable, altho one of Satan's most skilful
stratagems is to make men disbelieve in his existence. Overlooked
or despised, a foe is already half victorious. But the Captain of
our Salvation, in His word, often warns us both of the craft and of
the violence of our adversary. We sometimes read of "the wiles of
the devil"; and sometimes of "the fiery darts of the wicked one."
They who fail to watch and pray, are sure to be vanquished by such a
foe.
These are our enemies! And if we would possess the promise we must
"overcome." A mere profession of religion is of no avail. It is not
enough for our name to appear on the muster-roll of the camp. Many
wear the soldier's dress who know nothing of the soldier's heart.
Many are glad to glitter on the grand parade who fall off from the
hard-fought, blood-stained battle-field. It is not enough to buckle
on our armor; many do this, and lay it aside again. We must devote
ourselves to this great daily battle of life.
There is no exemption of persons. Women must fight, as well as men;
the tender and timid must be as Amazons in the conflict. Children
must carry the shield, and wield the sword. The aged and infirm must
keep the ranks. The sick and wounded must not be carried to the
rear. No substitute can be provided, and there is no discharge in
this war.
There is no exemption on account of circumstances. The rich and
poor, the learned and the unlearned, the cheerful and the sad,
all must fight. No accumulation of trouble, no unexpected death of
friends, can be an excuse for laying down our arms. We must go to
the marriage feast, and we must attend the funeral procession, as
warriors, wearing our armor and grasping our weapons. We must be
like those spoken of by Nehemiah, "every man with one hand wrought
in the work, and with the other hand held a weapon."
There is no exemption of place. Foes lie in wait for the Christian
wherever he goes--in the mart of commerce, in the busy workshop,
when he returns to his home, when he rests on his bed, in the
bustle of the day, in the silence of the night, in the circle of
his friends, in the bosom of his family, in society, alone, in the
city, in the fields, in his walks of benevolence, in his private
meditations, in the church, in his secret retirement, when he
worships with the great congregation, and when he enters his closet
and shuts the door. He can never elude the enemy; he carries the foe
in his own breast; the conflict ceases not!
There is no exemption of time, no season of rest. No truce is
sounded. Satan never beats a retreat, except to lead us into an
ambuscade. No white flag comes out that can be trusted. If we parley
it is at our peril; if we pause, we are wounded or taken captive.
Wars on earth may often terminate by mutual agreement. It is a war
of extermination; no quarter is given; either we must trample Satan
under foot, or Satan will drag us down to hell!
It is a warfare until death. While we are in the body it will be
always true--"We wrestle." The oldest Christian cannot lay aside his
weapons. "Having done all, stand." A great word that! "Having done
all!" "What!" you may say, "after a long life of conflict, surely I
may put aside my armor, and sheathe my sword, and recline on some
sunny bank, and enjoy myself after my victory!"
No; you must not expect it; "having done all" it is enough if you
stand at bay on the battle-ground; all you can hope for in this
world is to maintain your post, still defying the foe, who will be
still meditating fresh attacks. You will never be able to say with
St. Paul, "I have finished my course."
It is not the appearance of fighting. It is not a few faint,
irresolute strokes. "So fight I," said the Apostle, "not as one
that beateth the air." We must be resolute, determined, in earnest,
giving our enemy no advantage. We must "not give place to the
devil." We must watch against the smallest beginnings of sin. By
"keeping the heart with all diligence," by putting on "the whole
armor of God," by having faith as our shield, righteousness as
our breastplate, the hope of salvation as our helmet, by keeping
"the sword of the Spirit" bright with exercise, "praying with all
prayer," standing near our Captain, looking to Him, relying upon
Him, knowing that "without Him we can do nothing,"--so must we
fight! All this is necessary, if we would overcome.
It is not so easy to fight this fight as some suppose. It is not
a true faith merely, an evangelical creed, a scriptural church, a
comfortable sermon once or twice a week, a little Sabbath-keeping,
an agreeable pause in your pleasures, giving to them a new
relish--it is not this which constitutes Christianity. You that
think religion so very easy a thing, have a care at least, lest when
too late, you find that you know not what true religion meant.
Easy? A depraved being to trample upon his lusts--a proud being to
lie prostrate with humility and self-reproach--they that are "slow
of heart to believe," to receive the gospel as little children?
Easy? To "crucify the flesh," "to deny ungodliness," "to cut off a
right hand, and to pluck out a right eye"?
Easy? To be in the world, and yet not of the world--to come out
from it, not by the seclusion of the cloister, but by holiness
of life--to be diligent in its duties, yet not absorbed by them;
appreciating its innocent delights, and yet not ensnared by them;
beholding its attractions and yet rising superior to them?
Easy? To live surrounded by objects which appeal to the sight, and
yet to endure as seeing what is invisible?
Easy? To pray and see no answer to prayer, and still pray on--to
fight this battle, and find fresh foes ever rising up, yet still to
fight on--to be harassed with doubts and fears, and yet walk on in
darkness, tho we see no light, staying ourselves upon God?
Easy? To be preparing for a world we have never visited, in
opposition to so much that is captivating in a world where we have
always dwelt, whose beauties we have seen, whose music we have
heard, whose pleasures we have experienced?
Easy? To resist that subtle foe who has cast down so many of the
wise and the mighty?
Easy? When Jesus says it is a "strait gate," and that if we would
enter we must "strive," bidding us "take up our cross daily, deny
ourselves and follow him"? Ah! it is no soft flowery meadow, along
which we may languidly stroll, but a rough, craggy cliff that we
must climb. "To him that overcometh!" It is no smooth, placid
stream, along which we may dreamily float, but a tempestuous ocean
we must stem. "To him that overcometh!" It is no easy lolling in
a cushioned chariot, that bears us on without fatigue and peril.
The trumpet has sounded to arms; it is not peace, but war, war
for liberty, war for life, on the issue of which our everlasting
destiny depends! If we are to be saved, we must "overcome."
But tho the conflict is arduous, the encouragements are great. We
have armor of proof. We have a mighty Champion. Victory is ensured
to the brave. Others who stood on the same battle-field and fought
with the same enemies, are now enjoying an eternal triumph. Not one
faithful warrior ever perished. Their foes were not fewer than ours,
their strength was not greater. They overcame by the same "blood of
the Lamb" on which we rely.
"Once they were mourning here below,
And wet their couch with tears;
They wrestled hard, as we do now,
With sins, and doubts, and fears."
But they are wearing their crowns, they are enjoying their rest;
and the feeblest and most unworthy of our own day, trusting in the
same Savior, shall inherit the same promise. Then let us overcome.
Sheathe not the sword, and it shall never be wrested from you; lay
not down the shield, and no fiery dart shall ever penetrate it; face
the foe, and he shall never trample you down, never drive you back.
Listen to your Captain; how He animates you onward! Look to the
crown he is ready to bestow upon you; eat of the hidden manna
which He gives; read the name in the "white stone,"--the name of
God,--His name of love, recorded for your encouragement; and thus
be animated to walk worthy of this holy alliance, and not to allow
the foe to wrench from you such an assurance of divine favor, such a
passport to heavenly bliss.
A little more conflict, and that "white stone" shall introduce you
to the inheritance above, where, in the everlasting repose of the
inner sanctuary, you shall without intermission eat of the hidden
manna.
"Then let my soul march boldly on,
Press forward to the heavenly gate;
There peace and joy eternal reign,
And glittering robes for conquerors wait."
Some of you may consider this subject visionary and unreal. You
say, "I know nothing of this warfare. I know what the conflict of
business is, the race of fashion, the bustle of toil or pleasure;
but to anxiety about spiritual things I am a stranger."
You are enjoying peace--but--what peace? There is a captive in a
dungeon--his limbs are fast chained to the walls--yet he is singing
songs. How is it? Satan has given him to drink of his drugged cup,
and he does not know where he is. Look at that other. He says, "it
is peace." There is truly no fighting, but he is groveling in the
dust, and the heel of his foe is upon his neck. Such is the peace
of every one going on in his wickedness, unpardoned and unsaved.
"Taken captive by the devil at his will."
Chained in Satan's boat, you are swiftly gliding down the stream
to ruin, and because it is smooth, you dream that it is safe! What
is the difference between the saint and the sinner? Not that in
the saint there is no sin. Not that in the sinner there is never
a thought about God. The difference is this--that the saint is
overcoming his sin; but the sin is overcoming the sinner. Oh, what
a terrible thing if sin have the upper hand! No "hidden manna" is
yours. The symbols of religion you may look at, but real religion
must be a stranger to you. You know not its enjoyment. You do not
taste it. It is a hidden thing. Heaven too will be hidden. You hear
of its gates of pearl--but they will never open to you. You may
catch the distant accents of its songs--but in those songs you will
never join. And that "white stone" cannot be yours. You have no
joyful anticipation of heaven--but a fearful looking-for of fiery
indignation--or else the insensate resolve not to think at all. And
the "new name"--no! you cannot read it! You know God by no such
name as makes you seek His company. The thought of Him renders you
unhappy, and therefore you banish it from your mind. You are not
now alarmed, but soon the spell may be broken, and you may find the
chains riveted upon your soul forever.
I fancy I hear you say, "I wish that before it is too late, I could
escape! But mine is a hopeless case. My heart is hardened against
the gospel, and evil habit has so got the mastery over me, that I
have no power to begin this conflict!"
No, you have no power; but One has visited this world, and taken our
nature, who can help you. The mighty Son of God became the suffering
Son of Man that He might be the liberator of our enslaved race. He
burst open the prison doors, that captive souls might escape. He
stands near you, ready to break off your fetters and strengthen you
to fight the enemy who has so long opprest you. Tell Him your simple
but sad tale; how helpless, how miserable, how ruined you are! Tell
Him you want to be saved, but know not how to begin the work, and
ask Him both to begin and complete it for you! Let your prayer be
this: "Be merciful to me, a sinner"; and He who "came to destroy
the works of the devil," He "whose nature and property is ever to
have mercy and to forgive," will receive your "humble petitions; and
tho you be tied and bound with the chain of your sins, He, in the
pitifulness of His great mercy, will loose you."
He will pardon your past shameful concessions to the foe, and,
arraying you in "the whole armor of God," and animating you with His
Holy Spirit, He will enable you so to fight against the world, the
flesh, and the devil, that you also shall share in the prize of them
that overcome; you also shall eat of the "hidden manna," and receive
the "white stone."
ROBERTSON
THE LONELINESS OF CHRIST
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
FREDERICK WILLIAM ROBERTSON, was born in London in 1816, educated
at Edinburgh University and took his degree at Oxford in 1841.
From a law office he passed into the ministry, where his career,
tho brief, was exceptionally brilliant. His English style commends
itself to the preacher's study for its naturalness, poetic beauty,
lucidity, and strength. It is the style of a man of unique genius.
In Aug., 1847, he began his remarkable ministry at Trinity Chapel,
Brighton. He died of consumption at Brighton in 1853, little more
than thirty-six years of age.
Perhaps the most remarkable feature in the career of Robertson was
the influence he exercised over the workingmen. This class had in
his day become estranged from the Church of England, few of whose
clergy had any power to attract their attention and adherence.
He was denounced as a socialist because of his foundation of a
workingmen's institute, and the opposition and vilification which he
thus met with no doubt helped to shorten his life.
ROBERTSON
1816-1853
THE LONELINESS OF CHRIST
_Jesus answered them, Do ye now believe? Behold, the hour
cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be scattered every man
to his own, and shall leave me alone; and yet I am not alone,
because the Father is with me._--John xvi., 31, 32.
There are two kinds of solitude: the first, consisting of isolation
in space; the other, of isolation of the spirit. The first is simply
separation by distance. When we are seen, touched, heard by none, we
are said to be alone. And all hearts respond to the truth of that
saying, This is not solitude; for sympathy can people our solitude
with a crowd. The fisherman on the ocean alone at night is not
alone, when he remembers the earnest longings which are rising up to
heaven at home for his safety. The traveler is not alone, when the
faces which will greet him on his arrival seem to beam upon him as
he trudges on. The solitary student is not alone, when he feels that
human hearts will respond to the truths which he is preparing to
address to them.
The other is loneliness of soul. There are times when hands touch
ours, but only send an icy chill of unsympathizing indifference to
the heart; when eyes gaze into ours, but with a glazed look which
can not read into the bottom of our souls; when words pass from
our lips, but only come back as an echo reverberated without reply
through a dreary solitude; when the multitude throng and press us,
and we can not say, as Christ said, "Somebody hath touched me"; for
the contact has been not between soul and soul, but only between
form and form.
And there are two kinds of men, who feel this last
solitude in different ways. The first are the men of
self-reliance--self-dependent--who ask no counsel, and crave no
sympathy; who act and resolve alone, who can go sternly through
duty, and scarcely shrink, let what will be crushed in them. Such
men command respect: for whoever respects himself constrains the
respect of others. They are invaluable in all those professions of
life in which sensitive feeling would be a superfluity; they make
iron commanders, surgeons who do not shrink, and statesmen who do
not flinch from their purpose for the dread of unpopularity. But
mere self-dependence is weakness; and the conflict is terrible when
a human sense of weakness is felt by such men. Jacob was alone when
he slept on his way to Padan Aram, the first night that he was away
from his father's roof, with the world before him, and all the old
broken up; and Elijah was alone in the wilderness when the court
had deserted him, and he said, "They have digged down thine altars,
and slain thy prophets with the sword: and I, even I, only am left,
and they seek my life to take it away." But the loneliness of the
tender Jacob was very different from that of the stern Elijah.
To Jacob the sympathy he yearned for was realized in the form of
a gentle dream. A ladder raised from earth to heaven figured the
possibility of communion between the spirit of man and the Spirit
of God. In Elijah's case, the storm, and the earthquake, and the
fire did their convulsing work in the soul, before a still, small
voice told him that he was not alone. In such a spirit the sense of
weakness comes with a burst of agony, and the dreadful conviction of
being alone manifests itself with a rending of the heart of rock.
It is only so that such souls can be taught that the Father is with
them, and that they are not alone.
There is another class of men, who live in sympathy. These are
affectionate minds, which tremble at the thought of being alone;
not from want of courage nor from weakness of intellect comes their
dependence upon others, but from the intensity of their affections.
It is the trembling spirit of humanity in them. They want not aid,
not even countenance, but only sympathy. And then trial comes to
them not in the shape of fierce struggle, but of chill and utter
loneliness, when they are called upon to perform a duty on which
the world looks coldly, or to embrace a truth which has not found
lodgment yet in the breasts of others.
It is to this latter and not to the former class that we must
look, if we could understand the spirit in which the words of the
text were pronounced. The deep humanity of the soul of Christ was
gifted with those finer sensibilities of affectionate nature which
stand in need of sympathy. He not only gave sympathy, but wanted
it, too, from others. He who selected the gentle John to be His
friend, who found solace in female sympathy, attended by the women
who ministered to Him out of their substance--who in the trial hour
could not bear even to pray without the human presence, which is the
pledge and reminder of God's presence, had nothing in Him of the
hard, merely self-dependent character. Even this verse testifies
to the same fact. A stern spirit never could have said, "I am not
alone: the Father is with me"; never would have felt the loneliness
which needed the balancing truth. These words tell of a struggle, an
inward reasoning, a difficulty and a reply, a sense of solitude--"I
shall be alone"; and an immediate correction of that: "Not alone:
the Father is with me."
There is no thought connected with the life of Christ more touching,
none that seems so peculiarly to characterize His spirit, as the
solitariness in which He lived. Those who understood Him best only
understood Him half. Those who knew Him best scarcely could be
said to know Him. On this occasion the disciples thought, Now we
do understand, now we do believe. The lonely spirit answered, "Do
ye now believe? Behold the hour cometh that ye shall be scattered,
every man to his own, and shall leave me alone."
Very impressive is that trait in His history. He was in this world
alone.
I. First, then, we meditate on the loneliness of Christ.
The loneliness of Christ was caused by the divine elevation of His
character. His infinite superiority severed Him from sympathy; His
exquisite affectionateness made that want of sympathy a keen trial.
There is a second-rate greatness which the world can comprehend. If
we take two who are brought into direct contrast by Christ Himself,
the one the type of human, the other that of divine excellence, the
Son of Man and John the Baptist, this becomes clearly manifest.
John's life had a certain rude, rugged goodness, on which was
written, in characters which required no magnifying-glass to read,
spiritual excellence. The world, on the whole, accepted him.
Pharisees and Sadducees went to his baptism. The people idolized
him as a prophet; and, if he had not chanced to cross the path
of a weak prince and a revengeful woman, we can see no reason why
John might not have finished his course with joy, recognized as
irreproachable. If we inquire why it was that the world accepted
John and rejected Christ, one reply appears to be, that the life
of the one was infinitely simple and one-sided, that of the other
divinely complex. In physical nature, the naturalist finds no
difficulty in comprehending the simple structure of the lowest
organizations of animal life, where one uniform texture, and one
organ performing the office of brain and heart and lungs, at once,
leave little to perplex. But when he comes to study the complex
anatomy of men, he has the labor of a lifetime before him. It is not
difficult to master the constitution of a single country; but when
you try to understand the universe, you find infinite appearances
of contradiction: law opposed by law; motion balanced by motion;
happiness blended with misery; and the power to elicit a divine
order and unity out of this complex variety is given to only a
few of the gifted of the race. That which the structure of man is
to the structure of the limpet, that which the universe is to a
single country, the complex and boundless soul of Christ was to the
souls of other men. Therefore, to the superficial observer, His
life was a mass of inconsistencies and contradictions. All thought
themselves qualified to point out the discrepancies. The Pharisees
could not comprehend how a holy Teacher could eat with publicans
and sinners. His own brethren could not reconcile His assumption
of a public office with the privacy which He aimed at keeping. "If
thou doest these things, show thyself to the world." Some thought He
was "a good man"; others said, "Nay, but he deceiveth the people."
And hence it was that He lived to see all that acceptance which
had marked the earlier stage of His career--as, for instance, at
Capernaum--melt away. First, the Pharisees took the alarm; then
the Sadducees; then the political party of the Herodians; then the
people. That was the most terrible of all: for the enmity of the
upper classes is impotent; but when that cry of brute force is
stirred from the deeps of society, as deaf to the voice of reason as
the ocean in its strength churned into raving foam by the winds, the
heart of mere earthly oak quails before that. The apostles, at all
events, did quail. One denied; another betrayed; all deserted. They
"were scattered, each to his own": and the Truth Himself was left
alone in Pilate's judgment hall.
Now learn from this a very important distinction. To feel solitary
is no uncommon thing. To complain of being alone, without sympathy,
and misunderstood, is general enough. In every place, in many a
family, these victims of diseased sensibility are to be found, and
they might find a weakening satisfaction in observing a parallel
between their own feelings and those of Jesus. But before that
parallel is assumed, be very sure that it is, as in His case, the
elevation of your character which severs you from your species. The
world has small sympathy for divine goodness; but it also has little
for a great many other qualities which are disagreeable to it. You
meet with no response; you are passed by; find yourself unpopular;
meet with little communion. Well! Is that because you are above
in the world--nobler, devising and executing grand plans, which
they can not comprehend; vindicating the wronged; proclaiming and
living on great principles; offending it by the saintliness of your
purity, and the unworldliness of your aspirations? Then yours is
the loneliness of Christ. Or is it that you are wrapped up in self,
cold, disobliging, sentimental, indifferent about the welfare of
others, and very much astonished that they are not deeply interested
in you? You must not use these words of Christ. They have nothing to
do with you.
Let us look at one or two of the occasions on which this loneliness
was felt.
The first time was when He was but twelve years old, when His
parents found Him in the temple, hearing the doctors and asking them
questions. High thoughts were in the Child's soul: expanding views
of life; larger views of duty, and His own destiny.
There is a moment in every true life--to some it comes very
early--when the old routine of duty is not large enough; when the
parental roof seems too low, because the Infinite above is arching
over the soul; when the old formulas, in creeds, catechisms, and
articles, seem to be narrow, and they must either be thrown aside,
or else transformed into living and breathing realities; when the
earthly father's authority is being superseded by the claims of a
Father in Heaven.
That is a lonely, lonely moment, when the young soul first feels
God--when this earth is recognized as an "awful place, yea, the very
gate of heaven"; when the dream-ladder is seen planted against the
skies, and we wake, and the dream haunts us as a sublime reality.
You may detect the approach of that moment in the young man or
the young woman by the awakened spirit of inquiry; by a certain
restlessness of look, and an eager earnestness of tone; by the
devouring study of all kinds of books; by the waning of your own
influence, while the inquirer is asking the truth of the doctors
and teachers in the vast temple of the world; by a certain
opinionativeness, which is austere and disagreeable enough; but
the austerest moment of the fruit's taste is that in which it is
passing from greenness into ripeness. If you wait in patience, the
sour will become sweet. Rightly looked at, that opinionativeness is
more truly anguish; the fearful solitude of feeling the insecurity
of all that is human; the discovery that life is real, and forms of
social and religious existence hollow. The old moorings are torn
away, and the soul is drifting, drifting, drifting, very often
without compass, except the guidance of an unseen hand, into the
vast infinite of God. Then come the lonely words, and no wonder.
"How is it that ye sought me? Wist ye not that I must be about my
Father's business?"
That solitude was felt by Christ in trial. In the desert, in
Pilate's judgment hall, in the garden, He was alone; and alone must
every son of man meet his trial-hour. The individuality of the soul
necessitates that. Each man is a new soul in this world: untried,
with a boundless "Possible" before him. No one can predict what
he may become, prescribe his duties, or mark out his obligations.
Each man's own nature has its own peculiar rules; and he must take
up his life-plan alone, and persevere in it in a perfect privacy
with which no stranger intermeddleth. Each man's temptations are
made up of a host of peculiarities, internal and external, which no
other mind can measure. You are tried alone; alone you pass into
the desert; alone you must bear and conquer in the agony; alone
you must be sifted by the world. There are moments known only to a
man's own self, when he sits by the poisoned springs of existence,
"yearning for a morrow which shall free him from strife." And there
are trials more terrible than that. Not when vicious inclinations
are opposed to holy, but when virtue conflicts with virtue, is
the real rending of the soul in twain. A temptation, in which the
lower nature struggles for mastery, can be met by the whole united
force of the spirit. But it is when obedience to a heavenly Father
can be only paid by disobedience to an earthly one; or fidelity to
duty can be only kept by infidelity to some entangling engagement;
or the straight path must be taken over the misery of others; or
the counsel of the affectionate friend must be met with a "Get
thee behind me, Satan":--Oh! it is then, when human advice is
unavailable, that the soul feels what it is to be alone.
Once more: the Redeemer's soul was alone in dying. The hour had
come--they were all gone, and He was, as He predicted, left alone.
All that is human drops from us in that hour. Human faces flit and
fade, and the sounds of the world become confused. "I shall die
alone"--yes, and alone you live. The philosopher tells us that no
atom in creation touches another atom; they all approach within
a certain distance; then the attraction ceases, and an invisible
something repels--they only seem to touch. No soul touches another
soul except at one or two points, and those chiefly external--a
fearful and lonely thought, but one of the truest of life. Death
only realizes that which has been fact all along. In the central
deeps of our being we are alone.
II. The spirit or temper of that solitude.
Observe its grandeur. I am alone, yet not alone. This is a feeble
and sentimental way in which we speak of the Man of sorrows. We
turn to the cross, and the agony, and the loneliness, to touch the
softer feelings, to arouse compassion. You degrade that loneliness
by your compassion. Compassion! compassion for Him! Adore if you
will--respect and reverence that sublime solitariness with which
none but the Father was--but no pity; let it draw out the firmer and
manlier graces of the soul. Even tender sympathy seems out of place.
For even in human beings, the strength that is in a man can only be
learnt when he is thrown upon his own resources and left alone. What
a man can do in conjunction with others does not test the man. Tell
us what he can do alone. It is one thing to defend the truth when
you know that your audience are already prepossest, and that every
argument will meet a willing response; and it is another thing to
hold the truth when truth must be supported, if at all, alone--met
by cold looks and unsympathizing suspicion. It is one thing to rush
on to danger with the shouts and the sympathy of numbers; it is
another thing when the lonely chieftain of the sinking ship sees
the last boat-full disengage itself, and folds his arms to go down
into the majesty of darkness, crushed, but not subdued.
Such and greater far was the strength and majesty of the Savior's
solitariness. It was not the trial of the lonely hermit. There is a
certain gentle and pleasing melancholy in the life which is lived
alone. But there are the forms of nature to speak to him; and he has
not the positive opposition of mankind, if he has the absence of
actual sympathy. It is a solemn thing, doubtless, to be apart from
men, and to feel eternity rushing by like an arrowy river. But the
solitude of Christ was the solitude of a crowd. In that single human
bosom dwelt the thought which was to be the germ of the world's
life, a thought unshared, misunderstood, or rejected. Can you not
feel the grandeur of those words, when the Man, reposing on His
solitary strength, felt the last shadow of perfect isolation pass
across His soul:--"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
Next, learn from these words self-reliance. "Ye shall leave me
alone." Alone, then, the Son of Man was content to be. He threw
Himself on His own solitary thought: did not go down to meet the
world; but waited, tho it might be for ages, till the world should
come round to Him. He appealed to the future, did not aim at seeming
consistent, left His contradictions unexplained: I came from the
Father: I leave the world, and go to the Father. "Now," said they,
"Thou speakest no proverb"; that is enigma. But many a hard and
enigmatical saying before He had spoken, and He left them all. A
thread runs through all true acts, stringing them together into one
harmonious chain: but it is not for the Son of God to be anxious to
prove their consistency with each other.
This is self-reliance, to repose calmly on the thought which is
deepest in our bosoms, and be unmoved if the world will not accept
it yet. To live on your own convictions against the world, is to
overcome the world--to believe that what is truest in you is true
for all: to abide by that, and not be over-anxious to be heard or
understood, or sympathized with, certain that at last all must
acknowledge the same, and that, while you stand firm, the world will
come round to you, that is independence. It is not difficult to get
away into retirement, and there live upon your own convictions; nor
is it difficult to mix with men, and follow their convictions; but
to enter into the world, and there live out firmly and fearlessly
according to your own conscience--that is Christian greatness.
There is a cowardice in this age which is not Christian. We shrink
from the consequences of truth. We look round and cling dependently.
We ask what men will think; what others will say; whether they will
stare in astonishment. Perhaps they will; but he who is calculating
that will accomplish nothing in this life. The Father--the Father
which is with us and in us--what does He think? God's work can not
be done without a spirit of independence. A man has got some way
in the Christian life when he has learned to say humbly, and yet
majestically, "I dare to be alone."
Lastly, remark the humility of this loneliness. Had the Son of Man
simply said, I can be alone, He would have said no more than any
proud, self-relying man can say; but when He added, "because the
Father is with me," that independence assumed another character,
and self-reliance became only another form of reliance upon God.
Distinguish between genuine and spurious humility. There is a false
humility which says, "It is my own poor thought, and I must not
trust it. I must distrust my own reason and judgment, because they
are my own. I must not accept the dictates of my own conscience; for
is it not my own, and is not trust in self the great fault of our
fallen nature?"
Very well. Now, remember something else. There is a Spirit which
beareth witness in our spirits; there is a God who "is not far from
any one of us"; there is a "Light which lighteth every man which
cometh into the world." Do not be unnaturally humble. The thought of
your own mind perchance is the thought of God. To refuse to follow
that may be to disown God. To take the judgment and conscience of
other men to live by, where is the humility of that? From whence did
their conscience and judgment come? Was the fountain from which they
drew exhausted for you? If they refused like you to rely on their
own conscience, and you rely upon it, how are you sure that it is
more the mind of God than your own which you have refused to hear?
Look at it in another way. The charm of the words of great
men--those grand sayings which are recognized as true as soon as
heard--is this, that you recognize them as wisdom which passed
across your own mind. You feel that they are your own thoughts
come back to you, else you would not at once admit them: "All that
floated across me before, only I could not say it, and did not feel
confident enough to assert it, or had not conviction enough to put
into words." Yes, God spoke to you what He did to them: only they
believed it, said it, trusted the Word within them, and you did not.
Be sure that often when you say, "It is only my own poor thought,
and I am alone," the real correcting thought is this, "Alone,
but the Father is with me,"--therefore I can live by that lonely
conviction.
There is no danger in this, whatever timid minds may think--no
danger of mistake, if the character be a true one. For we are not
in uncertainty in this matter. It has been given us to know our
base from our noble hours: to distinguish between the voice which
is from above, and that which speaks from below, out of the abyss
of our animal and selfish nature. Samuel could distinguish between
the impulse--quite a human one--which would have made him select
Eliab out of Jesse's sons, and the deeper judgment by which "the
Lord said, Look not on his countenance, nor on the height of his
stature, for I have refused him." Doubtless deep truth of character
is required for this: for the whispering voices get mixed together,
and we dare not abide by our own thoughts, because we think them our
own, and not God's: and this because we only now and then endeavor
to know in earnest. It is only given to the habitually true to know
the difference. He knew it, because all His blessed life long He
could say, "My judgment is just, because I seek not my own will, but
the will of him who sent me."
The practical result and inference of all this is a very simple,
but a very deep one: the deepest of existence. Let life be a life
of faith. Do not go timorously about, inquiring what others think,
and what others believe, and what others say. It seems the easiest,
it is the most difficult thing in life to do this. Believe in God.
God is near you. Throw yourself fearlessly upon Him. Trembling
mortal, there is an unknown light within your soul, which will wake
when you command it. The day may come when all that is human, man
and woman, will fall off from you; as they did from Him. Let His
strength be yours. Be independent of them all now. The Father is
with you. Look to Him, and He will save you.
HITCHCOCK
ETERNAL ATONEMENT
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
ROSWELL DWIGHT HITCHCOCK was born at East Machias, Maine, in 1817.
To his pulpit delivery, which was direct, fluent and impressive,
he brought the results of profound Bible research. He was an
evangelical transcendentalist, and for many years addressed large
and cultured congregations in New York City. As a teacher he was
clear and inspiring, particularly in historical theology. In 1880 he
was made president of the Union Theological Seminary. His best-known
work is the "Complete Analysis of the Bible." He died in 1887.
HITCHCOCK
1817-1887
ETERNAL ATONEMENT[2]
[2] From Dr. Hitchcock's book of the same title by permission of the
publishers. Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons.
_And all that dwell upon the earth shall worship him, whose
names are not written in the book of life of the Lamb slain from
the foundation of the world_.--Revelation xiii., 8.
My subject is the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world.
My text is Revelation xiii., 8, the precise import of which is
disputed; and I will therefore give you the rival renderings. As we
have been used to it in the Authorized Version, it reads: "Written
in the book of life of the Lamb slain from the foundation of the
world." The Anglican revisers, following the lead of Alford, make no
essential change: "Written in the book of life of the Lamb that hath
been slain from the foundation of the world." The American revisers,
following the lead of Bengel, De Wette, and many others, would have
it: "Written from the foundation of the world in the book of life of
the Lamb that hath been slain." The American rendering makes the
election eternal. The Anglican rendering makes the atonement eternal.
The prevalent opinion no doubt has been that the atonement is simply
an historic fact, dating back now some nineteen hundred years; and
that only the purpose of it is eternal. But Johann Wessel, the great
German theologian, who died only six years after Martin Luther was
born, got hold of the idea that not election only, but atonement
also, is an eternal act. And this, it seems to me, is both rational
and scriptural. Eternal election, profoundly considered, requires
eternal atonement for its support. Both are eternal, as all divine
realities are eternal. If the passage in Revelation were given up,
we should still have to deal with 1 Peter i., 19, 20, where the
Lamb is spoken of as foreknown before the foundation of the world,
but manifested at the end of the times; eternal reality becoming
temporal fact. We should still have to deal with John xvii., 24,
which also carries back into eternity the redeeming relationship
between the Father and the Son. Even on Calvary, as temporal
actuality, the Lamb slain is only a figure of speech, and, of
course, it can be no more than a figure of speech as eternal reality
in the bosom of God. But whether in time, or in eternity--whether
on Calvary or in the bosom of God, the figure must stand for
something. For us the meaning is, and must be, that not election
only, but atonement also, is eternal. And so the relationship of
God to moral evil stands forth as an eternal relationship. Not that
evil is itself eternal; but God always knew it and always felt it.
It may help our thinking in this direction to remember that there
is a sense in which creation itself is eternal; not independently
eternal, but, of God's will, dependently eternal.
There must nothing be said, or thought, in mitigation of the ethical
verdict against moral evil. The hatefulness of it, no matter what
its chronology may be, is simply unspeakable. Violated law is
monstrous. Unmindfulness of God, who has always been so mindful
of us, is mean. Never to pray, either in one's closet or in one's
family, is against all the proprieties. Idolatry is childish and
contemptible. Profaneness of speech is scandalous. Neglect of
holy time is robbery. Disobedience to parents is shameful. Murder
is hideous. Unchastity murders the soul, is indeed both murder
and suicide. And so of all the rest. Theft, falsehood, and even
inordinate desire are abominable. Imagine a community, larger or
smaller--a family, a township, a state, or a nation--where the
Ten Commandments are persistently trampled under foot, and you
will have imagined a community intolerable even to itself. And
if this be our human judgment, what must the divine judgment be?
The more pure and righteous a moral being is, the more squarely
he must antagonize, more intensely he must hate, the more surely
he must punish impurity and unrighteousness. Volcanic fire inside
the globe, forked lightning outside of it, are faint emblems of
holy wrath. Wrong doing is the one thing nowhere, and never, to be
either condoned or endured. Physical accident, bodily sickness,
financial disaster, social bereavement, may all be pitied. But when
a thoroughly bad man stands revealed, only lightning is logical.
He that sows the wind ought to reap the whirlwind. It was a great
philosopher who stood amazed at the starry sky, and at the moral
sense in man. Well he might. There is no softness in the midnight
sky; only cold blue marble, and a steady blaze that never relents,
and is never tired. You can not endure that blaze, you dare not risk
yourself out alone among those gleaming orbs with a guilty secret in
your bosom. The universe is instinct with law that never abdicates.
Remorse is not repentance; and even repentance washes out no stain.
Self-forgiveness is impossible. The trumpet is always sounding;
every day is a judgment-day; and every one of us goes to the left.
Gehenna is the only logical goal of sin.
Nor should any attempt be made to get at the genesis of moral evil.
The beginning of it is simply inconceivable. The whole thing is a
mystery and must be let alone. Moral evil is not eternal; or there
would be two infinities. Nor is it a creature of God; or God would
be divided against Himself. And yet it had the divine permission,
whatever that may be imagined to have been. With every attribute
roused and alert--infinity of power, infinity of wisdom, infinity
of holiness--God stood by and let evil enter. Angels revolted
first, somewhere among the stars. Mankind revolted. Was evil
really unavoidable in a proper moral system? If so, immorality is
not immoral. Evil that is really essential to good should not be
considered evil. It would be only the bitter bud of the fragrant
blossom and the luscious fruit. Or, putting it in another form,
will you say that God could not have prevented evil? He certainly
could have prevented it. In Heaven to-day, what is the security
of saints and angels, of your own dear sainted mother, of Gabriel
himself, but God's own grace constraining the will of every saint,
constraining the will of every seraph? What is human sin but the
abuse of human appetites, of human passions, of human faculties, in
themselves all innocent? Study the lesson of our Lord's temptation
in the desert. Certainly, He was not tempted as we are, by inflamed
appetites and passions, by impaired and disordered faculties. But He
possest all these natural appetites, passions, and faculties; and
they were put to a real and a tremendous strain. That "great duel,"
as Milton calls it, was no sham fight; one or the other had to go
down. Christ was gnawed by hunger, but refused to eat. He saw what
might be done by a brilliant miracle towards inaugurating His Jewish
ministry, but refused to work it. He saw the short, Satanic path
to Messianic dominion, but chose Gethsemane and Calvary. Now the
first Adam was just as cool and just as innocent as the second Adam.
And, with more of grace to strengthen him, he too might have stood.
There was no real necessity for that first human disobedience. It
was sheer, wanton, gratuitous, inexplicable apostasy. Somewhat more
of divine constraint, and the catastrophe would certainly have
been averted. Call it non-prevention, call it permission, call it
anything you please, somehow sin entered in spite of God's hating
it. It came knocking for admission, and God's shoulder was not
against the gate. For some reason, or reasons, not revealed, perhaps
not revealable, God thought it best not to put His shoulder against
the gate. The hateful and hated thing pushed through. Ormuzd let
in Ahriman. I thank the Persian for these two words. They embody
and emphasize the historic dualism of good and evil. The historic
dualism, you will observe I say; there is no other dualism. God is
One; and Master of all. The divine permission of hateful and hated
evil, when we fairly apprehend it, is a tremendous statement, which
might well be challenged, were not the thing itself so undeniably
a fact. This is as far as we can go. Here we halt, with our bruised
and throbbing foreheads hard up against the granite cliff.
Practically, historic sin finds relief in historic redemption.
Apparently, there was little, if any, interval between the two.
Sin came, perhaps, with the noontide rest. "In the cool of the
day"--that same day, most likely--the offended Lord came walking
in the garden. The colloquy had a sharp beginning, but a mellow
ending. The bitten heel would finally crush the biting head. And
the struggle at once began. The Lord came down very close to His
erring, guilty, frightened children. And they clung very closely to
Him. We are in great danger of underrating that primitive economy of
grace. The record is very brief, and the Oriental genius of it seems
strange to us. But we see an altar there; and it can have but one
meaning. Ages after, in all the nobler ethnic religions--Egyptian,
Indian, Persian, and Pelasgic--we encounter echoes and survivals
of that first vouchsafement of revelation. In all the great
religions, we find one God; in all of them, personal immortality,
with retribution; in most of them, divine triads; in two of them
at least, the resurrection of the body. If it be true, as we may
well believe, that Socrates is now in Heaven, singing the new song,
it is because he sacrificed; and he sacrificed, whether he fully
understood it or not, because of that colloquy in the garden. And if
that sufficed for him, the Providence of God is justified. Historic
sin is fairly matched, and overmatched, by historic redemption.
But the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world, suggests a far
sublimer theodicy. We are taken back behind the human ages, behind
all time, into awful infinite depths, into the very bosom of the
triune God. Theological science recognizes two trinities, which
it calls economic and essential. The former began with historic
redemption, and kept pace with it. Father, Son, and Spirit stood
for law, redemption, and regeneration. It was economic trinity
that suggested essential trinity. But for the historic process,
the question might not have seemed worth asking, whether God is
one only, or three also, and the three in one. The Hebrew mind, as
represented by Philo, was only just beginning to be trinitarian,
when Christ's life in the flesh compelled the Hebrew mind, as
represented by Peter, Paul, and John, to a new theology. After
Pentecost, bald Unitarianism was anachronous. Christian experience
logically required three divine persons, of one and the same divine
essence. Economic trinity required essential trinity.
Essential trinity is anything but an arbitrary conception of
God. Wyclif taught it at Oxford as a necessary doctrine of
reason. Trinity is another name for the self-consciousness, and
self-communion, of God. Father, Son, and Spirit are vastly more
than the revelation of God to man; they are the revelation of God
to Himself, and the intercourse of God with Himself. They suggest
infinite fulness and richness of being. Our scientific definitions
of God do not amount to much. At best, they formulate only very
inadequate conceptions of Him. It is assumed that these scientific
definitions of God take us farther than the Biblical descriptions of
God. We had better not feel too sure of that. Attributes in action
may impart a better knowledge than attributes abstractedly defined.
Pictures for children may be better than creeds and catechisms.
What we need is to see God in the life both of nature, and of man.
This the Hebrew prophets enable us to do by their anthropomorphic
and anthropopathic pictures of God. If you say the pictures are
childish, then I must say that we are children, all of us, and had
better be children. It is no real scandal to science to be told,
that "the eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil
and the good"; that "the eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous,
and his ears are open unto their cry"; that the Lord "smelled a
sweet savor" from Noah's altar; while wicked men are consumed by
"the breath of his nostrils"; that "the voice of the Lord breaketh
the cedars of Lebanon"; and He "walketh upon the wings of the
wind"; and that at last, in the Messianic time, "the Lord will make
bare his holy arm in the eyes of all the nations." God is not a
mere aggregate of attributes. He has a personality as distinct and
positive as yours and mine. But the personality is infinite in all
its outgoings. God's being is a vast abyss which no plummet has
ever sounded. Imagine all you can of boundless power, constantly at
work; of boundless intelligence, constantly at work; of boundless
passion, constantly at work: God is all that, and immeasurably more
than that. What right has any one to say that God is passionless?
God Himself has never said it. He is not passionless. Like the sun,
He is all aflame; He rejoices in the truth; He hates a lie. He is
pleased with what is right, and displeased with what is wrong. Good
men are the apple of His eye; bad men His abomination and His scorn.
Rendered literally, "God is a righteous Judge, and a God who is
angry every day."
But God is love. So says John in that famous passage, over which the
theologians are still disputing, whether the meaning be that love
is only one of the divine attributes, or is that very essence of
God, into which every other attribute may be resolved. Some of the
profoundest thinkers of our day accept these three words of John,
"God is love," as the final definition of God. Sunshine striking a
teardrop may give us the seven colors of the rainbow; but the seven
colors are all one blessed light. God creates, governs, judges,
punishes, pities, redeems, and saves; but love is the root of all.
It was love that created this wonderous universe, to which science
can set no bounds. It was love that created angels, tho some of them
rebelled, and were "delivered into chains of darkness." It was love
that created this human brotherhood, all of whom have rebelled and
gone astray. This rebellion was permitted; but was rebellion all the
same. God feels it; and has always felt it. Absalom has broken his
father's heart; and we are Absalom. The grand old King goes up over
Olivet weeping, with his head covered, and his feet bare; and that
King is God. Only He is the King Eternal, and His agony over sin is
also eternal. This agony of God over human sin is the Lamb slain
from the foundation of the world. God Himself atones, to Himself
atones; and so atonement is both eternal and divine.
In that matchless epitome of the gospel--that parable of the
Prodigal Son, reported only by Luke--not a word is said, not a
glimpse is given, of the father of the prodigal during all that
interval between the departure and return. A veil is drawn over all
those bitter, weary years. So has God yearned and suffered in the
silent depths of His own eternity, waiting and watching for the
repentant prodigal. This yearning, grieved, and suffering God is
the God and Father of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ; Son of God,
Son of Mary. This sinless Child should have had no griefs of His
own. His sorrows could have been only those old eternal shadows of
permitted sin. The cross on which He died, flinging out its arms as
if to embrace the world, lifted up its head toward the Lamb slain
from the foundation of the world. Our hearts now go back to Calvary;
and from Calvary they go up to God.
One word more. This stupendous idea of eternal atonement carries
with it the idea of universal atonement. Whatever it was, and is,
must needs have been infinite. No magnitude of sin, no multitude
of sinners, can bankrupt its treasury of grace. "God so loved the
world," is its everlasting refrain. "He that will, let him take of
the water of life freely." "Take" is the word, my hearers. Let us
remember this. There is something for us to do. God Himself can not
pardon an impenitent offender. If pardon were offered, it could not
be accepted. It is a law of our own being, that we must repent. O
Lamb of God, slain so long ago, save us at last, when Thou comest in
the clouds; and save us here to-day.
It is one of the revelations of Scripture that we are to judge the
angels, sitting above them on the shining heights. It may well be
so. Those angels are the imperial guard, doing easy duty at home.
We are the "tenth legion," marching in from the swamps and forests
of the far-off frontier; scarred and battered, but victorious over
death and sin.[3]
[3] The following stanza from Dean Alford's grand hymn appears upon
the last page of this, the last sermon written by Dr. Hitchcock.
By a singular coincidence it was the stanza especially selected to
be sung in the burial service at Dr. Hitchcock's funeral, altho in
entire ignorance of its existence in the manuscript.
Ten thousand times ten thousand
In sparkling raiment bright,
The armies of the ransom'd saints
Throng up the steps of light;
'Tis finish'd, all is finish'd,
Their fight with death and sin:
Fling open wide the golden gates,
And let the victors in.
KINGSLEY
THE SHAKING OF THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
CHARLES KINGSLEY was born at Holne Vicarage, Devonshire, in 1819.
He was by temperament enthusiastic, impetuous, and great-hearted.
His utterances were notable for their unusual earnestness. "I go at
what I am about," he said, "as if there were nothing else in the
world for the time being." In this way he completely lost himself
in the work in hand. His favorite motto was "Be strong!" He had a
poetic spirit, and was both vigorous and brilliant. He is known not
only for his sermons and addresses, but also for his novels and some
verse. He died in 1875.
KINGSLEY
1819-1875
THE SHAKING OF THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH
_Yet once more I shake not the earth only, but also heaven.
And this word, Yet once more, signifieth the removing of those
things that are shaken, as of things that are made, that
those things which can not be shaken may remain. Wherefore we
receiving a kingdom which can not be moved, let us have grace,
whereby we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly
fear: for our God is a consuming fire._--Hebrews xii., 26-29.
This is one of the royal texts of Scripture. It is inexhaustible,
like the God who inspired it. It has fulfilled itself again and
again, at different epochs. It fulfilled itself specially and
notoriously in the first century. But it fulfilled itself again
in the fifth century; and again at the Crusades; and again at the
Reformation in the sixteenth century. And it may be that it is
fulfilling itself at this very day; that in this century, both in
the time of our fathers and in our own, the Lord has been shaking
the heavens and the earth, that those things which can be shaken may
be removed, as things that are made, while those things which can
not be shaken remain.
All confess this to be true, each in his own words. They talk of
this age as one of change; of rapid progress, for good or evil;
of unexpected discoveries; of revolutions, intellectual, moral,
social, as well as political. Our notions of the physical universe
are rapidly altering, with the new discoveries of science; and our
notions of ethics and theology are altering as rapidly. The era
assumes a different aspect to different minds, just as it did the
first century after Christ, according as men look forward to the
future with hope, or back to the past with regret. Some glory in
the nineteenth century as one of rapid progress for good; as the
commencement of a new era for humanity; as the inauguration of a
Reformation as grand as that of the sixteenth century. Others bewail
it as an age of rapid decay; in which the old landmarks are being
removed, the old paths lost; in which we are rushing headlong into
skepticism and atheism; in which the world and the Church are both
in danger, and the last day is at hand.
Both parties may be right; and yet both may be wrong. Men have
always talked thus, at great crises in the world's life. They talked
thus in the first century; and in the fifth, and in the eleventh;
and again in the sixteenth; and then both parties were partially
right and partially wrong; and so they may be now. What they meant
to say, what they wanted to say, what we mean and want to say, has
been said already for us in far deeper, wider, and more accurate
words, by him who wrote this wonderful Epistle to the Hebrews, when
he told the Jews of his time that the Lord was shaking the heavens
and the earth, that those things which were shaken might be removed,
as things that are made--cosmogonies, systems, theories, prejudices,
fashions, of man's invention: while those things which could not be
shaken might remain, because they were according to the mind and
will of God, eternal as that source from whence they came forth,
even the bosom of God the Father.
"Yet once more I shake, not the earth only, but also heaven."
How has the earth been shaken in our days; and the heaven likewise.
How rapidly have our conceptions of both altered. How easy, simple,
certain, it all looked to our forefathers in the middle age. How
difficult, complex, uncertain, it all looks to us. With increased
knowledge has come--not increased doubt: that I deny utterly. I
deny, once and for all, that this age is an irreverent age. I say
that an irreverent age is one like the age of the Schoolmen; when
men defined and explained all heaven and earth by a priori theories,
and cosmogonies invented in the cloister; and dared, poor, simple,
ignorant mortals, to fancy that they could comprehend and gauge
the ways of Him whom the heaven and the heaven of heavens could not
contain. This, this is irreverence: but it is neither irreverence
nor want of faith, if a man, awed by the mystery which encompasses
him from the cradle to the grave, shall lay his hand upon his mouth,
with Job, and obey the Voice which cries to him from earth and
heaven--"Be still, and know that as the heavens are higher than the
earth, so are my ways higher than thy ways, and my thoughts higher
than thine."
But it was all easy, and simple, and certain enough to our
forefathers. The earth, according to the popular notion, was a flat
plane; or, if it were, as the wiser held, a sphere, yet antipodes
were an unscriptural heresy. Above it were the heavens, in which the
stars were fixed, or wandered; and above them heaven after heaven,
each tenanted by its own orders of beings, up to that heaven of
heavens in which Deity--and by Him, be it always remembered, the
mother of Deity--was enthroned.
And if above the earth was the kingdom of light, and purity, and
holiness, what could be more plain, than that below it was the
kingdom of darkness, and impurity, and sin? That was no theory to
our forefathers: it was a physical fact. Had not even the heathens
believed as much, and said so, by the mouth of the poet Virgil? He
had declared that the mouth of Tartarus lay in Italy, hard by the
volcanic lake Avernus; and after the unexpected eruption of Vesuvius
in the first century, nothing seemed more clear than that Virgil was
right; and that men were justified in talking of Tartarus, Styx,
and Phlegethon as indisputable Christian entities. Etna, Stromboli,
Hecla, were (according to this cosmogony) likewise mouths of hell;
and there were not wanting holy hermits, who had heard from within
those craters, shrieks, and clanking chains, and the howls of demons
tormenting the souls of the endlessly lost.
Our forefathers were not aware that, centuries before the
incarnation of our Lord, the Buddhist priests had held exactly the
same theory of moral retribution; and that painted on the walls of
Buddhist temples might be seen horrors identical with those which
adorned the walls of many a Christian church, in the days when men
believed in this Tartarology as firmly as they now believe in the
results of chemistry or of astronomy.
And now--How is the earth shaken, and the heavens likewise, in that
very sense in which the expression is used by him who wrote to
the Hebrews? Our conceptions of them are shaken. How much of that
medieval cosmogony do educated men believe, in the sense in which
they believe that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two
right angles, or that if they steal their neighbor's goods they
commit a sin?
The earth has been shaken for us, more and more violently, as the
years have rolled on. It was shaken when astronomy told us that
the earth was not the center of the universe, but a tiny planet
revolving round a sun in a remote region thereof.
It was shaken, when geology told us that the earth had endured
for countless ages, during which continents had become oceans,
and oceans continents, again and again. And even now, it is being
shaken by researches into the antiquity of man, into the origin and
permanence of species, which, let the result be what it will, must
in the meanwhile shake for us theories and dogmas which have been
undisputed for 1500 years.
And with the rest of our cosmogony, that conception of a physical
Tartarus below the earth has been shaken likewise, till good men
have been fain to find a fresh place for it in the sun, or in a
comet; or to patronize the probable, but as yet unproved theory of
a central fire within the earth; not on any scientific grounds, but
simply if by any means they can assign a region in space, wherein
material torment can be inflicted on the spirits of the lost.
And meanwhile the heavens, the spiritual world, is being shaken
no less. More and more frequently, more and more loudly, men are
asking, not skeptics merely, but pious men, men who wish to be,
and who believe themselves to be, orthodox Christians, more and
more loudly are such men asking questions which demand an answer,
with a learning and an eloquence, as well as with a devoutness
and a reverence for Scripture, which--whether rightly or wrongly
employed--is certain to command attention.
Rightly or wrongly, these men are asking, whether the actual and
literal words of Scripture really involve the medieval theory of an
endless Tartarus.
They are saying, "It is not we who deny, but you who assert,
endless torments, who are playing fast and loose with the letter of
Scripture. You are reading into it conceptions borrowed from Virgil,
Dante, Milton, when you translate into the formula 'endless torment'
such phrases as 'the outer darkness,' 'the fire of Gehenna,'
the 'worm that dieth not'; which, according to all just laws of
interpretation, refer not to the next life, but to this life, and
specially to the approaching catastrophe of the Jewish nation; or
when you say that eternal death really means eternal life--only life
in torture."
Rightly or wrongly, they are saying this; and then they add, "We do
not yield to you in love and esteem for Scripture. We demand not a
looser, but a stricter; not a more metaphoric, but a more literal;
not a more contemptuous, but a more reverent interpretation thereof."
So these men speak, rightly or wrongly. And for good or for evil,
they will be heard.
And with these questions others have arisen, not new at all,
say these men, but to be found amid many contradictions, in the
writings of all the best divines, when they have given up for a
moment systems and theories, and listened to the voice of their own
hearts; questions natural enough to an age which abhors cruelty,
has abolished torture, labors for the reformation of criminals, and
debates, rightly or wrongly, about abolishing capital punishment.
Men are asking questions about the heaven, the spiritual world, and
saying, "The spiritual world? Is it only another material world
which happens to be invisible now, but which may become visible
hereafter: or is it not rather the moral world--the world of right
and wrong? Heaven? Is not the true and real heaven the kingdom of
love, justice, purity, beneficence? Is not that the eternal heaven
wherein God abides for ever, and with Him those who are like God?
And hell? Is it not rather the anarchy of hate, injustice, impurity,
uselessness; wherein abides all that is opposed to God?"
And with these thoughts come others about moral retribution--"What
is its purpose? Can it, can any punishment have any right purpose
save the correction, or the annihilation, of the criminal? Can God,
in this respect, be at once less merciful and less powerful than
men? Is He so controlled by necessity that He is forced to bring
into the world beings whom he knows to be incorrigible, and doomed
to endless misery? And if not so controlled, is not the alternative
as to His character even more fearful? He bids us copy His justice,
His love. Is that His justice, that His love, which if we copied, we
should call each other, and deservedly, utterly unjust and unloving?
Can there be one morality for God, and another for man, made in the
image of God? Are these dark dogmas worthy of a Father who hateth
nothing that He hath made, and is perfect in this, that He makes
His sun shine on the evil and on the good, and His rain fall on
the just and on the unjust, and is good to the unthankful and to
the evil? Are they worthy of a Son who, in the fire of His divine
charity, stooped from heaven to earth, to toil, to suffer, to die on
the cross, that the world by Him might be saved? Are they worthy of
that which proceeds from the Father and the Son, even that Spirit
of boundless charity, and fervent love, by which the Son offered
Himself to the Father, a sacrifice for the sins of the world--and
surely not in vain?"
So men are asking, rightly or wrongly; and they are guarding
themselves, at the same time, from the imputation of disbelief
in moral retribution; of fancying God to be a careless, epicurean
deity, cruelly indulgent to sin, and therefore, in so far, immoral.
They say--"We believe firmly enough in moral retribution. How can
we help believing in it, while we see it working around us, in many
a fearful shape, here, now, in this life? And we believe that it
may work on, in still more fearful shapes, in the life to come.
We believe that as long as a sinner is impenitent, he must be
miserable; that if he goes on impenitent for ever, he must go on
making himself miserable, aye, it may be more and more miserable for
ever. Only do not tell us that he must go on. That his impenitence,
and therefore his punishment, is irremediable, necessary, endless;
and thereby destroy the whole purpose, and we should say, the whole
morality, of his punishment. If that punishment be corrective, our
moral sense is not shocked by any severity, by any duration: but if
it is irremediable, it can not be corrective; and then, what it is,
or why it is, we can not--or rather dare not--say. We, too, believe
in an eternal fire. But because we believe also the Athanasian
Creed, which tells us that there is but one eternal, we believe
that that fire must be the fire of God, and therefore, like all
that is in God and of God, good and not evil, a blessing and not a
curse. We believe that that fire is for ever burning, tho men are
for ever trying to quench it all day long; and that it has been and
will be in every age burning up all the chaff and stubble of man's
inventions; the folly, the falsehood, the ignorance, the vice of
this sinful world; and we praise God for it; and give thanks to
Him for His great glory, that He is the everlasting and triumphant
foe of evil and misery, of whom it is written, that our God is a
consuming fire."
Such words are being spoken, right or wrong. Such words will bear
their fruit, for good or evil. I do not pronounce how much of them
is true or false. It is not my place to dogmatize and define, where
the Church of England, as by law established, has declined to do
so. Neither is it for you to settle these questions. It is rather a
matter for your children. A generation more, it may be, of earnest
thought will be required, ere the true answer has been found. But
it is your duty, if you be educated and thoughtful persons, to face
these questions; to consider whether you are believing the exact
words of the Bible, and the conclusions of your own reason and moral
sense; or whether you are merely believing that cosmogony elaborated
in the cloister, that theory of moral retribution pardonable in the
middle age, which Dante and Milton sang.
But this I do not hesitate to say, That if we of the clergy can find
no other answers to these doubts than those which were reasonable
and popular in an age when men racked women, burned heretics, and
believed that every Mussulman killed in a crusade went straight
to Tartarus, then very serious times are at hand, both for the
Christian clergy and for Christianity itself.
What, then, are we to believe and do? Shall we degenerate into a
lazy skepticism, which believes that everything is a little true,
and everything a little false--in plain words, believes nothing
at all? Or shall we degenerate into faithless fears, and unmanly
wailings that the flood of infidelity is irresistible, and that
Christ has left His Church?
We shall do neither, if we believe the text. That tells us of a
firm standing ground amid the wreck of fashions and opinions; of a
kingdom which can not be moved, tho the heavens pass away like a
scroll, and the earth be burnt up with a fervent heat.
And it tells us that the King of that kingdom is He, who is called
Jesus Christ--the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.
An eternal and changeless kingdom, and an eternal and changeless
King--these the Epistle to the Hebrews preaches to all generations.
It does not say that we have an unchangeable cosmogony, an
unchangeable eschatology, an unchangeable theory of moral
retribution, an unchangeable dogmatic system; not to these does it
point the Jews, while their own nation and worship were in their
very death-agony, and the world was rocking and reeling round them,
decay and birth going on side by side, in a chaos such as man had
never seen before. Not to these does the epistle point the Hebrews:
but to the changeless kingdom and to the changeless King.
My friends, do you really believe in that kingdom, and in that King?
Do you believe that you are now actually in a kingdom of heaven,
which can not be moved; and that the living, acting, guiding,
practical, real King thereof is Christ who died on the cross?
These are days in which a preacher is bound to ask his
congregation--and still more to ask himself--whether he really
believes in that kingdom, and in that King; and to bid himself and
them, if they have not believed earnestly enough therein, to repent
of having neglected that most cardinal doctrine of Scripture and of
the Christian faith.
But if we really believe in that changeless kingdom and in that
changeless King, shall we not--considering who Christ is, the
coequal and coeternal Son of God--believe also, that if the heavens
and the earth are being shaken, then Christ Himself may be shaking
them? That if opinions be changing, then Christ Himself may be
changing them? That if new truths are being discovered, Christ
Himself may be revealing them? That if some of those truths seem
to contradict those which He has revealed already, they do not
really contradict them? That, as in the sixteenth century, Christ
is burning up the wood and stubble with which men have built on
His foundation, that the pure gold of His truth may alone be left?
It is at least possible; it is probable, if we believe that Christ
is a living, acting King, to whom all power is given in heaven and
earth, and who is actually exercising that power; and educating
Christendom, and through Christendom the whole human race, to a
knowledge of Himself, and through Himself of God their Father in
heaven.
Should we not say--We know that Christ has been so doing, for
centuries and for ages? Through Abraham, through Moses, through
the prophets, through the Greeks, through the Romans, and at last
through Himself, He gave men juster and wider views of themselves,
of the universe, and of God. And even then He did not stop. How
could He, who said of Himself, "My Father worketh hitherto, and I
work"? How could He, if He be the same yesterday, to-day, and for
ever? Through the apostles, and especially through St. Paul, He
enlarged, while He confirmed, His own teaching. And did He not do
the same in the sixteenth century? Did He not then sweep from the
minds and hearts of half Christendom beliefs which had been sacred
and indubitable for a thousand years? Why should He not be doing
so now? If it be answered, that the Reformation of the sixteenth
century was only a return to simpler and purer apostolic truth--why,
again, should it not be so now? Why should He not be perfecting His
work one step more, and sweeping away more of man's inventions,
which are not integral and necessary elements of the one catholic
faith, but have been left behind, in pardonable human weakness,
by our great reformers? Great they were, and good: giants on the
earth, while we are but as dwarfs beside them. But, as the hackneyed
proverb says, the dwarf on the giant's shoulders may see further
than the giant himself: and so may we.
Oh! that men would approach new truth in something of that spirit;
in the spirit of reverence and godly fear, which springs from a
living belief in Christ the living King, which is--as the text
tells us--the spirit in which we can serve God acceptably. Oh!
that they would serve God; waiting reverently and anxiously, as
servants standing in the presence of their Lord, for the slightest
sign or hint of His will. Then they would have grace by which they
would receive new-thought with grace; gracefully, courteously,
fairly, charitably, reverently; believing that, however strange or
startling, it may come from Him whose ways are not as our ways, nor
His thoughts as our thoughts; and that he who fights against it, may
haply be fighting against God.
True, they would receive all new thought with caution, that
conservative spirit, which is the duty of every Christian; which
is the peculiar strength of the Englishman, because it enables him
calmly and slowly to take in the new, without losing the old which
his forefathers have already won for him. So they would be cautious,
even anxious, lest in grasping too greedily at seeming improvements,
they let go some precious knowledge which they had already attained:
but they would be on the lookout for improvements; because they
would consider themselves, and their generation, as under a divine
education. They would prove all things fairly and boldly, and
hold fast that which is good; all that which is beautiful, noble,
improving and elevating to human souls, minds, or bodies; all that
increases the amount of justice, mercy, knowledge, refinement; all
that lessens the amount of vice, cruelty, ignorance, barbarism.
That at least must come from Christ. That at least must be the
inspiration of the Spirit of God: unless the Pharisees were right
after all when they said, that evil spirits could be cast out by the
prince of the devils.
Be these things as they may, one comfort it will give us, to believe
firmly and actively in the changeless kingdom, and in the changeless
King. It will give us calm, patience, faith and hope, tho the
heavens and the earth be shaken around us. For then we shall see
that the kingdom, of which we are citizens, is a kingdom of light,
and not of darkness; of truth, and not of falsehood; of freedom,
and not of slavery; of bounty and mercy, and not of wrath and fear;
that we live and move and have our being not in a "_Deus quidam
deceptor_" who grudges his children wisdom, but in a Father of
Light, from whom comes every good and perfect gift; who willeth that
all men should be saved, and come to the knowledge of the truth. In
His kingdom we are; and in the King whom He has set over it we can
have the most perfect trust. For us that King stooped from heaven
to earth; for us He was born, for us He toiled, for us He suffered,
for us He died, for us He rose, for us He sits for ever at God's
right hand. And can we not trust Him? Let Him do what He will. Let
Him lead us whither He will. Wheresoever He leads must be the way
of truth and life. Whatsoever He does, must be in harmony with that
infinite love which He displayed for us upon the cross. Whatsoever
He does, must be in harmony with that eternal purpose by which He
reveals to men God their Father. Therefore, tho the heaven and the
earth be shaken around us, we will trust in Him. For we know that He
is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever; and that His will and
promise is, to lead those who trust in Him into all truth.
CAIRD
RELIGION IN COMMON LIFE
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
JOHN CAIRD was born at Greenock, Scotland, in 1820. He attained
great popularity as a preacher in Edinburgh. In 1862 he was called
to Park Church, Glasgow, and in 1873 became Principal of Glasgow
University. The sermon given here was preached before the Queen in
1855, and, printed by her command, attained an amazing circulation.
Dr. Caird's deep and earnest thought was clothed almost invariably
in clear and beautiful language. He had many gifts as a pulpit
speaker. His voice was full and deep-toned, his manner gracious
and sympathetic, and his gestures, tho infrequent, were always
significant and graceful. He died in 1898.
CAIRD
1820-1898
RELIGION IN COMMON LIFE[4]
[4] Printed by permission of Messrs. William Blackwood & Sons,
Publishers.
_Not slothful in business; fervent in spirit; serving the
Lord._--Romans xii., 11.
When a man is learning to be a Christian, it matters not what
his particular work in life may be; the work he does is but
the copy-line set to him; the main thing to be considered is
that he learn to live well. The form is nothing, the execution
is everything. It is true, indeed, that prayer, holy reading,
meditation, the solemnities and services of the Church, are
necessary to religion, and that these can be practised only apart
from the work of secular life. But it is to be remembered that all
such holy exercises do not terminate in themselves. They are but
steps in the ladder to heaven, good only as they help us to climb.
They are the irrigation and enriching of the spiritual soil--worse
than useless if the crop become not more abundant. They are, in
short, but means to an end--good, only in so far as they help us
to be good and to do good--to glorify God and do good to man; and
that end can perhaps best be attained by him whose life is a busy
one, whose avocations bear him daily into contact with his fellows,
into the intercourse of society, into the heart of the world. No man
can be a thorough proficient in navigation who has never been at
sea, tho he may learn the theory of it at home. No man can become
a soldier by studying books on military tactics in his closet: he
must in actual service acquire those habits of coolness, courage,
discipline, address, rapid combination, without which the most
learned in the theory of strategy or engineering will be but a
schoolboy soldier after all. And, in the same way, a man in solitude
and study may become a most learned theologian, or may train himself
into the timid, effeminate piety of what is technically called "the
righteous life." But never, in the highest and holiest sense, can he
become a religious man, until he has acquired those habits of daily
self-denial, of resistance to temptation, of kindness, gentleness,
humility, sympathy, active beneficence, which are to be acquired
only in daily contact with mankind. Tell us not, then, that the
man of business, the bustling tradesman, the toil-worn laborer,
has little or no time to attend to religion. As well tell us that
the pilot, amid the winds and storms, has no leisure to attend to
navigation--or the general, on the field of battle, to the art
of war! Where will he attend to it? Religion is not a perpetual
moping over good books--religion is not even prayer, praise, holy
ordinances; these are necessary to religion--no man can be religious
without them. But religion, I repeat, is, mainly and chiefly, the
glorifying God amid the duties and trials of the world,--the guiding
our course amid the adverse winds and currents of temptation, by the
starlight of duty and the compass of divine truth,--the bearing us
manfully, wisely, courageously, for the honor of Christ, our great
Leader, in the conflict of life. Away then with the notion that
ministers and devotees may be religious, but that a religious and
holy life is impracticable in the rough and busy world! Nay rather,
believe me, that is the proper scene, the peculiar and appropriate
field for religion,--the place in which to prove that piety is not
a dream of Sundays and solitary hours; that it can bear the light
of day; that it can wear well amid the rough jostlings, the hard
struggles, the coarse contacts of common life,--the place, in one
word, to prove how possible it is for a man to be at once "not
slothful in business," and "fervent in spirit, serving the Lord."
Another consideration, which I shall adduce in support of the
assertion that it is not impossible to blend religion with the
business of common life, is this: that religion consists, not so
much in doing spiritual or sacred acts, as in doing secular acts
from a sacred or religious motive.
There is a very common tendency in our minds to classify actions
according to their outward form, rather than according to the
spirit or motive which pervades them. Literature is sometimes
arbitrarily divided into "sacred" and "profane" literature, history
into "sacred" and "profane" history,--in which classification the
term "profane" is applied, not to what is bad or unholy, but to
everything that is not technically sacred or religious--to all
literature that does not treat of religious doctrines and duties,
and to all history save church history. And we are very apt to apply
the same principle to actions. Thus in many pious minds there is a
tendency to regard all the actions of common life as so much, by an
unfortunate necessity, lost to religion. Prayer, the reading of the
Bible and devotional books, public worship--and buying, selling,
digging, sowing, bartering, money-making, are separated into two
distinct, and almost hostile, categories. The religious heart and
sympathies are thrown entirely into the former, and the latter are
barely tolerated as a bondage incident to our fallen state, but
almost of necessity tending to turn aside the heart from God.
But what God has cleansed, why should we call common or unclean? The
tendency in question, tho founded on right feeling, is surely a
mistaken one. For it is to be remembered that moral qualities reside
not in actions, but in the agent who performs them, and that it is
the spirit or motive from which we do any work that constitutes it
base or noble, worldly or spiritual, secular or sacred. The actions
of an automaton may be outwardly the same as those of a moral agent,
but who attributes to them goodness or badness? A musical instrument
may discourse sacred melodies better than the holiest lips can sing
them, but who thinks of commending it for its piety? It is the same
with actions as with places. Just as no spot or scene on earth is
in itself more or less holy than another, but the presence of a
holy heart may hallow--or a base one desecrate--any place where it
dwells; so with actions. Many actions, materially great and noble,
may yet, because of the spirit that prompts and pervades them,
be really ignoble and mean; and, on the other hand, many actions
externally mean and lowly, may, because of the state of his heart
who does them, be truly exalted and honorable. It is possible to
fill the highest station on earth, and go through the actions
pertaining to it in a spirit that degrades all its dignities, and
renders all its high and courtly doings essentially sordid and
vulgar. And it is no mere sentimentality to say that there may dwell
in a lowly mechanic's or household servant's breast a spirit that
dignifies the coarsest toils and "renders drudgery divine." Herod of
old was a slave, tho he sat upon a throne; but who will say that the
work of that carpenter's shop at Nazareth was not noble and kingly
work indeed!
A life spent amidst holy things may be intensely secular; a life,
the most of which is passed in the thick and throng of the world,
may be holy and divine. A minister, for instance, preaching,
praying, ever speaking holy words and performing sacred acts, may be
all the while doing actions no more holy than those of the printer
who prints Bibles, or of the bookseller who sells them; for, in both
cases alike, the whole affair may be nothing more than a trade. Nay,
the comparison tells worse for the former, for the secular trade is
innocent and commendable, but the trade which traffics and tampers
with holy things is, beneath all its mock solemnity, "earthly,
sensual, devilish."
So, to adduce one other example, the public worship of God is holy
work: no man can be living a holy life who neglects it. But the
public worship of God may be--and with multitudes who frequent our
churches is--degraded into work most worldly, most distasteful to
the great Object of our homage. He "to whom all hearts be open, all
desires known," discerns how many of you have come hither to-day
from the earnest desire to hold communion with the Father of
Spirits, to open your hearts to Him, to unburden yourselves in His
loving presence of the cares and crosses that have been pressing
hard upon you through the past week, and by common prayer and
praise, and the hearing of His holy Word, to gain fresh incentive
and energy for the prosecution of His work in the world; and how
many, on the other hand, from no better motive, perhaps, than
curiosity or old habit, or regard to decency and respectability, or
the mere desire to get rid of yourselves, and pass a vacant hour
that would hang heavy on your hands. And who can doubt that, where
such motives as these prevail, to the piercing, unerring inspection
of Him whom outwardly we seem to reverence, not the market-place,
the exchange, the counting-room appears a place more intensely
secular--not the most reckless and riotous festivity, a scene of
more unhallowed levity, than is presented by the house of prayer?
But, on the other hand, carry holy principles with you into the
world, and the world will become hallowed by their presence. A
Christ-like spirit will Christianize everything it touches. A meek
heart, in which the altar-fire of love to God is burning, will lay
hold of the commonest, rudest things in life, and transmute them,
like coarse fuel at the touch of fire, into a pure and holy flame.
Religion in the soul will make all the work and toil of life--its
gains and losses, friendships, rivalries, competitions--its manifold
incidents and events--the means of religious advancement. Marble
or coarse clay, it matters not much with which of these the artist
works, the touch of genius transforms the coarser material into
beauty, and lends to the finer a value it never had before. Lofty
or lowly, rude or refined, as our earthly work may be, it will
become to a holy mind only the material for something infinitely
nobler than all the creations of genius--a pure and godlike life. To
spiritualize what is material, to Christianize what is secular--this
is the noble achievement of Christian principle. If you are a
sincere Christian, it will be your great desire, by God's grace, to
bring every gift, talent, occupation of life, every word you speak,
every action you do, under the control of Christian motive. Your
conversation may not always--nay, may seldom, save with intimate
friends--consist of formally religious words; you may perhaps shrink
from the introduction of religious topics in general society; but
it demands a less amount of Christian effort occasionally to speak
religious words, than to infuse the spirit of religion into all
our words; and if the whole tenor of your common talk be pervaded
by a spirit of piety, gentleness, earnestness, sincerity, it will
be Christian conversation not the less. If God has endowed you
with intellectual gifts, it may be well if you directly devote
them to His service in the religious instruction; but a man may
be a Christian thinker and writer as much when giving to science,
or history, or biography, or poetry, a Christian tone and spirit,
as when composing sermons or writing hymns. To promote the cause
of Christ directly, by furthering every religious and missionary
enterprise at home and abroad, is undoubtedly your duty; but
remember that your duty terminates not when you have done all this,
for you may promote Christ's cause even still more effectually when
in your daily demeanor--in the family, in society, in your business
transactions, in all your common intercourse with the world--you
are diffusing the influence of Christian principle around you by
the silent eloquence of a holy life. Rise superior, in Christ's
strength, to all equivocal practises and advantages in trade;
shrink from every approach to meanness or dishonesty; let your eye,
fixed on a reward before which earthly wealth grows dim, beam with
honor; let the thought of God make you self-restrained, temperate,
watchful over speech and conduct; let the abiding sense of Christ's
redeeming love to you make you gentle, self-denying, kind, and
loving to all around you;--then indeed will your secular life become
spiritualized, whilst, at the same time, your spiritual life will
grow more fervent; then not only will your prayers become more
devout, but when the knee bends not, and the lip is silent, the
life in its heavenward tone will "pray without ceasing;" then from
amidst the roar and din of earthly toil the ear of God will hear the
sweetest anthems rising; then, finally, will your daily experience
prove that it is no high and unattainable elevation of virtue, but
a simple and natural thing, to which the text points, when it bids
us to be both "diligent in business" and "fervent in spirit, serving
the Lord."
As a last illustration of the possibility of blending religion with
the business of common life, let me call your attention to what may
be described as the mind's power of acting on latent principles.
In order to live a religious life in the world, every action must
be governed by religious motives. But in making this assertion, it
is not by any means implied that in all the familiar actions of
our daily life religion must form a direct and conscious object of
thought. To be always thinking of God, and Christ, and eternity
amidst our worldly work, and, however busy, eager, interested we
may be in the special business before us, to have religious ideas,
doctrines, beliefs, present to the mind,--this is simply impossible.
The mind can no more consciously think of heaven and earth at the
same moment than the body can be in heaven and earth at the same
moment. Moreover there are few kinds of work in the world that, to
be done well, must not be done heartily, many that require, in order
to excellence, the whole condensed force and energy of the highest
mind.
But tho it be true that we can not, in our worldly work, be
always consciously thinking of religion, yet it is also true that
unconsciously, we may be acting under its ever-present control. As
there are laws and powers in the natural world of which, without
thinking of them, we are ever availing ourselves,--as I do not think
of gravitation when I move my limbs, or of atmospheric laws when,
by means of them, I breathe, so in the routine of daily work, tho
comparatively seldom do I think of them, I may yet be constantly
swayed by the motives, sustained by the principles, living,
breathing, acting in the invisible atmosphere of true religion.
There are under-currents in the ocean which act independently of the
movements of the waters on the surface; far down too in its hidden
depths there is a region where, even tho the storm be raging on the
upper waves, perpetual calmness and stillness reign. So there may be
an under-current beneath the surface-movements of your life--there
may dwell in the secret depths of your being the abiding peace
of God, the repose of a holy mind, even tho, all the while, the
restless stir and commotion of worldly business may mark your outer
history.
And, in order to see this, it is to be remembered, that many of the
thoughts and motives that most powerfully impel and govern us in the
common actions of life, are latent thoughts and motives. Have you
not often experienced that curious law--a law, perhaps, contrived by
God with an express view to this its highest application--by which
a secret thought or feeling may lie brooding in your mind, quite
apart from the particular work in which you happen to be employed?
Have you never, for instance, while reading aloud, carried along
with you in your reading the secret impression of the presence of
the listener--an impression that kept pace with all the mind's
activity in the special work of reading; nay, have you not sometimes
felt the mind, while prosecuting without interruption the work
of reading, yet at the same time carrying on some other train of
reflection apart altogether from that suggested by the book? Here
is obviously a particular "business" in which you were "diligent,"
yet another and different thought to which the "spirit" turned. Or,
think of the work in which I am this moment occupied. Amidst all
the mental exertions of the public speaker--underneath the outward
workings of his mind, so to speak, there is the latent thought of
the presence of auditory. Perhaps no species of exertion requires
greater concentration of thought or undividedness of attention than
this: and yet, amidst all the subtle processes of intellect,--the
excogitation or recollection of ideas,--the selection, right
ordering and enunciation of words, there never quits his mind for
one moment the idea of the presence of the listening throng. Like
a secret atmosphere, it surrounds and bathes his spirit as he goes
on with the external work. And have not you too, my friends, an
Auditor--it may be a "great cloud of witnesses,"--but at least one
all-glorious Witness and Listener ever present, ever watchful, as
the discourse of life proceeds? Why then, in this case too, while
the outward business is diligently prosecuted, may there not be
on your spirit a latent and constant impression of that awful
inspection? What worldly work so absorbing as to leave no room in
a believer's spirit for the hallowing thought of that glorious
Presence ever near? Do not say that you do not see God--that the
presence of the divine Auditor is not forced upon your senses as
that of the human auditory on the speaker. For the same process
goes on in the secret meditations as in the public addresses of
the preacher--the same latent reference to those who shall listen
to his words dwells in his mind when in his solitary retirement he
thinks and writes, as when he speaks in their immediate presence.
And surely if the thought of an earthly auditory--of human minds and
hearts that shall respond to his thoughts and words can intertwine
itself with all the activities of a man's mind, and flash back
inspiration on his soul, at least as potent and as penetrating may
the thought be, or Him, the great Lord of heaven and earth, who not
only sees and knows us now, but before whose awful presence, in the
last great congregation, we shall stand forth to recount and answer
for our every thought and deed.
Or, to take but one other example, have we not all felt that the
thought of anticipated happiness may blend itself with the work
of our business hours? The laborer's evening release from toil,
the schoolboy's coming holiday, or the hard-wrought business-man's
approaching season of relaxation--the expected return of a
long-absent and much-loved friend--is not the thought of these, or
similar joyous events, one which often intermingles with, without
interrupting, our common work? When a father goes forth to his
"labor till the evening," perhaps often, very often, in the thick of
his toils, the thought of home may start up to cheer him. The smile
that is to welcome him, as he crosses his lowly threshold when the
work of the day is over, the glad faces, and merry voices, and sweet
caresses of little ones, as they shall gather round him in the quiet
evening hours--the thought of all this may dwell, a latent joy, a
hidden motive, deep down in his heart of hearts, may come rushing
in a sweet solace at every pause of exertion, and act like a secret
oil to smooth the wheels of labor. And so, in the other cases I
have named, even when our outward activities are the most strenuous,
even when every energy of mind and body is full strung for work, the
anticipation of coming happiness may never be absent from our minds.
The heart has a secret treasury, where our hopes and joys are often
garnered--too precious to be parted with even for a moment.
And why may not the highest of all hopes and joys possess the same
all-pervading influence? Have we, if our religion be real, no
anticipation of happiness in the glorious future? Is there no "rest
that remaineth for the people of God," no home and loving heart
awaiting us when the toils of our hurried day of life are ended?
What is earthly rest or relaxation, what that release from toil
after which we so often sigh, but the faint shadow of the saint's
everlasting rest--the repose of eternal purity--the calm of a
spirit in which, not the tension of labor only, but the strain of
the moral strife with sin, has ceased--the rest of the soul in God!
What visions of earthly bliss can ever--if our Christian faith be
not a form--compare with "the glory soon to be revealed"--what joy
of earthly reunion with the rapture of the hour when the heavens
shall yield our absent Lord to our embrace, to be parted from us
no more for ever! And if all this be not a dream and a fancy, but
most sober truth, what is there to except this joyful hope from
that law to which, in all other deep joys, our minds are subject?
Why may we not, in this case too, think often, amidst our worldly
work, of the Home to which we are going, of the true and loving
heart that beats for us, and of the sweet and joyous welcome that
awaits us there? And even when we make them not, of set purpose,
the subject of our thoughts, is there not enough of grandeur in the
objects of a believer's hope to pervade his spirit at all times
with a calm and reverential joy? Do not think all this strange,
fanatical, impossible. If it do seem so, it can only be because your
heart is in the earthly hopes, but not in the higher and holier
hopes--because love to Christ is still to you but a name--because
you can give more ardor of thought to the anticipation of a coming
holiday than to the hope of heaven and glory everlasting. No, my
friends! the strange thing is, not that amidst the world's work we
should be able to think of our Home, but that we should ever be able
to forget it; and the stranger, sadder still, that while the little
day of life is passing,--morning--noontide--evening,--each stage
more rapid than the last, while to many the shadows are already fast
lengthening, and the declining sun warns them that "the night is at
hand, wherein no man can work," there should be those amongst us
whose whole thoughts are absorbed in the business of the world, and
to whom the reflection never occurs that soon they must go out into
eternity--without a friend--without a home!
Such, then, is the true idea of the Christian life--a life not
of periodic observances, or of occasional fervors, or even of
splendid acts of heroism and self-devotion, but of quiet, constant,
unobtrusive earnestness, amidst the commonplace work of the world.
This is the life to which Christ calls us. Is it yours? Have you
entered upon it, or are you now willing to enter upon it? It is
not, I admit, an imposing or an easy one. There is nothing in it to
dazzle, much in its hardness and plainness to deter the irresolute.
The life of a follower of Christ demands not, indeed, in our day,
the courage of the hero or the martyr, the fortitude that braves
outward dangers and sufferings, and flinches not from persecution
and death. But with the age of persecution the difficulties of
the Christian life have not passed away. In maintaining, in the
unambitious routine of humble duties, a spirit of Christian
cheerfulness and contentment--in preserving the fervor of piety
amidst unexciting cares and wearing anxieties--in the perpetual
reference to lofty ends amidst lowly toils--there may be evinced a
faith as strong as that of a man who dies with the song of martyrdom
on his lips. It is a great thing to love Christ so dearly as to be
"ready to be bound and to die" for Him; but it is often a thing not
less great to be ready to take up our daily cross, and to live for
Him.
But be the difficulties of a Christian life in the world what they
may, they need not discourage us. Whatever the work to which our
Master calls us, He offers us a strength commensurate with our
needs. No man who wishes to serve Christ will ever fail for lack of
heavenly aid. And it will be no valid excuse for an ungodly life
that it is difficult to keep alive the flame of piety in the world,
if Christ be ready to supply the fuel.
To all, then, who really wish to lead such a life, let me suggest
that the first thing to be done--that without which all other
efforts are worse than vain--is heartily to devote themselves to
God through Christ Jesus. Much as has been said of the infusion
of religious principle and motive into our worldly work, there
is a preliminary advice of greater importance still--that we be
religious. Life comes before growth. The soldier must enlist before
he can serve. In vain are directions how to keep the fire ever
burning on the altar, if first it be not kindled. No religion can
be genuine, no goodness can be constant or lasting, that springs
not, as its primary source, from faith in Jesus Christ. To know
Christ as my Savior--to come with all my guilt and weakness to Him
in whom trembling penitence never fails to find a friend--to cast
myself at His feet in whom all that is sublime in divine holiness
is softened, though not obscured, by all that is beautiful in human
tenderness--and, believing in that love stronger than death which,
for me, and such as me, drained the cup of untold sorrows, and bore
without murmur the bitter curse of sin, to trust my soul for time
and eternity into His hands--this is the beginning of true religion.
And it is the reverential love with which the believer must ever
look to Him to whom he owes so much, that constitutes the mainspring
of the religion of daily life. Selfishness may prompt to a formal
religion, natural susceptibility may give rise to a fitful one, but
for a life of constant fervent piety, amidst the world's cares and
toils, no motive is sufficient save one--self-devoted love to Christ.
But again, if you would lead a Christian life in the world, let me
remind you that that life must be continued as well as begun with
Christ. You must learn to look to Him not merely as your Savior from
guilt, but as the Friend of your secret life, the chosen Companion
of your solitary hours, the Depositary of all the deeper thoughts
and feelings of your soul. You can not live for Him in the world
unless you live much with Him, apart from the world. In spiritual as
in secular things, the deepest and strongest characters need much
solitude to form them. Even earthly greatness, much more moral and
spiritual greatness, is never attained but as the result of much
that is concealed from the world--of many a lonely and meditative
hour. Thoughtfulness, self-knowledge, self-control, a chastened
wisdom and piety, are the fruit of habitual meditation and prayer.
In these exercises heaven is brought near, and our exaggerated
estimate of earthly things corrected. By these our spiritual
energies, shattered and worn by the friction of worldly work,
are repaired. In the recurring seasons of devotion the cares and
anxieties of worldly business cease to vex us; exhausted with its
toils, we have, in daily communion with God, "meat to eat which the
world knoweth not of;" and even when its calamities and losses fall
upon us, and our portion of worldly good may be withdrawn, we may be
able to show, like those holy ones of old at the heathen court, by
the fair serene countenance of the spirit, that we have something
better than the world's pulse to feed upon.
But, further, in availing yourself of this divine resource amidst
the daily exigencies of life, why should you wait always for the
periodic season and the formal attitude of prayer? The heavens are
not open to the believer's call only at intervals. The grace of
God's Holy Spirit falls not like the fertilizing shower, only now
and then; or like the dew on the earth's face, only at morning and
night. At all times on the uplifted face of the believer's spirit
the gracious element is ready to descend. Pray always; pray without
ceasing. When difficulties arise, delay not to seek and obtain at
once the succor you need. Swifter than by the subtle electric agent
is thought borne from earth to heaven. The Great Spirit on high is
in constant sympathy with the believing spirit beneath, and in a
moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the thrill of aspiration flashes
from the heart of man to God. Whenever anything vexes you--whenever,
from the rude and selfish ways of men, any trials of temper cross
your path--when your spirits are ruffled, or your Christian
forbearance put to the test, be this your instant resource! Haste
away, if only for a moment, to the serene and peace-breathing
presence of Jesus, and you will not fail to return with a spirit
soothed and calmed. Or when the impure and low-minded surround
you--when, in the path of duty, the high tone of your Christian
purity is apt to suffer from baser contacts, oh, what a relief to
lift the heart to Christ!--to rise on the wings of faith--even
for one instant to breathe the air of that region where the
Infinite Purity dwells, and then return with a mind steeled against
temptation, ready to recoil, with the instinctive abhorrence of a
spirit that has been beside the throne, from all that is impure and
vile. Say not, then, with such aid at your command, that religion
can not be brought down to common life!
In conclusion, let me once more urge upon you the great lesson
on which we have been insisting. Carry religious principle into
everyday life. Principle elevates whatever it touches. Facts lose
all their littleness to the mind which brings principle and law
to bear upon them. The chemist's or geologist's soiled hands are
no sign of base work; the coarsest operations of the laboratory,
the breaking of stones with a hammer, cease to be mechanical when
intellectual thought and principle govern the mind and guide the
hands. And religious principle is the noblest of all. Bring it to
bear on common actions and coarse cares, and infinitely nobler even
than the philosophic or scientific, becomes the Christian life.
Live for Christ in common things, and all your work will become
priestly work. As in the temple of old, it was holy work to hew
wood or mix oil, because it was done for the altar-sacrifice or the
sacred lamps; so all your coarse and common work will receive a
consecration when done for God's glory, by one who is a true priest
to His temple.
Carry religion into common life, and your life will be rendered
useful as well as noble. There are many men who listen incredulously
to the high-toned exhortations of the pulpit; the religious life
there depicted is much too seraphic, they think, for this plain
and prosaic world of ours. Show these men that the picture is
not a fancy one. Make it a reality. Bring religion down from the
clouds. Apply to it the infallible test of experiment; and, by
suffusing your daily actions with holy principles, prove that love
to God, superiority to worldly pleasure, spirituality, holiness,
heavenly-mindedness, are something more than the stock ideas of
sermons.
Carry religious principle into common life, and common life will
lose its transitoriness. "The world passeth away!" "The things
that are seen are temporal." Soon business with all its cares
and anxieties--the whole "unprofitable stir and fever of the
world"--will be to us a thing of the past. But religion does
something better than sigh and muse over the perishableness of
earthly things; it finds in them the seed of immortality. No work
done for Christ perishes. No action that helps to mold the deathless
mind of a saint of God is ever lost. Live for Christ in the world,
and you carry with you into eternity all of the results of the
world's business that are worth the keeping. The river of life
sweeps on, but the gold grains it held in solution are left behind
deposited in the holy heart. "The world passeth away, and the lust
thereof; but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever." Every
other result of our "diligence in business" will soon be gone.
You cannot invent any mode of exchange between the visible and
invisible worlds, so that the balance at your credit in the one
can be transferred, when you migrate from it, to your account in
the other. Worldly sharpness, acuteness, versatility, are not the
qualities in request in the world to come. The capacious intellect,
stored with knowledge, and disciplined into admirable perspicacity,
tact, worldly wisdom, by a lifetime devoted to politics or business,
is not, by such attainments, fitted to take a higher place among the
sons of immortality. The honor, fame, respect, obsequious homage
that attend worldly greatness up to the grave's brink, will not
follow it one step beyond. These advantages are not to be despised;
but if these be all that, by the toil of our hand, or the sweat of
our brow, we have gained, the hour is fast coming when we shall
discover that we have labored in vain and spent our strength for
naught. But while these pass, there are other things that remain.
The world's gains and losses may soon cease to affect us, but not
the gratitude or the patience, the kindness or the resignation,
they drew forth from our hearts. The world's scenes of business
may fade on our sight, the noise of its restless pursuits may fall
no more upon our ear, when we pass to meet our God; but not one
unselfish thought, not one kind and gentle word, not one act of
self-sacrificing love done for Jesus' sake, in the midst of our
common work, but will have left an indelible impress on the soul
which will go out with it to its eternal destiny. So live, then,
that this may be the result of your labors. So live that your work,
whether in the Church or in the world, may become a discipline for
that glorious state of being in which the Church and the world
shall become one,--where work shall be worship, and labor shall
be rest,--where the worker shall never quit the temple, nor the
worshiper the place of work, because "there is no temple therein,
but the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple thereof."
STORRS
THE PERMANENT MOTIVE IN MISSIONARY WORK
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
RICHARD S. STORRS was born at Braintree, Mass., in 1821. In his
book "Preaching Without Notes," he tells of his early practise and
experience in pulpit delivery. After fifteen years patient effort
he became one of the most accomplished extemporaneous speakers
in America. He wrote much at first, developing a fine rhetorical
style and a rich vocabulary that subsequently served him well as an
impromptu speaker. His advice to divinity students was: "Always be
careful to keep up the habit of writing, with whatever of skill,
elegance, and force, you can command." Because of this early
training in writing he was able later in life to adopt the method
of thoroughly preparing his thought for his sermons, and of leaving
the choice of words and the framing of sentences to the moment of
delivery. His greatest success was achieved after he became a purely
extemporaneous preacher. He was for fifty-four years pastor of the
Church of the Pilgrims, Brooklyn. During this time he produced a
number of books, of which the most important is "The Divine Origin
of Christianity, Indicated by its Historical Effects." He died in
1900.
STORRS
1821-1900
THE PERMANENT MOTIVE IN MISSIONARY WORK
_Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every
creature._--Mark xvi., 15.
The Permanent Motive in Missionary Work: it is a catholic and
comprehensive, even a cosmopolitan theme. It does not concern itself
simply with the interest of foreign missions, technically so called.
But, if you think of it, it concerns those in every Christian
communion who are trying to further the cause and kingdom of our
Lord on the earth. It concerns not the missionary fields alone, as
they are popularly called, in other lands, but every field in which
Christian service is sought to be rendered, from the obscurest slum
in this town of Boston to the ragged edges of the circumference, the
outmost circumference, of the world of mankind.
We are familiar, of course, with the temporary, local, changing
motives to missionary enterprise, which meet us at times, impress us
forcibly for the moment, and pass away; the influence of great and
signal occasions, when sympathies are almost tumultuously excited;
the impulse which comes with a sweeping eloquence, which lifts us
from the common levels of earth, and bears us as on wings toward
issues and actions which we had not anticipated; perhaps the impulse
which comes with personal interest in missionaries whom we have
known, or mission fields which we have traversed. Great successes
on certain fields move our enthusiasm; or tragic and terrible
experiences in others, as recently among the Armenians, stir the
deep fountains of our feeling. No one of these impulses is to be
disregarded. Each one in its place has a power of its own, and all
are to be valued and welcomed for their effect. But what we are to
look for is the motive more deep, permanent, governing, which will
be beneath and behind all these; as the tide-motive is beneath and
behind the advancing and retreating waves which rise and flash,
and break upon the beach; and this will be a motive not simple and
single, but no doubt combined of several, distinguishable from
each other, as a powerful current is made up of different uniting
affluents. We must separate them in thought, that we may afterward
combine them.
I think first, then, we shall all recognize this as essential to
the missionary motive: a clear and profound recognition of the
evilness and misery of the actual condition of mankind, certainly
as compared with the powers which are instinctive in every human
soul. It makes no difference really, or very little, at this point,
whether we accept the Scriptural declaration that man has fallen
from a higher estate to his present level, or conceive, with some
modern theorizers, that man is just now partially emerging from the
conditions of his brute ancestry, stumbling up, through sin and
error and manifold tremendous mistakes, toward wisdom and virtue,
and the blessedness which they bring. In either case, the present
condition of mankind is one of imperfection, weakness, unsatisfied
desire, unrealized promise, and manifold peril. It is not the
missionary who tells us this, principally or alone. Every observant
foreign traveler repeats the same. Everyone who has resided abroad,
and then he comes back to testify with an unprejudiced mind to that
which he has observed, relates the same. The supreme difficulty
here is in the want of the recognition of God, and of the great
immortality.
It used to be a reproach against Christian scholars, made by
skeptics, that they investigated the ethnic religions in the spirit
of suspicious hostility, by which their processes were diverted
from true lines, by which their conclusions were . I am not
concerned to argue the case of the Christian scholars of fifty
years ago, or more, but I can certainly affirm that the Christian
scholars of our own time investigate these religions carefully,
patiently, sympathetically, with an eager desire to find everything
in them that is of beautiful worth; and they do find many things
of truth and beauty, many things which excite their admiration, as
illustrating the attainment of the higher aspiration of the human
mind, reaching after the unseen if haply it might find it. But
they find nowhere the discovery of one personal God, eternal in
authority, immaculate in character, creating man in His own image,
and opening before him the ageless immensities beyond the grave;
and in the absence of such recognition of God, and such recognition
of the immortality, man is left to grope where he can not fly, to
clutch the earth where he misses heaven. So it is that industrially,
politically, commercially, socially, intellectually, he is on the
lower level, until some exterior power reaches and ennobles him. So
it is that crime, such as is unknown in Christian communities, is
familiar and tolerated in the world. In fact, we need not fix our
thought, prominently, on the more devilish crimes which still exist
in parts and portions of the earth,--cannibalism, infanticide, human
sacrifices, self-torture, the slavery that would destroy body and
soul together in its own hell. Commoner vices have told us the story
sufficiently,--drunkenness, licentiousness, the gambling passion,
the opium habit, the fierce self-will that rushes to its end,
regardless of anything sacred, in order to attain its pleasure.
All these we know. How familiar they are to the mind, and in the
life, of the world at large! And there seems no power arising
within the circle not reached by Christian influence to relieve
the gloom, to elevate those who are opprest by these sore burdens.
There _is_ no power. Property asserts its right to oppress, and
to enjoy; poverty accepts its function, however unwillingly, of
suffering in silence; the degradation of woman strikes a vicious
stab at the heart and conscience of immense communities, while the
oppression of childhood blights life at its germ; and, with the
prospect of nothing better to come, suicide becomes a common refuge
from the unbearable misery. There is nothing overstated in this
description of the world at large; and you know how it is in your
city slums, even in this city of refinement and culture, I have no
doubt; certainly in the city in which I live; in the London and
Birmingham of the other side, where the little girl twelve years old
had never heard the name of Christ, where the boy of about the same
age only knew the nature of an oath by having been his lordship's
caddy. These are what we are to reach and lift, if we can do it.
These are they to whom we are to bring blessings from the Most
High. Certainly, every heart in which there is a spark of Christian
sympathy must feel the power of this motive, pressing to the utmost
and instant exertion of every force to relieve the suffering, to
enlighten the darkened, and to lift the opprest.
No one need exaggerate, everyone should recognize, the weakness and
wretchedness, the exposure and the peril of human society. When we
remember that in this universe of ours destiny clings closely to
character, has never anything mechanical or arbitrary about it,
but follows the spirit which encounters it, then those tremendous
words of our Lord in the twenty-fifth of Matthew have upon them an
appalling sharpness and reach, as addrest to the great classes and
companies of mankind; and we must recognize it, and hear the solemn
bell of the universe ringing through His word, and telling us of
what is to be looked for in the hereafter.
But then with this recognition of the exposure and peril of human
society, of mankind at large, we must associate the recognition of
the recoverableness to truth, to virtue and God, of persons and of
peoples who are now involved in these calamities and pains; to whom,
now, unrest and apprehension are as natural as speech or sight; the
recoverableness of men as persons, and of communities as well as
persons.
Here, of course, we come into direct antagonism with the pessimist,
who says, "It is all nonsense! You can't possibly do the work; you
can't take these ragged and soiled remnants of humanity in your city
streets and weave them into purple and golden garments for the
Master; you can not accomplish the effect which you contemplate, in
the cities, in your own land, along the frontier, or in other lands.
It is as impossible to make the unchaste pure, to make the mean
noble, as it is to make crystal lenses out of mud, or the delicate
elastic watch-spring out of the iron slag!" That is the world's
view, a common and a hateful view. Our answer to it is that the
thing can be done, and has been done, and done in such multitudes
of instances that there is no use whatever in arguing against the
fact. Christ came from the heavens to the earth on an errand. He
knew what was in man; and He did not come from the celestial seats
on an errand known beforehand to be fruitless and futile. He came
because He knew the interior, central, divine element in human
nature, to which He could appeal and by which He could lift men
toward things transcendent. We have seen the examples of success,
how many times! Hundreds, yea even thousands of times, in our own
communities, as missionaries have seen them in the lands abroad:
where the woman intemperate, in harlotry, in despair, has been
lifted to restored womanhood, as the pearl oyster is brought up with
its precious contents from the slimy ooze; where the man whose lips
had been charged with foulest blasphemies has become the preacher
of the gospel of light and love, of hope and peace, to others, his
former comrades; where the feet that were swift to do evil have
become beautiful on the mountains in publishing salvation. We have
seen these things in individuals and in communities; in the roughest
frontier mining-camp, where every door opened on a saloon or a
brothel, or a gambling-table, and where, by the power coming from on
high, it has been transformed into the peaceful Christian village,
with the home, with the school, with the church, with the asylum,
with the holy song, where the former customary music had been the
crack of revolvers. We have seen the same thing on a larger scale
in the coral islands, scenes of savage massacre and of cannibal
riot and ferocity, where the Church has been planted, and Christian
fellowships have been established and maintained. We have seen these
things, and why argue against facts?
Arguing against fact, as men ultimately find out, is like trying
to stop with articulate breath the march of the stately battleship
as she sweeps onward to her anchorage. An argument may meet a
contrary argument; no argument can overwhelm a fact. And these
facts in experience are as sure, as difficult of belief perhaps,
but as compulsive of belief, as are the scientific demonstrations
of the liquid air, of the wireless telegraphy. We do not question
the reality of what we see; and we know that these effects have
been produced, on the smaller scale and on the larger. I suppose
that everyone who has ever stood on the heights above Naples, at
the Church of San Martino, on the way to St. Elmo, has noticed,
as I remember to have noticed, that all the sounds coming up from
that gay, populous, brilliant, fascinating city, as they reached
the upper air, met and mingled on the minor key. There were the
voices of traffic and the voices of command, the voices of affection
and the voices of rebuke, the shouts of sailors, and the cries of
itinerant venders in the street, with the chatter and the laugh of
childhood; but they all came up into this incessant moan in the
air. That is the voice of the world in the upper air, where there
are spirits to hear it. That is the cry of the world for help. And
here is the answer to that cry: a song of triumph and glorious
expectation, taking the place of the moan, in the village, in the
city, in the great community; men and women out of whom multitudes
of devils have been cast, as out of him of old, sitting clothed, and
in their right minds, at the feet of Jesus.
You can not tell me that it is impossible to produce these effects,
for mine own eyes have seen them, mine own hands have touched
them. I know their reality, and that every human soul which has
not committed the final sin and passed the judgment is recoverable
to God, if the right remedy be definitely applied; and that every
people, however weak, however sinful, however wanting in hope
and expectation, has within it the possibility, and above it the
promise, of the millennium. God's power is adequate to all that. We
want to associate this idea of the recoverableness of persons and of
peoples to the highest ideal and to God Himself; we want to combine
this with the idea of man's present misery and hopelessness in his
condition, to constitute the true and powerful missionary motive;
and then we want to recognize the fact that the gospel of Christ is
the one force which, being used, secures this result in the most
unpromising conditions.
Here, again, we encounter the opposition of multitudes. How often
men have laughed, how loudly they have laughed, at the idea that
the story of the crucified Nazarene could inspire a despondent soul
to hope, could purify the vicious soul into virtue, could bring
any soul nearer to God! Perhaps somewhere they are laughing at it
now; possibly even in this city of Boston, the home of culture and
refinement, of fine and wide thought--I don't know, I don't live
here; but I know that in the country at large there are always those
who are disposed to say, "It is perfectly puerile to try to reach
human sorrow and human sin with the power of the gospel, lodged in
the little book which the child may carry in her hand!" As if the
inconspicuous forces in the world's development were not always
those deadliest on the one hand, or most benign on the other; as if
wafts of air did not kill multitudes more than all the batteries of
artillery; as if the unseen forces, hardly manifesting themselves
at all, were not those which society seizes by which to advance
itself most rapidly and grandly--that little spark, vanishing
instantaneously, but revealing the unseen force which drives
machineries, draws carriages, illuminates cities, and enables you
and me to talk as if face to face with friends and correspondents
at the distance of a thousand miles; that fleecy vapor, vanishing
silently into the air but representing the gigantic servant of
modern civilization, which tunnels mountains, scoops out mines, and
links the continents together with iron bands. These unseen powers
are the ones that man craves and uses, or that, on the other hand,
he dreads and repels; and the power of the gospel, however men may
smile at the idea of that power, has vindicated itself too many
times to be assailed by argument, certainly too many times to be
encountered with ridicule.
The gospel is able to reconstitute society by reconstructing the
character of individuals. Through its effect on persons it opens
the way for vast national advances. It touches not merely the
higher themes, but all the themes that are associated with those,
and immediately pertinent to the interest of mankind. It teaches
frugality and industry, and honesty, by express command, and by the
divine example of Him who brought it to us. It turns men, as has
been forcibly said, "out of the trails of blood and plunder into
the path of honest toil." It is a gospel for every creature, that
is, for every created thing; and gardens bloom in a lovelier beauty
under its influence, and harvest festivals, of which the country is
full to-day, are only its natural and beautiful fruit and trophy.
It exalts womanhood; and by the honor it puts on womanhood, and by
the honor it puts on childhood, it inaugurates the new family life
in the world. It honors, as no other religion does or ever did,
the essential worth of the immortal spirit in man; and it forces
him, pushes him, crowds him, into thoughtfulness and educational
discipline, since it will not allow him to be manipulated into
paradise by any priestly hand, but comes to him in a Book, and sets
him to work to investigate its contents, to inquire concerning it,
to look out widely around it, and to inform himself by careful
thought of what it is and what it means.
There is the basis of colleges and theological seminaries, and I
hope there will be no quarrel between them! There is the basis of
all the educational institutions and influences that are worthy in
the world. Christianity brings them. It generates by degrees a new
social conscience. It unites communities, on which it has operated,
in new relationships to each other. International alliances become
possible, become vital. International law becomes a reality and
a power; beneficence is stimulated, and law becomes ethical. As
we have seen recently, in the prodigious excitement of feeling
throughout civilized countries in consequence of the apparent gross
injustice done to a single French officer by a military court, the
time is coming, tho it has not yet fully come, when mankind shall be
one in spirit, and an
"... instinct bear along,
Round the earth's electric circle,
One swift flash of right or wrong."
It is not commerce which does this, it is Christianity. We are
witnesses to it. Our ancestors, not many centuries ago, were mere
rapacious savages, robbers in the forests, pirates on the sea; it
was Christianity, brought to them, that lifted them into gladness,
serenity, great purpose, great expectation and hope; and the new
civilization in which we rejoice on either side, I will not say
of the separating, of the uniting ocean, was founded on that New
Testament, the folios of which, I believe, are still preserved in
Corpus Christi College in Cambridge, and in the Bodleian Library
at Oxford. Here is the basis of what has been the grandest, most
illustrious, and most prophetic, in the recent history of mankind.
Give the gospel freedom and it will everywhere show this power.
Among the children and youth to whom it goes, among the mature
and the strong, wheresoever it goes, it grapples conscience, it
stimulates the heart. That one sentence, "The blood of Jesus Christ
cleanseth us from all sin," is the profoundest truth, is the most
persuasive and commanding appeal, ever addrest by an inspired
apostle to the children of mankind; and wherever that is heard, sin
is lost in penitence, and hope is lost in triumphant vision, and the
glory of the world disappears before the glory immutable of the Son
of God!
Then we are to remember, certainly never is this to be forgotten,
that the great imperishable motive, surpassing and dominating
every other in missionary effort, is adoring love toward Christ,
as central in the Scripture, glorified in history. No student of
history, no observer of human experience, can fail to see that there
is the sovereign passion possible to human nature; beside which
the passion of love for a friend, for a country, for a business,
for studies, may be auxiliary, but must be subordinate. There is
the passion which has done the grandest things the world has ever
known. There is the passion the vision of which interprets to us
the strangest, sublimest pages of history. We have all felt it, I
am sure, if we are Christian, in our measure, and at times; at the
sacrament, perhaps; in those sabbaths of the soul of which Coleridge
speaks, when the mind eddies instead of flowing onward; when we have
been moved to a great effort for Him whom we love; most keenly,
perhaps, when we have been in keenest sorrow, when the earth was as
iron under our feet and the heavens as brass above our head, and we
were all alone, yet not alone, for there stood beside us One in the
form of the Son of Man, making luminous the dark! We have felt this
love toward Christ; and when we have felt it we have known that no
power could surpass or approach it in the intensity of its moving
force, to every enterprise, great, difficult howsoever it might be
by which He would be honored.
Love has been the sovereign power in all the Church. Judgment
may be generous; love is lavish. Judgment may be stedfast in its
conclusions; love is heroic in its affirmations. It was love that
garnished the house, and poured out the spikenard, and spiced the
sepulcher. It was love that faced the flames, as in Felicitas and
Perpetua, fronting the dungeon and not shrinking, fronting the sword
and not blanching. It was love that said, "The nearer the sword, the
nearer to God." You can not conquer that power, indestructible, full
of a divine energy.
And with the experience of this comes the vivid vision of the
divine Providence, working for the gospel in human history. How
wonderful it is! Look at the progress of the last ninety years,
since missionary work began in this country! The changes, except
as they are matters of public record and of universal personal
observation, would be simply unthinkable--the vast new machineries
of travel and of commerce; the incalculable additions to the wealth
of civilized lands; the ever-increasing prosperity and power of
Protestant nations, in which the gospel is honored; the equally
ever-reduced power and lessening fame of nations, ancient and
famous, in which the gospel is refused free movement with a home
among the people; the continually closer approaches of civilized
and Protestant nations to each other, as of Great Britain and this
country. Many years ago Lord Brougham said, you remember, "Not an
ax falls in the American forest but it sets in motion a shuttle in
Manchester." That has been true ever since, and is more true to-day
than ever before. Not a mine is opened, not an industry established,
not a mechanism invented in the one country, which is not
recognized, and the power of which is not felt, in the other; and
more and more their policies are weaving together, not necessarily
in form, but in fundamental, underlying sympathy. All these things
are going forward with the opening of regions and realms formerly
inaccessible to Christianity; so that now the Christianity which
seemed buried in the catacombs, which seemed burned up in the martyr
fires, has the freedom of the world, and may everywhere be preached
in its purity and its power. Here are the plans of God going
forward; and we ought to feel in ourselves that in every hardest
work we do we are only keeping step with the march of omnipotence.
I know that there are many who fear that the prosperity of our
times, the love of pleasure, the desire for ease and enjoyment, are
to interfere with and stay these plans of the divine Providence for
the furtherance of Christ's Church, and of His cause in the world. I
do not wonder at the fear, though I do not share it. Unquestionably
the secular spirit is more intense and widely distributed at
this time than it ever was before, and the opportunities for its
gratification, in the acquirement of wealth and in the enjoyment of
every luxury, are greater than ever before. Undoubtedly it is true
that Sunday observance is far less strict, and family discipline
and training far less careful, than they were, perhaps, in the days
of our own childhood. Sunday newspapers make almost all American
ministers wish they were Englishmen; and Sunday observance among
ourselves reminds one too often of that colloquy between Joshua and
Moses as they were coming down from the mount during the idol-feast,
when the younger said, "There is a noise of war in the camp." "No,"
said the elder and more discerning, "it is not the voice of them
that shout for the mastery, neither is it the voice of them that cry
for being overcome, but it is the voice of them that sing, that I
hear." Sometimes in our congregations I think it is not the shout
for the mastery of the truth, pushing it upon men, it is not the
voice of them that cry, in penitence and humble obedience, because
they are overcome, but it is the voice of them that sing that we
hear; and the singing is too often in operatic measures, and done by
quartets, not by congregations! Talleyrand was right in saying years
ago that Americans take their pleasures sadly. I think that we are
right also, and more nearly right, when we say that Americans take
their religion too lightly, too gaily, as if it were a varnish upon
life instead of a fire and power within it.
But the human soul is still beating, and full of life, in the heart
of everyone whom we address; and God's gospel has its grip on that
human soul whenever it reaches it through our ministry, lifts it
nearer the things supernal, and nearer God Himself. While I see
many things to make us solicitous, I see nothing to make us timid,
concerning these mighty advancing plans of God. If persecution
could not stay them, if prelacy could not finally thwart them, I
do not believe that bicycles are going to override them, in the
end, or that they are to find their grave in the fascinating golf
links. No! there is One who sitteth above the circle of the earth,
and the inhabitants thereof are as grasshoppers; and His plans go
forth, soundless, silent, except as they come into operation. But
they never are broken; they never are drawn back; and the world has
to learn more and more clearly, every century, that the banners of
God are those which never go down in any struggle, and that whoever
walks and works with God is sure of the triumph.
Then do not let us forget that this is the sublime interval in
history between the ascension of the Master and His second coming in
power and glory, to judge the world! "In a grand and awful time" the
hymn says--and I repeat it:
"We are living, we are dwelling,
In a grand and awful time,"
when the heavens have been luminous with the splendor of the
ascension, and are destined to be luminous again with the awful
glory of the coming for judgment; and now is our time for work--for
work with the energy of the divine Spirit whose dispensation this
is. That Spirit wrote His gospel by the inspiration of human minds,
and by the instruments of human hands, on leaves of parchment and
papyrus. He is writing His gospel now, at large, through His
inspiration of human minds and guidance of human hands over the
expanses of the continents. But it is the same gospel--the gospel
of sin, the gospel of atonement, the gospel of regeneration, the
gospel of future judgment, and of future glory for the believing.
That is the gospel; and we are to go with Him in extending the
knowledge of that and in writing it ourselves. Wheresoever we have
the opportunity, that is our work; a work greater, more momentous,
wider in its relations, than any other done upon the earth.
Let us not forget then the meanness, the misery and evilness, of
human society, where the gospel does not enter and pervade it. Let
us not forget the recoverableness to God of every person and every
people, if the divine energies are rightly used. Let us not forget
that the gospel of Christ is the power at which men laugh and say,
"You are trying to quarry mountains with sunbeams; you are trying
to lift masses of masonry with aerial or, at best, with silken
threads." It is the gospel of Christ which is to be the power to
lift mankind, and glorify God, on all the continents, in all the
earth. The passion of love for Christ, stimulated by everything
that we read or hear, quickened by the Spirit in our hearts, is the
power that is to loosen amassed wealth and make it fluent, that
is to vitalize dead wealth and make it active, that is to enter
into every languid heart and inspire it for service. And then the
view of the divine Providence working in history toward one result,
steadily steering toward one haven and port,--the earth renewed in
righteousness and beautiful before God; and then this dispensation
of the Spirit, in which we have our time! After the resurrection, a
disciple said, "I go a-fishing." Likewise said they all. It seems
strange that even after that miracle, which has shot its radiance
everywhere upon the history of the world, any disciple should have
yielded to such an impulse. But now shall we, after the ascension
and when the skies are still glowing with it, after Pentecost has
opened heavenly principalities and powers to our view and our
experience, under the shadow of the great white throne that is
to be set in heaven--shall we go to building and bargaining, to
mining and merchandising, as our chief aim in life, and omit this
sublimest service which angels, it seems to me, must bend above the
battlements of heaven to see in its progress, and to make their
hearts and harps jubilant in its vitality and success?
Oh, my friends, let us remember, wheresoever we labor, that our
errand is to make this complex, complete, energetic missionary
motive more clear to every mind, more thoroughly vigorous and
energetic in every heart. Everything else must be postponed! Do
not let us spend our strength in picking the gospel to pieces,
to see if we can't put it together again in a better fashion! Do
not let us spend our strength in any denominational controversies
or collisions. Let us give ourselves, with all our power, to
making this immense missionary motive operative throughout all the
churches, throughout and in all Christian hearts; till He shall
come whose right it is to reign, and take unto Himself His great
power, and rule, King of nations as well as King of saints. Let
us recognize this as the one truly magnificent errand for man on
the earth. Let us be filled with the Divine Spirit, that we may
accomplish it the more perfectly. Let us never intermit the service.
And if, as we grow older, we grow weary with cares and labors, and
it may be with sorrows, and are disposed sometimes to think we may
now rest, let us remember the word of Arnauld, the illustrious Port
Royalist, whom even his passionate enemies, the Jesuits, admitted
to be great, of whom it is recorded that when some one said to him,
"You have labored long, now is your time to rest!" his reply was,
"Rest? Why rest, here and now, when I have a whole eternity to rest
in!" God in His grace open that tranquil and luminous eternity to
each of us, where we may find rest in nobler praise and grander
work, forevermore; and unto Him be all the praise!
PUNSHON
ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
WILLIAM MORLEY PUNSHON, English Methodist divine, was born at
Doncaster, in Yorkshire, in 1824. His style was brilliant and
elaborate, and while his sermons were written out in the minutest
detail and carefully committed to memory, they were delivered with
a freshness and vigor that rivaled the charm of extemporaneous
eloquence. Every word he uttered was charged with the force and
vitality of his great personality. At the Metropolitan Church,
Toronto, Canada, he preached for many years, drawing thousands of
people to Christ by the zeal, magnetism and power of his pulpit
oratory. He died in 1881.
PUNSHON
1824-1881
ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST
_For whether we be beside ourselves, it is to God: or whether
we be sober, it is for your cause. For the love of Christ
constraineth us; because we thus judge, that if one died for
all, then were all dead; and that he died for all, that they who
live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him
who died for them, and rose again._--2 Cor. v., 13-15.
It is always an advantage for the advocate of any particular cause
to know the tactics of his adversary. He will be the better prepared
for the onset, and repel the attack the more easily. Forewarned
of danger, he will intrench himself in a position from which it
will be impossible to dislodge him. The apostle Paul possest this
advantage in a very eminent degree. In the earlier years of his
apostleship, the Jew and the Greek were the antagonists with whom
he had to contend. Having been himself a member of the straitest
sect of the Jews, he knew full well the antipathy with which they
regarded anything which set itself by its simplicity in contrast
with their magnificent ritual; and he knew also the haughty scorn
with which they turned away from what they deemed the unworthy
accessories of the Nazarene. And, well read as he was in classic
literature, and acquainted with all the habits and tendencies of the
Grecian mind, he could readily understand how the restraints of the
gospel would be deemed impertinent by the voluptuous Corinthian, and
how the philosophic Athenian would brand its teachers mad. And yet,
rejoicing in the experimental acquaintance with the gospel, he says,
for his standing-point of advantage: "We preach Christ crucified,
to the Jews a stumbling-block and to the Greeks foolishness, but to
them that are called, the power of God and the wisdom of God." And
in the words of the text, addressing some of those very Corinthians
upon whom the gospel had exerted its power, he seems to accept
the stigma and vindicate the glorious madness: "For whether we be
beside ourselves, it is to God: or whether we be sober it is for
your cause. For the love of Christ constraineth us; because we thus
judge, that if one died for all, then were all dead; and that he
died for all, that they who live should not henceforth live unto
themselves, but unto him who died for them, and rose again." The
great purpose of the apostle in these words is to impress upon
us the fact that the cause of Christ in the world, sanctioned by
the weight of so many obligations, fraught with the destinies
of so many millions, should be furthered by every legitimate
means; that for it, if necessary, should be employed the soberest
wisdom; and for it, if necessary, the most impassioned zeal. He
vindicates the use of zeal in the cause of Christ by the three
following considerations: First, from the condition of the world;
secondly, from the obligations of the Church; and, thirdly, from the
master-motive of the Savior's constraining love. To illustrate and
enforce this apostolic argument, as not inappropriate to the object
which has called us together, will be our business for a few brief
moments to-night.
I. The apostle argues and enforces the use of zeal in the cause
of Christ, in the first place, from the condition of the world.
The apostle speaks of the world as in a state of spiritual death.
He argues the universality of this spiritual death from the
universality of the atonement of Christ. "For the love of Christ
constraineth us, because we thus judge, that if one died for all,
then were all dead"--dead in sin, with every vice luxuriant and
every virtue languishing; dead in law, judicially in the grasp
of the avenger; nay, "condemned already," and hastening to the
second death. We need not remind you that this is by no means the
world's estimate of its own condition. It is short-sighted, and,
therefore, self-complacent. There is a veil over its eye; there
is a delusion at its heart. In that delusion it fancies itself
enthroned and stately, like some poor lunatic, an imaginary monarch
under the inflictions of its keeper. The discovery of its true
position comes only when the mind is enlightened from on high. "We
thus judge," not because there is in us any intuitional sagacity,
or any prophetical foresight, by which our judgment is made more
accurate than the judgment of others; but the Holy Spirit has come
down, has wrought upon us--has shown us the plague of our own
hearts--and from the death within us we can the better argue the
death which exists around. And that this is the actual condition
of the world, Scripture and experience combine to testify. The
Bible, with comprehensive impartiality, concludes all "under sin";
represents mankind as a seed of evil-doers--"children that are
corrupters"--sheep that have wandered away from the Shepherd and
Bishop of their souls. In the adjudication of Scripture there is no
exemption from this common character of evil, and from this common
exposure to danger. The men of merciful charities, and the woman
of abandoned life--the proudest peer, and the vilest serf in his
barony--the moralist observer of the decalogue, and the man-slayer,
red with blood, all are comprehended in the broad and large
denunciation: "Ye were by nature children of wrath, even as others."
And out in the broad world, wherever the observant eye travels, you
have abundant confirmation of the testimony of Scripture. You have
it in your own history. The transgressions and sins which constitute
this moral death abound in our age no less than in any former age
of mankind. There are thousands around you who revel in undisguised
corruption. There are thousands more externally reputable who have
only a name to live. You have this confirmation in the nations of
the Continent--some safely bound by the superstition of ages; others
subsiding into a reactionary skepticism. You have this confirmation
further away in the countries which own Mohammedan rule, and cherish
the Mohammedan's dream--where you have unbridled lust, and a tiger's
thirst for blood. You have this confirmation in the far-off regions
of heathenism proper, where the nature, bad in itself, is made a
thousand fold worse by its religion--where the man is the prey of
every error, and the heart the slave of every cruelty--where men
live in destruction, and where men die in despair. Travel where
you will, visit the most distant regions, and search under the
shadow of the highest civilization--penetrate into the depths of
those primeval forests, into whose original darkness you might
have imagined the curse would hardly penetrate, and the result is
uniformly the same. Death is everywhere. You see it, indeed, in all
its varieties now in the rare and fading beauty which it wears just
after the spirit has fled from the clay, when its repose seems the
worn-out casket, which the soul has broken, and thrown away; now,
when there is shed over it a hue of the sublime, and it is carried
amid the tears to burial, and now, when corruption has begun its
work, and its ill odor affects the neighborhood, and spreads the
pestilence--you see it in all its varieties, but uniformly death
is there. We gather from our melancholy pilgrimage no vestige
of spiritual life. Mourners go about the streets, and there are
mourners over many tombs.
Altho, as we have observed just now, a thorough and realizing
estimate of the world's condition comes only when the judgment is
enlightened from on high, the wise men of the world, the minds
that have in all ages towered above their fellows, have felt an
unsatisfactoriness for which they could hardly account; they
have had a vague and morbid consciousness that all was not right
somehow, either with themselves or with their race; they have met
with disturbing forces, signs of irregularity, tokens of misery
and of sin that have ruffled, somewhat, the philosophic evenness
of their minds. Each in his own way, and from his own standpoint,
has guessed at the solution of the problem, and has been ready
with a suggested remedy. The peoples are imbruted; educate them.
The nations are barbarous; civilize them. Men grovel in sensual
pleasure; cultivate the esthetic faculty; open to them galleries
of pictures; bring them under the humanizing influences of art.
Men groan in bondage; emancipate them, and bid them be free! Such
are some of the tumultuous cries that have arisen from earnest
but blind philanthropists, who have ignored the spiritual part of
man's nature, and forgotten altogether the Godward relations of his
soul. All these, as might have been expected, valuable enough as
auxiliaries, worth something to promote the growth and comfort of
a man when life has been once imparted, fail, absolutely fail to
quicken the unconscious dead. In all cases the bed has been shorter
than that a man could lie on it, and the covering narrower than
that he could wrap himself in it. The inbred death lay too deep
for such superficial alchemy; corpses can not by any possibility
animate corpses; and the compassionate bystander from other worlds,
sickened with the many inventions, might be constrained to cry,
"Amid all this tumult of the human, O for something divine!" And
the divine is given--Christ has died for all men. There is hope for
the world's life. This is a death whereby we live; this is a remedy
commensurate with existing need, and intended entirely to terminate
and extinguish that need.
That squalid savage, whose creed is a perpetual terror, and whose
life is a perpetual war--Christ hath died for him. That fettered
and despairing slave, into whose soul the iron has entered, valued
by his base oppressor about on a par with the cattle he tends,
or with the soil he digs--Christ hath died for him. That dark
blasphemer, who lives in familiar crime, whose tongue is set on fire
of hell, whose expatriation would be hailed by the neighborhood
around him as a boon of chiefest value--Christ has died for him.
That dark recluse, whom an awakened conscience harasses, and who, in
the vain hope of achieving merit by suffering, wastes himself with
vigilant penance well-nigh to the grave--Christ has died for him.
Oh, tell these tidings to the world, and it will live. Prophesy of
this name in the motionless valley, and the divine Spirit who always
waits to do honor to Jesus will send the afflatus from the four
winds of heaven, and they shall leap into life to His praise.
Now take these two points. Think in the first place, of the
condition of the world--a condition so disastrous, that nothing but
death can illustrate it--a condition which prostrates every faculty,
which smites the body with unnumbered cruelties, which dwarfs the
mind with prejudices or distorts it into unholy passion, which
banishes the soul and mind within a man in hopeless estrangement
from happiness and God; and then think of the death of Christ,
providing for the furthest need, overtaking the utmost exile,
pouring its abundant life upon the sepulchered nations, diffusing
light, liberty, hope, comfort, heaven: and I appeal to your
enlightened judgment whether you are not bound, those of you who
believe in Jesus, to labor for the world's conversion with intensest
energy and zeal. Oh, if temporal miseries elicit sympathy, and
prompt to help; if the anxieties of a neighborhood gather around a
drowning child, or are fastened upon the rafters of a burning house,
where, solitary and imploring, stands a single man, already charred
by the flame, how much of sympathy, of effort, of liberality, of
zeal, of prayer, are due to a world lying in the wicked one, and
panting after the second death! You will agree with me, that there
is more than license for the poet's words:
"On such a theme,
'Tis impious to be calm!"
And you will rejoice--will you not? to take your stand to-night by
the apostle's side, and to cry, when men deem your zeal impertinence
and your efforts fanaticism, "If we be beside ourselves, it is to
God: and if we be sober, it is for your cause."
II. The apostle argues the necessity for zeal in the cause of
Christ, secondly, from the obligations of the Church, in that He
died for all, that they should live--should not henceforth live
unto themselves, but for Him who died for them and rose again. The
apostle's argument is this--none of us has life in himself; if we
live at all, we live by imparted life; we live because life has been
drafted into our spirits from on high. Then it is not our own; it
belongs to Him who has purchased it for us with His own blood, and
we are bound to employ it in His service, and for His glory. This
also is the conclusion of an enlightened judgment. We judge this as
well as the other, and this is in accordance with the whole tenor
of Scripture. Time would fail us to mention a tithe of the passages
in which devotion--the devotion of the heart and of the service of
God are made matter of constant and of prominent demand. I will just
mention one passage that may serve as an illustration of all: "I
beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye give
your bodies as a living sacrifice." Have you ever gaged the depth of
consecration that slumbers in the heart of those words--"a living
sacrifice"; to be absolutely and increasingly devoted to God, as if
the knife were at the throat, and the life-blood streamed forth in
votive offering? Nay, better than that; because the life-blood could
stream out but once, but the living sacrifice may be a perpetual
holocaust, repeated daily for a lifetime--a living sacrifice, holy
and acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. From the
doctrine of this passage, and of numberless others kindred to it,
it would appear that the regenerate heart is not at liberty to live
for itself, nor to aim supremely at its own gratification; it must
live for Him who has died for it, and who has risen again. You can
not fail, I think, to perceive that compliance with this exhortation
is utterly antagonistic to the ordinary procedure of mankind.
In the age of organization against idolatry, there is one proud,
rampant idolatry which retains its ascendency amongst us.
Selfishness is the most patronized idolatry in the world. It is
the great image whose brightness is exceeding terrible, and before
which all men bow; it is a throne, and an empire, and the likeness
of a kingly crown; it equips armies and mans armaments to gratify
its lust of power. Fastnesses have been explored and caverns
ransacked to appease its thirst for gold. It presides over the
councils of kings and over the diplomacy of cabinets; for it the
merchantman grindeth down his manhood, for it the treader-under-foot
of nations marcheth in his might and in his shame; its votaries
are of all handicrafts--of the learned professions, and of every
walk in life. It hath sometimes climbed on to the judgment-seat,
and perverted justice there. The cowled monk hath hidden it beneath
his robe, and it hath become for him an engine of oppression, and
it hath occasionally robed itself in holy vestments, and entered
the priest's office for a morsel of bread. No grace or virtue of
humanity is free from its contamination. It has breathed, and
patriotism has degenerated into partisanship; it has breathed,
and friendship has been simulated for policy; it has breathed,
and charity has been blemished by ostentation; it has breathed,
and religion has been counterfeited for gold; its sway is a
despotism--its territory wherever man hath trodden, and it is the
undisputed anarch of the world. Now it is against this principle
in human nature, throned within us all, doggedly contesting every
inch of ground, that Christianity goes forth to combat. The gospel
absolutely refuses to allow self to be the governing power, and
assaults it in all its strongholds with precepts of sublime
morality. To the selfishness of avarice it goes up boldly, even
while the miser clutches his gold, and says: "Give to him that
asketh of thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not
thou away." To the selfishness of anger it addresses itself, even
when the red spot is yet on the brow of the angry: "Let not the sun
go down upon thy wrath"; "Bless them that curse you, pray for them
that despitefully use you and persecute you." To the selfishness of
pride, even in its haughtiness and arrogance, it says: "In honor
preferring one another, be clothed with humility, let each esteem
another better than himself." To the selfishness of indifference to
the concerns of others, "Look not on thine own things, but likewise
upon the things of others"; and to the selfishness of souls and
criminal neglect of the great salvation, it speaks in tones of
pathos which that must be a callous heart that can withstand, "Ye
know the graces of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, tho he was rich, yet
for our sins he became poor, that we, through his poverty, might be
made rich." Oh, how small, alongside of august and heavenly precepts
like these, are the sublimest maxims of any merely ethical morality!
It is said that, once, during the performance of a comedy in the
Roman theater, one of the actors gave utterance to the sentiment,
"I am a man; nothing, therefore, that is human can be foreign to
me," and the audience were so struck by the disinterestedness, or
so charmed by the novelty, that they greeted it with thunders of
applause. How much greater wealth of kindly wisdom and prompting to
unselfish action lies hidden in the gospel of Christ, shrined there
as every-day utterances passed by the most of us very slightingly
by! Oh! let there be anything like the genial practise of this
divine morality, and the world would soon lose its aspect of
desolation and of blood; oppression and over-reaching, and fraud
and cruelty, would be frowned out of the societies of men, and
this earth would be once more an ample and a peopled paradise. By
selfishness, as we have thus endeavored to describe it, we mean that
grasping, monopolizing spirit which gets all and gives nothing;
heedful enough of its own fortunes, careless of the concerns and
interests of others. This is the principle in our nature which
Christianity opposes, and with which it ceaselessly wages war. But
there is a sort of selfishness which, for the sake of distinction,
we may call self-love, which is instinctive, and therefore
innocent--that merciful provision by which we are prompted to the
care of our own lives and to the avoidance of everything that would
disquiet or abridge them. This principle in our nature Christianity
encourages; to this principle Christianity addresses itself; and
hence it has connected, married in indissoluble union, man's
chiefest duty and man's highest pleasure. Godliness is profitable
unto all things, having the promise of the life that now is. What
has the dark, morbid, unhappy sensualist to do with it? Godliness
hath the promise of the life "that now is," as well as "that which
is to come." In keeping Thy commandments there is a present reward.
"Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly
in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls; for my yoke is
easy and my burden is light." "In thy presence there is fulness of
joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore." Just as
it is in man's physical organization, and its adaptation to the
material world around him, when body and mind are alike in health,
we can neither eat, nor drink, nor walk, nor sleep, nor sing, nor
perform any of the commonest actions of life without a sensation of
pleasure; so it is in the spiritual life: there is pleasure in its
every motion. There is pleasure even in the sting of penitence; it is
"A godly grief and pleasing smart,
That melting of a broken heart."
There is pleasure in the performance of duty; there is pleasure
in the enjoyment of privilege; there is pleasure in the overcoming
of temptations, a grand thrill of happiness to see trampled under
foot a vanquished lust or slain desire; there is pleasure in the
exercise of benevolence; there is pleasure in the importunity of
prayer. Hence it is that the apostle seeks to rivet the sense of
personal obligation by the remembrance of personal benefit. "We
thus judge, that he died for all, that they which live should not
henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him who"--owns them?
No. Claims them? No. Will judge them? No; but--"to him who died
for them and rose again." Gratitude is to be the best prompter to
our devotion. Those who live to Christ, those who live by Christ,
will not tamely see His altars forsaken, His Sabbaths desecrated,
His name blasphemed, the blood of the covenant wherewith He was
sanctified accounted an unholy thing. Brethren, are you of that
happy family? Have you obtained life from the dead through His name?
Then you are bound to spend it for His honor, and, watching with
godly jealousy for every possible opportunity of doing good, to
spend and be spent for them who have not yet your Master known. I
call on you to answer this invocation; it belongs to you. There is
no neutrality, believe me, in this war--and if there be some of you
that would like to be dastardly and half-hearted trimmers, you will
find by and by that you have got the hottest place in the battle,
exposed to the cross-fire from the artillery of both parties. I call
on you decisively to-night to answer this invocation. Call up before
your minds the benefits you have individually received; think of
the blessings which the death of Christ has procured for you--the
removal of the blighting curse which shadowed all your life, the
present sense of pardon, mastery over self and over sin, light in
the day of your activity, and songs in the night of your travail;
the teaching Spirit to lead you into still loftier knowledge,
and the sanctifying Spirit to impress upon you the image of the
heavenly; that divine fellowship which lightens the present, and
that majestic hope which makes the future brighter far. Think of
the benefits which the resurrection of Christ has conferred upon
you; light in the shadowed valley, the last enemy destroyed, support
amid the swellings of Jordan, a guide upon the hither side of the
flood, angelic welcomes, the King in his beauty, and "a house not
made with hands, eternal in the heavens." And then, as the sum of
favor is presented, and gratitude arises and the fire burns, and
the heart is full, and the frame quivers with the intensity of its
emotions, just remember that there is a world lying in the wicked
one, that there are multitudes, thousands upon thousands, in your
own city, at your own doors, for whom the Savior died, who never
heard His name; that there are multitudes for whom He has abolished
death who have never felt His resurrection's power. Let your tears
flow; better, far better a tear for God's sake and the world's sake
than the hard-heartedness and darkness of sin. Lift up your voice in
the midst of them; lift it up, be not afraid. Say unto the cities of
Judah, "Behold your God." Men will call you mad, but you can give
them the apostle's answer, "If we be beside ourselves, it is to God;
if we be sober, it is for your cause."
III. The apostle argues the necessity of zeal in the cause of
Christ, in the third place, from the master motive of the Savior's
constraining love. "The love of Christ constraineth us"--forces
us along, carries us away as with the impetuosity of a torrent,
or rather as when cool heavens and favoring air speed the vessel
steadily to the haven. Love is at once man's most powerful motive
and his highest inspiration, both in the life that now is and that
which is to come. From love to Christ spring the most devoted
obedience, the most untiring efforts in His service. There are
other springs of action, I know, by which men are influenced
to a profession of religion. Interest can occasionally affect
godliness from sordid aims, and behave itself decorously amid the
respectabilities of the temple-going and almsgiving religion; but it
will give its arm to any man that goes down to the house of Rimmon;
and if there is a decree that at the sound of all kinds of music
they are to fall down before another image which has been erected in
the plains of Dura, they will be the most obsequious <DW12>s of the
knee. Men sometimes practise obedience under the influence of fear.
A sudden visitation, a prevailing epidemic, an alarming appeal, will
strike into momentary concern; but when the indignation is overpast,
and the craven soul has recovered from its paroxysms of terror,
there will often be a relapse into more than the former atrocities
of evil. Convictions of duty may and sometimes will induce a man,
like an honest Pharisee of the olden time, to observe rigidly the
enactments of the law; but there will be no heart in his obedience,
and no holy passion in his soul; but let the love of God be shed
abroad in his heart by the Holy Ghost given unto him, let there be
a perception of love in God, let there be sight of the Crucified as
well as of the cross, and there will be disinterested, and cheerful,
and hearty obedience. Zeal for God will become at once a passion and
a principle, intensifying every purpose into ardor, and filling the
whole soul with vehemence of absorbing desire. This is the emotion
from whose natural and inevitable outflow the apostle vindicates
impassioned zeal.
Opinions are divided as to whether the constraining love spoken of
in the text refers to Christ's love to us or to our love to Him,
which the sense of His love has enkindled in the soul. I do not
think we can go far wrong if we take both meanings, inasmuch as no
principle of exposition is violated, and as we need the pressure of
a combination of motive, that we may be zealously affected always
in this good thing. Ye, then, if there are any of you here who
need rousing to energy in the service of Christ, think of His love
to you; how rich its manifestations, and how unfeigned; how all
other love of which it is possible for you to conceive shrinks in
the comparison! There have been developments in the histories of
years of self-sacrificing affection, which has clung to the loved
object amid hazard and suffering, and which has been ready even
to offer up life in its behalf. Orestes and Pylades, Damon and
Pythias, David and Jonathan, what lovely episodes their histories
give us amid a history of selfishness and sin! Men have canonized
them, partly because such instances are rare, and partly because
they are like a dim hope of redemption looming from the ruins of
the fall. We have it on inspired authority, indeed, "Greater love
hath no man than this"--this is the highest point which man can
compass, this is the culminating point of that affection which man
can by possibility attain, the apex of his loftiest pyramid goes
no higher than this--"greater love hath no man than this, that a
man lay down his life for his friend; but God commendeth his love
toward us, in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us." A
brother has sometimes made notable efforts to retrieve a brother's
fortunes, or to blanch his sullied honor; but there is a Friend that
sticketh closer than a brother. A father has bared his breast to
shield his offspring from danger, and a mother would gladly die for
the offspring of her womb; but a father's affection may fail in its
strength, and yet more rarely a mother's in its tenderness.
And "can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have
compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I
not forget thee." O Jesus of Nazareth, who can declare Thee? "Herein
is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his
Son to be a propitiation for our sins." Think of that love--love
which desertion could not abate--love which ingratitude could not
abate--which treachery could not abate--love which death could not
destroy--love which, for creatures hateful and hating one another,
stooped to incarnation, and suffered want, and embraced death, and
shrank not even from the loathesomeness and from the humiliation
of burial; and then, with brimming eye, and heart that is full of
wonder: "Why such love to me?" you will indeed be ungrateful if you
are not stirred by it to an energy of consecration and endeavor,
which may well seem intemperate zeal to cool reckoners with worldly
wisdom.
Then take the other side of the argument; take it as referring to
your love to Christ, which the sense of His love has enkindled in
the soul. The deepest affection in the believing heart will always
be the love of Jesus. The love of home, the love of friends, the
love of letters, the love of rest, the love of travel, and all
else, are contracted by the side of this master passion. "A little
deeper," said one of the veterans of the first Napoleon's old
guard, when they were probing in his bosom for a bullet that had
mortally wounded him, and he thought they were getting somewhere
in the region of the heart--"a little deeper and you will find
the Emperor." Engraven on the Christian's heart deeper than all
other love of home or friends, with an ineffaceable impression that
nothing can erase, you find the loved name of Jesus. Oh! let this
affection impel us, and who shall measure our diligence or repress
our zeal? Love is not bound by rule; there is no law that can bind
it; it is never below the precept, it is always up to the precept,
but it always has a margin of its own. It does not calculate,
with mathematical exactitude, with how little of obedience it can
escape penalty and secure recompense; like its Master it gives in
princely style; it is exuberant in its manifestations; there is
always enough and to spare. And if meaner motive can prompt to
heroic action--if from pure love of science astronomers can cross
the ocean familiarly, and dare encounter dangers, just that they may
watch in distant climes the transit of a planet across the disc of
the sun--and if botanists can travel into inhospitable climes and
sojourn among inhospitable men, only to gather specimens of their
gorgeous flora--and if, with no motive but love of country, and no
recompense save bootless tears and an undying name, a Willoughby
could sacrifice himself to blow up a magazine, and a Sarkeld could
fire the Cashmere Gate at Delhi, surely we, with obligations
incomparably higher, with the vows of profession on our lips, with
death busy in the midst of us, and souls going down from our
doors into a joyless and blasted immortality, ought to present our
life-blood, if need be, for the cause of Christ, and for the good
of souls. Let the scoffers spurn at us as they will; we are far
superior to such poor contumely. Heaven applauds our enthusiasm, and
we vindicate it in the apostle's words: "If we be beside ourselves,
it is to God; and if we be sober, it is for your cause."
HOW TO SPEAK IN PUBLIC
_A Most Suggestive and Practical Self-Instructor_
BY GRENVILLE KLEISER
Author of "Power and Personality In Speaking," Etc.
This new book is a complete elocutionary manual comprizing numerous
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interested in the art of public speaking.
OUTLINE OF CONTENTS
Mechanics of Elocution Previous Preparation
Mental Aspects Physical Preparation
Public Speaking Mental Preparation
Selections for Practise Moral Preparation
Preparation of Speech
"Many useful suggestions in it."--_Hon. Joseph H. Choate_, New
York.
"It is admirable and practical instruction in the technic
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"The work has been very carefully and well compiled from a
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It contains many admirable suggestions for those who are
interested in becoming better speakers. As a general test for
use in teaching public speaking, it may be used with great
success."--_John W. Wetzel_, Instructor in Public Speaking, Yale
University, New Haven, Conn.
"COURSE OF STUDY" BOOKLET GIVEN FREE WITH EACH BOOK
_12mo, Cloth. $1.25, net; post-paid, $1.40_
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Pubs.
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HOW TO DEVELOP
POWER AND PERSONALITY
IN SPEAKING
BY GRENVILLE KLEISER
Author of "How to Speak in Public." Introduction by Lewis O.
Brastow, D.D., _Professor Emeritus, Yale Divinity School_
This new book gives practical suggestions and exercises for
Developing Power and Personality in Speaking. It has many selections
for practise.
=POWER.=--Power of Voice--Power of Gesture--Power of
Vocabulary--Power of Imagination--Power of English Style--Power
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Speech--Power of Conversation--Power of Silence--Power of a
Whisper--Power of the Eye.
=PERSONALITY.=--More Personality for the Lawyer--The
Salesman--The Preacher--The Politician--The Physician--The
Congressman--The Alert Citizen.
"I give it my hearty commendation. It should take its place upon
the library shelves of every public speaker; be read carefully,
consulted frequently, and held as worthy of faithful obedience.
For lack of the useful hints that here abound, many men murder
the truth by their method of presenting it."--S. PARKES CADMAN,
D.D., Brooklyn, N. Y.
"It is a book of value. The selections are fine. It is an
excellent book for college students."--WM. P. FRYE, _President
pro tem. of the United States Senate_.
_12mo, Cloth, 422 pages._
_Price, $1.25, net; by mail, $1.40._
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Pubs.
NEW YORK AND LONDON
_An Indispensable Volume_ for those who would write and speak pure
English.
A Desk-Book of Errors in English
By Frank H. Vizetelly, F.S.A.
_Author of "The Preparation of Manuscript for the Printer."
Associate Editor of the "Standard Dictionary," etc._
This compact volume deals with the hundred and one questions that
arise in daily speech and correspondence, and which are not usually
treated in the dictionary in the same manner as in this handy and
time-saving book.
"So many common errors of speech are dinned in our ears
daily that we grow careless and adopt them as correct.... It
should be on the table of everyone who wishes to speak pure
English."--_The Item, Philadelphia._
"It is a book that should be on every writer's desk. If
studied in season and out of season it will correct numerous
inelegancies and vulgarities of speech."--_The Union_,
Springfield, Mass.
"The book is admirably arranged to facilitate search for
a decision on a mooted point or a doubtful usage, and is
invaluable for the writer who lacks the leisure for extended and
thoughtful research." _Star_, Washington, D. C.
_12mo, Cloth, 242 pages. 75 cents_
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Pubs.
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Vest-Pocket Standard Dictionary
Edited by JAMES C. FERNALD, L.H.D.
(_Abridged from the Standard Dictionary_)
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES
_The Correct Spelling, Pronunciation, Syllabication, and Definition
of About 30,000 Terms_
All Words of Disputed Spellings
Words with Irregular Plural Formation
Key to Scientific Alphabet
Parliamentary Law at Sight
Legal Holidays in all the States of the American Union
Interest Tables
Rates of Interest in all States of the American Union
Chart of (_a_) States of the Union, (_b_) Population, (_c_)
Capitals, (_d_) Dates of Admission, (_e_) Total Population of
the United States
Presidents of the United States
Postal Information
Telegraph and Cable Rates
Domestic and Foreign Weights and Measures
The Metric System
Rules for Pronunciation
Rules for Spelling
Rules for Punctuation
Abbreviations, Foreign Words and Phrases
Rulers of the World
Foreign Possessions of the United States
The Largest Cities of the World
Countries of the Postal Union
Tables of Money of the World
Standard Time
_Cloth, 25 cents. Flexible leather, 50 cents. Indexed, 5 cents
additional._
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Pubs.
NEW YORK AND LONDON
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as
printed.
Missing page numbers are page numbers that were not shown in the
original text.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Great Sermons, Volume 6:
H. W. Beecher to Punshon, by Various
***
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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FreeLaw
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<a href="http://greenstroy-ufa.ru/4905084-video/Skinny-brunette-nympho-Manon-is-a-35-year-old-MILF-playing-with-her-pussy.html">Skinny brunette nympho, Manon, is a 35 year old MILF playing with her pussy</a>
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
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Form: Creative Nonfiction Written: December 2014 Published in: Kissing in the Chapel, Praying in the Frat House: Wrestling with Faith and College I. It’s my first college party, and I’m graduating in three days. The counter Read more...
Form: Short academic thesis Written: Fall 2013 – Summer 2014 For centuries, St. Augustine’s perspective on desire and sexuality were taken for granted: that lust was a cardinal sin, that babies born of any sexual act Read more...
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
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Description:
Upgrade your instrument of self-made intimacy with the Verspanken WaterWieners™. Designed for use with the Verspanken Masturbator, WaterWieners™ feature the same great textural options as the Foam Wiener in a more fluid form. Inserts are liquid-filled and can be warmed or cooled to add temperature play to your masturbation experience -– simply place in freezer or for a short stint in warm water. Different texture and temperature combinations allow endless stimulating possibilities! Whether you want to chill things out or heat things up, these wonderful WaterWieners™ offer just the right job for your tool!
Verspanken WaterWieners™
Designed to fit into the Verspanken Masturbator
Set of two Water Wieners
Made from body-safe materials
Latex-Free
Approx. 4" x 2 3/4" (10cm x 7cm)
Body-safe -- Sex toys are made from many different materials, with varying amounts of information available about them, and many have not been tested for safety. We always choose better-quality items, and we give special attention to those we know to be safer.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
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Nowadays every public or private psychiatric service should manage challenging Dual Disorders Patients (DDP). DDP became a standard patient and not the exception. Therefore, services should deliver comprehensive solutions to outgrowing patient necessities.
In Israel every citizen can apply and receive "free treatment" currently covered by the state. In everyday work it is crucial to display practical wisdom, common sense, profound sensitivity and deep transcultural knowledge to the particular group and individual needs.
There are two modalities of Dual Disorders Services (DDS):
Full Specialized DDS (All services are integrated under one roof).
Partially Specialized DDS (Partial services exist under one roof and collaboration with external facilities are performed).
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
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The impact of tumor location on the histopathologic expression of colorectal cancer.
Cancer of the colon and rectum has been classically viewed as the same disease entity. However, there are some differences both in the clinical features and gross macroscopic pathology between right and left sided colonic malignancies. Furthermore, recent research has added much controversy on the issue by demonstrating quite a few differences, mostly in the field of molecular biology. Since tumor pathology and staging is the major determinant of the disease outcome, comparison of these parameters between right and left colon cancer is reasonably expected to contribute to a better understanding of the nature of the adenocarcinoma of the colon. A retrospective review of the charts of patients with colorectal cancer operated on at the Cleveland Clinic Florida from March 1996 to April 2000 was conducted. Patients were divided into two groups according to the location of the tumor (right or left colon) and pathology between the two groups was compared. One hundred and eighty-four patients were included in the study. Sixty individuals had right colon cancer, while 124 subjects had left colon lesions. Dukes' A (stage I) colon cancer had statistically significant higher incidence in left colon lesions (p=0.0084). Conversely, Dukes' C(stage III) tumors presented more often in the right colon (p=0.029). Grade III lesions showed a clear superiority for the right colon (p=0.0014), while grade II lesions were more commonly found in the left colon (p=0.0201). Grade III lesions were more common in the right colon (p=0.0200) when early colonic cancers (stage 0,I and II pooled together) were compared. A shift in severity towards the right colon has been documented both in terms of stage and grade. These results should be viewed in the light of recent research data suggesting a different molecular biology pattern between right and left colonic tumors. The clinical implications of these differences, if any, and their impact on the patient management remain to be determined.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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PubMed Abstracts
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Junior dos Santos is angry - which doesn't happen very often.
Known as one of the nicest guys in the UFC, it's rare to hear JDS get worked up.
For years he's avoided the kind of trash talk that fighters like Conor McGregor revel in, but with his headline fight opposite Tai Tuivasa now five weeks away, he's dropped the good-guy routine.
The source of his rage is his 25-year-old up-and-coming opponent.
MORE: Anderson Silva wants Conor McGregor fight | Megan Anderson to fight Cat Zingano
More specifically, it's Tuivasa's claims to be a "street-fighter."
"In his last fight, with Arlovski, when Bruce Buffer was introducing him, he said he represents street fighting," dos Santos told Sporting News from his training base at American Top Team in Florida.
"I was watching the fight last night, and saw that and was like 'what?! That's not even a martial art.'
"I thought I was fighting against a martial artist, but that's not the case. I want to know more about this, and one day I'll ask him.
"To represent street fighting...that's just stupid. Who fights in the streets? It's not even fair. That's a coward.
"Street fighting is not a martial art - it doesn't exist. How can someone represent street fighting - that's bullshit."
Tuivasa, who proudly represents Western Sydney, is ranked 11th in the heavyweight division after just under a year in the UFC.
He makes no excuses for, and doesn't hide from, his sometimes rough upbringing, and has earned a legion of fans for his exciting fighting style, funny post-fight comments and, of course, the Shoey.
Dos Santos wasn't interested in any of that.
According to the Brazilian veteran, Tuivasa is disrespecting the sport by bringing up street fighting.
"Everyone, all the gyms around the world, are fighting against that - against this kind of stupid thing, this coward thing," dos Santos said.
"It doesn't exist. You're not a street fighter, you're a coward. These people who fight in the streets don't really know how to fight.
"Come to a real gym, face a real fighter and you'll get your ass kicked. And if this guy, Tai Tuivasa, is really a street fighter, that's what he's going to have - he's going to have his ass kicked by me on December 2nd in Adelaide."
After two first round stoppage wins in his first two UFC outings, Tuivasa is coming off an impressive three-round decision win over Arlovski. It's the bout that has dos Santos so fired up.
All three of 'Bam Bam's' have featured impressive stand-up, but dos Santos says that won't work come fight night.
"He put in a good performance against Arlovski, but that doesn't matter - I'm gonna go in there and knock him out," Cigano said.
"This is my first strategy. Whenever I fight, I'm going for a knockout. And I'm gonna knock this guy out.
"I know he likes to stand up and bang, so it makes it more special."
Dos Santos, who bounced back from a first-round TKO loss to then-champion Stipe Miocic with a hard-earned five-round win over Blagoy Ivanov in July, knows the crowd will be against him, but had a message for the Aussie fans.
"They'll be going for their guy, and I like the Aussie fans and their energy for the sport," he said.
"I appreciate that, but I'll have to give them some hard tips. Their guy will get his ass kicked on December 2nd.
"Either way, I'll be there to celebrate. I'll be celebrating my win, but if they want, they can join in."
When contacted for a reply, Tuivasa - who is midway through training camp at Tiger Muay Thai in Thailand - had a blunt response: "Tell him to go f**k himself."
Bring on December 2.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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OpenWebText2
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Vivian Noell walked into her Highland home around 9 p.m. July 11 and found “blood everywhere” and her pitbull Snow suffering numerous grievous wounds, inflicted by another of her four dogs.
She said the dogs had never fought before, but the real horror story began after she rushed the injured 2-year-old dog to Veterinary Care Specialists, an emergency animal hospital in Milford.
“The doctor showed me on the paper that she had internal bleeding and gashes and her gums were so white that she needed a blood transfusion and in order for them to work on her, they would need a down payment and all these payment plans,” Noell said. “And if we didn’t have that, they wouldn’t help her. I just cried and said, ‘You are gonna let my baby die on this table.’”
Snow did die, euthanized by the veterinarian with Noell’s authorization, but that is one of the few points agreed on by the two parties in a case that underscores what can be a “tricky situation” when an animal has a medical emergency and the owner lacks funds for treatment.
Situation shared on social media
VCS Administrator Peter Barnes called Facebook posts from a friend of Noell’s charging that VCS would not assist the dog without upfront payment “a total fabrication.”
“We did treat the dog, and that is where the $1,100 bill came,” Barnes said. “What this really is, is cyberbullying. She posted a complete untruth and others have jumped on. That is the day and age we live in, and other businesses go through this. We did try and the dog was in incredibly bad shape from the injuries from the other dog.”
Barnes said he was in contact by phone with the treating veterinarian, who had conducted X-rays and was giving Snow fluids and oxygen in treatment to stabilize the dog, who was bleeding in the chest and lungs. An initially quoted price of $3,000, he continued, was not just for potential surgery cost, but additional stabilization efforts for the critically injured animal.
Noell was presented with a cost estimate after Snow was admitted to VCS, like all clients are when they bring in an animal, Barnes explained. Usually, a 50% deposit is requested, but that is sometimes waived depending on the situation, he said.
Noell contradicts this.
“They wouldn’t explain nothing,” she said, adding that her boyfriend got aggressive because the dog was her life. It helped her when she has epileptic seizures, she said.
More:Milford man sentenced to up to 30 years for assaulting neighbor in rape attempt
More:Take a look inside the new Charlie's Still on Main in downtown Milford
“I told them I didn’t have much money, but was willing to go broke for my dog,” said Noell, who recently moved here from Georgia. “I told them I could pay $400 up front and then I would pay monthly, but they said they needed weekly payments. It would cost over $3,000 to treat the dog and that was the low price… for more, it was going to be $6,000 to $7,000. They chose money instead of a life. I said, 'How do you expect a 23-year-old woman to have $3,000?' I have a part-time job busting my butt.”
Clients who don’t have cash are offered other financing options such as “CareCredit” or “Scratchpay,” but Barnes said Noell declined to apply, saying she would be turned down.
Still, even without any cash or credit, Barnes said, “In an emergency situation we do not euthanize due to lack of finance, we would have continued stabilization and then transferred the patient to another place that is not an ER once the patient is stable.”
“As we did further diagnostics, the prognosis was grave and poor,” he continued. “She admitted she couldn’t afford things. She could have ended up with a $3,000 bill and a patient that didn’t survive and she would have been very unhappy.”
VCS is one of the few emergency animal clinics that do not require payment upfront, Barnes said, adding that emergency medical treatment is expensive and Noell “would have run into this at any facility.”
No money? A problem 'tricky' at best
Carri Underwood, manager and veterinary technician at Animal Emergency Center in Novi, said no one is turned away for services at their facility, but “It is always very tricky, sometimes an unfortunate situation,” when clients can’t afford to pay for care.
Emergency veterinary care is a business and often clients do not have pet insurance to cover catastrophic illness or injuries in their animals. The cost of care for animals can come as a shock to people who have healthcare insurance for their own needs and don’t realize what actual medical expenses are.
“One of the most frustrating parts of the job is we just want to make the animals feel better,” Underwood said. “But we also rely on a paycheck week to week, and as much as (pet owners) think we are rolling in dough, we are not.”
Like Veterinary Care Specialists, the Novi Animal Emergency Center admits patients and does an assessment while stabilizing the animal. estimates are then given with different options, but Underwood said a problem often arises when clients aren’t open and honest up front.
“If money is not an object, we can offer you the world,” she said. “If we get down to it and they say they have no money, we have different things to offer.”
She, like Barnes, mentions CareCredit and other finance options. Clients are also encouraged to call upon friends or family for help. If none of these work, staff will try to make an animal comfortable until a client can take their pet to another facility.
“We would love to give every animal free care, but we can’t, that is not how the system works,” she said. “Delay in care is finding out where their finances are.”
Some clients do whatever it takes to “beg, borrow or steal,” while for others it ends in anger and frustration at the vet.
“When people see the price tag, they can get agitated and storm out and leave because they think we are trying to take them for their money,” she said. “Sometimes they approve the services, and we give them the bill, and tell them they have to pay and they are like, ‘What do you mean?’”
An emotionally-charged situation
Underwood notes it is a high-stress, emotionally-charged situation when an animal is brought in for emergency care, and people are understandably focused on saving their pet, not on the finances of it. But as a business that cost has to be taken into consideration.
“It’s all about how receptive people are to suggestion, but there are people who don’t want to work with you and want something for free,” she said. “We’d be out of business in a week if we didn’t get payment.”
She adds that there are few people who work in the business of animal care who have not been in the client’s shoes, making difficult financial and emotional decisions regarding pets.
Thursday, Noell mourned her dog and tried to make sense of her loss. She agreed to make $200 per week payments for what she owes she said and was unsure if she would be able to. She couldn't afford an urn for his cremains, a cost that would have been $300-$400, but has his paw prints. She encouraged people to do research on animal emergency clinics.
“I lost a family member and don’t want that to happen to anyone else,” she said, adding that she plans to keep Bean, the dog that attacked Snow. “I hope that people are safe with their animals. I would do anything to have Snow back.”
Contact Susan Bromley at [email protected]. Follow her on Twitter @SusanBromley10.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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OpenWebText2
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As a precaution, Gov. Nathan Deal announced Monday afternoon that all state government buildings and offices will delay opening until 10 a.m.
Later Monday, the City of Atlanta followed suit and will open at 10 a.m.
Out of an abundance of caution and following the latest update from @NWSAtlanta, state government will delay opening until 10 a.m. tomorrow, Dec. 11. Read more here: https://t.co/xP10n0Kjqj — Governor Nathan Deal (@GovernorDeal) December 10, 2018
Cobb County and Acworth will delay some government operations until 9 a.m., while Clayton County government offices will delay opening until 9:30 a.m. Canton, Chamblee, Cherokee County, College Park, DeKalb County, Doraville, Dunwoody, East Point, Fulton County, Henry County, Johns Creek, McDonough, Roswell, Smyrna, South Fulton and Union City will delay opening until 10 a.m. Alpharetta government operations will also delay opening until 10:30 a.m.
Due to the possibility of black ice tomorrow morning, the City will delay opening for non-essential personnel until 10:00 a.m. on Tuesday, December 11, 2018. Please drive safely. pic.twitter.com/bYJhtg9i4h — City of Dunwoody, GA (@DunwoodyGA) December 10, 2018
The University of Georgia, Emory, Georgia Tech, Georgia State, Kennesaw State, Clark Atlanta, Morehouse, Mercer's Atlanta campus, Reinhardt and Spelman announced that they will all delay opening until 10 a.m. Georgia Gwinnett College will be on a two-hour delay.
Two-hour delays will be in effect for several metro Atlanta school districts: Atlanta Public, Buford City, Clayton County, Cobb County, Decatur City, DeKalb County, Fulton County, Gwinnett County and Marietta City.
Others on two-hour delays include: Barrow County, Bartow County, Butts County, Calhoun City, Carroll County, Carrollton City, Cherokee County, Coweta County, Douglas County, Fannin County, Fayette County, Forsyth County, Gainesville City, Gilmer County, Gordon County, Hall County, Haralson County, Henry County, Jackson County, Madison County, Meriwether County, Newton County, Oglethorpe County, Paulding County, Polk County, Rockdale County, Union County and Walton County. Chattooga County will have a three-hour delay.
Banks County, Dawson County, Floyd County, Habersham County, Pickens County, Rabun County, Rome City and Whitfield County have canceled classes Tuesday.
All FCS schools & central offices will open 2hrs late tmrrw, 12/11 in alignment with Gov's msg that state offices will open late b/c of black ice potential. Staff to arrive no later than 2hrs from scheduled start. Stay tuned to FCS website, social media & local news for updates. pic.twitter.com/kx677wD56R — FultonCountySchools (@FultonCoSchools) December 10, 2018
Patches of black ice are likely where roadways stay wet overnight, especially bridges and overpasses, Nitz said. After a rainy Monday, Nitz said humidity will stay above 90 percent overnight, meaning the roads won’t have a chance to dry out.
MORE: Black ice: What Georgia drivers need to know to stay safe
Looks like we will be at it again tonight folks! 💪🏽 Brine Tankers will be out tonight at 7p brining all priority routes‼️ For all the folks staying inside tonight (recommended), we suggest a nice hot bowl of Chili to go with this “Chilly” weather! 🥶😂 #WorkingforYou pic.twitter.com/JShejy17Ut — Georgia DOT ATL (@GDOTATL) December 10, 2018
Secondary or untreated roadways as well as sidewalks, porches or decks are also common spots for black ice to develop, according to the National Weather Service. Commuters are urged to use caution and plan accordingly, as black ice is sometimes difficult to see and makes roads dangerously slick.
Black Ice is expected to develop tonight & early Tuesday morning across North Georgia as roads remain wet & freezing temperatures are expected. Black ice is difficult to see & makes roads very slippery, especially on bridges & overpasses. Please use caution & drive safely #gawx pic.twitter.com/7p2kIKLCbZ — NWS Atlanta (@NWSAtlanta) December 10, 2018
—Please return to AJC.com for updates.
» For a detailed forecast, visit The Atlanta Journal-Constitution weather page.
» Download The Atlanta Journal-Constitution app for weather alerts on-the-go.
In other news:
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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OpenWebText2
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Free sex and date sites no credit card needed for a full membership
30-Jul-2017 18:23
In the medieval Islamic Caliphate, a form of passport was the bara'a, a receipt for taxes paid.
Only people who paid their zakah (for Muslims) or jizya (for dhimmis) taxes were permitted to travel to different regions of the Caliphate; thus, the bara'a receipt was a "traveler's basic passport." In medieval Europe, such documents were issued to travelers by local authorities, and generally contained a list of towns and cities the document holder was permitted to enter or pass through.
On the whole, documents were not required for travel to sea ports, which were considered open trading points, but documents were required to travel inland from sea ports.
King Henry V of England is credited with having invented what some consider the first true passport, as a means of helping his subjects prove who they were in foreign lands.
The earliest reference to these documents is found in a 1414 Act of Parliament.
In 1540, granting travel documents in England became a role of the Privy Council of England, and it was around this time that the term "passport" was used.
The passport's critical information is stored on a tiny RFID computer chip, much like information stored on smartcards.
A passport holder is normally entitled to enter the country that issued the passport, though some people entitled to a passport may not be full citizens with right of abode.Where a country does not recognise another, or is in dispute with it, it may prohibit the use of their passport for travel to that other country, or may prohibit entry to holders of that other country's passports, and sometimes to others who have, for example, visited the other country.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
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Tear Interferon-Gamma as a Biomarker for Evaporative Dry Eye Disease.
To assess whether tear hyperosmolarity, being diagnostic of dry eye disease (DED), is associated with specific alterations to the cytokine content of human tears that may provide a biomarker for DED. In this prospective, cross-sectional, clinical study, participants (n = 77) were recruited from a single clinical site and categorized into groups based upon tear osmolarity status (n = 62 hyperosmolar, n = 15 normo-osmolar). Comprehensive anterior eye clinical assessments were undertaken. Concentrations of seven cytokines (IL-2, IL-4, IL-6, IL-10, IL-17A, IFN-γ, and TNF-α) in basal tears were assayed using multiplex cytometric bead array. The main outcome measure was difference in cytokine concentration between groups. Group comparisons were undertaken using 2-tailed t-tests. Cohen's effect size was calculated for each finding. Spearman correlations between cytokine concentrations, clinical symptoms, and clinical parameters of DED were calculated. Tear hyperosmolarity was specifically associated with increased tear IFN-γ levels (13.3 ± 2.0 vs. 4.4 ± 1.4 pg/mL, P = 0.03). Cohen's effect size was large (0.8) for changes to tear IFN-γ levels. Significant correlations were observed between IFN-γ concentration and each of: tear osmolarity (r = 0.34; P = 0.007), total ocular surface staining (r = 0.56, P < 0.0001), and Schirmer test score (r = -0.33, P = 0.003). Tear hyperosmolarity is specifically associated with higher levels of the proinflammatory cytokine IFN-γ, which correlate with key clinical parameters of DED. The calculated effect size (0.8) suggests that this assay has diagnostic power as a biomarker for evaporative DED.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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PubMed Abstracts
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INTRODUCTION {#sec1-1}
============
The common theme shared by dissociative disorders is a partial or complete loss of the normal integration between memories of the past, awareness of identity, immediate sensations, and control of bodily movements. In the dissociative disorders, it is presumed that the ability to exercise a conscious and selective control over memories and sensations is impaired, which can vary from day to day or even from hour to hour. Dissociative fugue has all the features of dissociative amnesia, plus an apparently purposeful journey away from home or place of work during which self-care is maintained. In some cases, a new identity may be assumed, usually only for a few days.\[[@ref1]\] There are very few community-based psychiatric epidemiological studies in India and particularly community-based dissociative disorder prevalence studies are absent. However, a study about prevalence in hospital settings in India revealed that among dissociative disorders more common was dissociative motor disorder, followed by dissociative convulsions. Female preponderance was reported in this study.\[[@ref2]\] It was observed that dissociative disorder patients are more likely to have comorbid borderline personality disorder, somatization disorder, major depression, posttraumatic stress disorder, and a history of suicide attempt than patients without a dissociative disorder. Childhood sexual abuse, physical neglect, and emotional abuse were also cited as significant predictors of a dissociative disorder diagnosis.\[[@ref3]\] Two conceptual approaches were described to understand the causation of dissociative disorders. In the first one, these were viewed as a complex reaction to external trauma, which is similar to the genesis of acute stress reaction. In the second approach, dissociative tendencies are considered within the context of normal personality constructs like other tendencies such as hypnotisability, mental absorption, and tendencies to fantasize. However, apart from exposure to trauma, certain primary personality attributes may contribute to the propensity to develop dissociative disorder.\[[@ref4]\] Based on neuroimaging it was postulated that hysteria might not involve an exclusion of sensorimotor representations from awareness through attentional processes. However, it might be related to a modulation of such representations by primary affective or stress-related factors\[[@ref5]\] if the onset of dissociative disorder is during the young age then the recovery may not be stable over time.\[[@ref6]\] Dissociative symptoms can be chronic in nature and at times these can be fleeting affecting different systems of body at different times.\[[@ref7]\]
CASE REPORT {#sec1-2}
===========
Mr. K is 35-year-old married bangle seller. He was brought to the psychiatry outpatient department with a history of sudden onset of amnesia for the recent past with an alleged new identity for himself. Apparently well till a day before the presentation, in the morning hours he complained headache and slept for some time. After awakening, he started behaving in odd manner to the family members. He refused to accept the identity of his wife and other family members. He declared another name and residential address in Hyderabad for himself which is far away from his residence. He was stopped forcibly by the family as he was trying to travel to Hyderabad. When interviewed in the outpatient clinic he was conscious, alert, and well oriented. During the initial and repeated interviews, which were carried out over 5 days he remained firm on his new identity. He refused to accept that accompanying members were his relatives. He was telling that the accompanying lady and other persons were trying to act as his relatives. When he was shown the family pictures carrying his photo taken in the past, he said that they were of a similar person and not his own. When he was asked about how he reached the home where he was living, he remained puzzled and answered that he would like to know that. He was saying that his residence lies in Hyderabad, he was married and having two daughters. When he was asked to provide the address of his home in Hyderabad and his phone number he said that he forgot and he would like to know the address. Further, he stated that once if he is taken to the old city of Hyderabad he would recognize his residence. His family members have provided the history that his last visit to Hyderabad was many years back and the address and the names he was telling were related to his bangles business. As part of his business, he buys bangles in old city Hyderabad and sells them in his town. He stated few names as his brother in laws. Family members have provided the information that those names were of personnel who were in business. He was stopped by his family members forcibly from traveling as they have a similar experience in the past. Family members provided the history of three incidence of altered behavior in a span of 4 years preceding the presentation.
In the first instance about 4 years back there was a history of sudden onset of one episode of behavioral disturbances characterized by unresponsiveness to the external stimuli. This was preceded by financial stress in his business. He was observed to be withdrawn and brooding for few days prior to this. He remained stuporos for 3 days during which he was hospitalized in a nearby tertiary care hospital, and it was said that there was no apparent aetiology for his stupor. He was treated symptomatically and on the 3^rd^ day suddenly he started talking normally as if nothing has happened. Family members did not bother much to evaluate this as they felt he was doing fine whatever the reason was.
In the second one, which was 2 years prior to the current episode he has traveled to Mumbai without any intimation to his family. His family members tried to locate him as he suddenly disappeared from home. About 2 days later the family members were called by him after his reaching to Mumbai which is about 1000 km from his residence. He called them to tell that he was not sure why he was in Mumbai and he could not recollect how he traveled to reach Mumbai. However, he reported a vague recollection that he traveled to Mumbai in train without any ticket. Soon the family members brought him back from Mumbai. This was preceded by financial hurdles during his house construction. During this episode also he was observed to be withdrawn and dull for 2 days prior to his travel.
The third episode was 2 months prior to the current episode. He has called family members saying that he was in a train to Chennai and he did not know how and why he was on that train. In this incidence, he himself came back to home. Wife has reported a similar financial problem in his family 2 days prior to this episode. There was no history of any substance intoxication or usage in the dependence pattern. There was no history of seizure disorder in the patient and his family. There was no significant head trauma history. There was no history to suggest any first rank symptoms or mood syndrome. Premorbidly, he was described as having anxious avoidant traits.
His physical examination including neurological examination did not reveal any significant findings. His routine blood investigations, computed tomography of the brain, and electroencephalogram were normal. He was diagnosed as having dissociative fugue and tablet lorazepam 1 mg twice a day was prescribed on an outpatient basis with specific instructions to the family to prevent any travel. On the 5^th^ day suddenly he regained his memory saying that he could not recollect what happened in the 5 days. However, he recollected that he met the therapist. He revealed that he was under intense pressure to repay his debts related to his business.
DISCUSSION {#sec1-3}
==========
Even though there is no organized travel in this case, this is diagnosed as dissociative fugue based on International Classification of Diseases-10 criteria, because in this case the planned travel was prevented by family members by constant vigilance and forced restriction within the house. Differential diagnoses in this would include temporal lobe epilepsy, dissociative amnesia, and malingering. All the four episodes of behavioral disturbance including the current one are sudden in onset and termination. There was nothing to suggest any aura or postepisodic confusion. In all these instances except for the first one he was apparently conscious, alert, oriented, and organized in his actions and plans. Even the first one, taken retrospectively fits for the description of dissociative stupor. All the four were preceded by financial stressors either in the family or in the business. Preceding each episode, in all these four instances there was a significant financial stressor. Following this he was observed to be withdrawn, dull, and brooding with the low mood for few days. There was no disturbance in his consciousness and in his higher mental functions in repeated mental status examinations, and his electroencephalogram was normal during this episode. Hence, the diagnosis of epilepsy was not considered. Though this case description would fit for dissociative amnesia, in this case, in addition to amnesia there is a self-declared new identity and the attempt for travel to distant location, which was of course, prevented. Hence fugue was considered rather amnesia. There was no inconsistency during his repeated examinations, and there was no obvious gain in all the instances. And in two of four instances there was organized travel to unknown location and in the third it was prevented. Hence the malingering was not considered.
CONCLUSION {#sec1-4}
==========
Dissociative fugue is a rare clinical entity which can recur like any other dissociative disorder when the individual faces exceptional perceived stress. Furthermore, the person with dissociative fugue might experience other dissociative symptoms like stupor as in this case. However, such conclusions might require studies with larger sample sizes.
**Source of Support:** Nil
**Conflict of Interest:** None declared.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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PubMed Central
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Student center
A student center is a type of building found on university and some high school campuses. In the United States, such a building may be called a student union, student commons, union or student center. The term "student union" refers most often in the United States to a building, while in other nations a "students' union" is the student government. Nevertheless, the Association of College Unions International (largely US-based) has several hundred campus organizational members in the US; there is no sharp dichotomy in interpretation of union in this context. The US usage in reference to a location is simply a shortened form of student union building.
History
The first student union in America was Houston Hall, at the University of Pennsylvania, which opened January 2, 1896 and remains in operation to this day. The first Ohio Union at Ohio State University was Enarson Hall. The building opened in 1911 and was the first student union to be built at a state university and the fourth of its kind in the United States. Oklahoma State University's student union opened in 1950. Subsequent additions, and renovations in 2010, have made the building one of the largest student activity centers in the world at .
Some student centers carry unique origins and historical significance with some on the National Register of Historic Places. The William Pitt Union was originally constructed in 1898 as a hotel and was converted into a student center in 1956. Some student activity centers on the NRHP include O'Hara Student Center (University of Pittsburgh), McKenny Hall (Eastern Michigan University), and the Tivoli Student Union. The Tivoli Student Union was originally home to the Trevoli Brewing Company but since has been converted to serve several institutions in Denver, Colorado.
In 2007, the University of Vermont's student center became the first LEED Gold certification by the U.S. Green Building Council.
Other examples of student centers include West Virginia University's Mountainlair, the J. Wayne Reitz Union at the University of Florida, the Bronco Student Center at Cal Poly Pomona, the McCormick Tribune Campus Center at the Illinois Institute of Technology, and the Price Center at UC San Diego.
Purpose
Broadly speaking, the facility is devoted to student recreation and socialization. A student center or student union is the community center of the college, serving students, faculty, staff, alumni, and guests. A student activity center might offer a variety of programs, activities, services, and facilities.
It may contain lounges, wellness centers, dining facilities or vendors, and entertainment venues. The student center is often the center of student affairs and activities and may house the offices of the student government or other student groups. It may also act as a small conference center, with its meeting rooms rented out to student groups and local organizations holding conferences or competitions. An example of this for instance is the Michigan Union, which hosts the University of Michigan Model United Nations conference.
Depending on the school and its location it might have unique amenities such as a bowling alley, cultural or prayer rooms and unique services. At Eastern Michigan University Student Center the building offers a kiva, a round, 360-degree room patterned after spaces used in Native American cultures. The Kiva Room at EMU is used as a meeting space, for collaboration, or for musical purposes. In the Ohio State University-Ohio Union, the student union offers an interfaith prayer room which has feet washing area for Muslim students. The University of Central Florida has an eyewear and optometric consumer service location.
See also
Association of College Unions International
Student union (disambiguation)
Student activities
References
Category:Student culture
Category:Student organizations
Category:Students' unions
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Wikipedia (en)
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Organised crime is a catchall concept. Everybody uses it in the media, politics and private discussions. It does not mean anything at all, which is exactly the reason why it is so used and popular! Talking about organised crime is like talking about “organised tourism” or “ organised trade”. Tourism today is the biggest industry, generating the biggest turnover globally. But nobody would ever be foolish enough to think that tourism is a concept that can be reduced to a bunch of actors and a bunch of practices: it is a complex web or... [Lire la suite]
Walking through any Italian city, you will cross the way of one of the following forces, at least: State police, Carabinieri (Gendarmerie), Municipal police, Provincial police, Financial police, Penitentiary police, and now, even soldiers ! This seems crazy. It probably is, unless this incredible fragmentation of policing is aimed at making « organised crime groups » (if they exist – see my other article on “disorganised crime”) take the power in the police. By multiplying the forces, the risk to have a security body captured by mafia... [Lire la suite]
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
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You can get CHA +4 and NYK +7.5 on Diamond (DSI), but the line consensus on the other 4 books I use to grade my picks is one half-point below, so I'll make this record as real as possible and therefore, I'm not going to use lines that only a few can really get. The Total on BOS @ CHA is now 179, so I hope I don't get stiffed by another half-point loss like yesterday. :P
L10 Days NBA 2009/2010 Pointspreads and Totals Tracker: 40-21 and +5.4 units won/61 units risked.
NBA 2009.12.06 finished with a 4-1 and +2.64 units won/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.05 finished with a 6-3 and +2.46 units won/9 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.04 finished with a 5-7 and -2.45 units lost/12 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.03 finished with a 2-1 and +0.82 units won/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.02 finished with a 4-4 and -0.36 units won/8 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.01 finished with a 4-2 and +1.64 units won/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.11.30 finished with a 4-2 and +1.64 units won/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.11.29 finished with a 4-3 and +0.64 units won/7 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.11.28 finished with a 3-3 and -0.27 units lost/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.11.27 finished with a 4-5 and -1.36 units lost/9 units risked on point spreads and totals.
Toronto had made a great run when the season started. The power that Turkogly added to this team was amazing, combining a power shoot behind the arc to a power shoot in the paint.
Despite these 2 starters, Bosh and Turkogly, this team had also the improvement of their other players, which give them a extremely power game, with great rebounders adding that power to the offense shots behind the arc.
They struggled during 5 games, but turned around, winning the last two games on the road, including a blowout win on Chicago, where they're the underdog.
So, despite this team had suffered a letdown spot due to lack of accuracy, they are finally coming back and nothing better than receiving one of the worst teams on the league, to show their supporters that they are definitely playoff runners material.
Minnesota has their moment passing, taking 2 wins in L4 games. Great moment for a team with a 3-17 record. However, even with merit, this team takes advantage on some "sleaziness" of their opponents, and I don't think that they are able to keep this run, as they are 4-0 ATS in L4.
The truth is, this team is struggling a lot on their offense, and can't make the difference on the defense either. So, I think it will be really hard for Minnesota to keep the pace here and if the Raptors' defense doesn't work, I still believe in a double digits win here, as the offense can make this game an easy winner by themselves.
Pick: Toronto Raptors -7.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
L10 Days NBA 2009/2010 Pointspreads and Totals Tracker: 38-30 and +4.58 units won/68 units risked.
NBA 2009.12.07 finished with a 2-4 and -2.18 units lost/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.06 finished with a 4-1 and +2.64 units won/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.05 finished with a 6-3 and +2.46 units won/9 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.04 finished with a 5-7 and -2.45 units lost/12 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.03 finished with a 2-1 and +0.82 units won/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.02 finished with a 4-4 and -0.36 units won/8 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.01 finished with a 4-2 and +1.64 units won/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.11.30 finished with a 4-2 and +1.64 units won/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.11.29 finished with a 4-3 and +0.64 units won/7 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.11.28 finished with a 3-3 and -0.27 units lost/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
L10 Days NBA 2009/2010 Pointspreads and Totals Tracker: 36-29 and +3.73 units won/65 units risked.
NBA 2009.12.08 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.07 finished with a 2-4 and -2.18 units lost/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.06 finished with a 4-1 and +2.64 units won/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.05 finished with a 6-3 and +2.46 units won/9 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.04 finished with a 5-7 and -2.45 units lost/12 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.03 finished with a 2-1 and +0.82 units won/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.02 finished with a 4-4 and -0.36 units won/8 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.01 finished with a 4-2 and +1.64 units won/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.11.30 finished with a 4-2 and +1.64 units won/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.11.29 finished with a 4-3 and +0.64 units won/7 units risked on point spreads and totals.
Without Granger, Pacers aren't the some scoring team as with him playing. He is their best scorer, and in these kind of teams, a all-star player is a heavy loss, particularly one that is one of the biggest reasons why Pacers usually plays with a high pace. After 4 games this season without Granger, the team are showing a slowest pace, scoring 86, 91 and 92 points in 3 home games. The highest score the team achieved without Granger was on GSW. In that game, the team scored 107 points, but they were forced to play in the same pace they usually plays with Granger. And they couldn't keep that pace, losing that game by 19 points.
They will host Nets, a team that finally start to win games, after one of the worst streaks on NBA history. But after they won against Bobcats, they went 2 games ago to Chicago and made their second win. So, after some enthusiasm that have tricked them, they lost the last one at home, against GSW, a bad defender team. Scoring 89 points at home against a bad defense team is not a good sign. They didn't even fought that gimme, it was a easy win for GSW.
With this, I think that will be hard to have here a over. The line is to high, and should be around 187, not 199! Indiana Pacers are slowing their game to cover the holes that Granger absence could make. Averaging only 90 points at home in this condition, they will face a team that have less than 90 points when playing on the road. Nets are again in a bad spot after 2 wins in 3 games. They should think their game again, as they are showing offense problems even against bad defenders. So i can't see here a high score game, as Pacers needs to find their best game without Granger (they are 1-3), and one thing is certain: Their best game without Granger isn't run and gun. In the other hand, we have a Nets team that needs to improve their offense, but playing on the road is not the right spot to do so, and Indiana is a little bit better in defense than other teams that Nets couldn't score 3 digits points.
L10 Days NBA 2009/2010 Pointspreads and Totals Tracker: 32-29 and +0.09 units won/61 units risked.
NBA 2009.12.10 finished with a 0-3 and -3 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.08 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.07 finished with a 2-4 and -2.18 units lost/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.06 finished with a 4-1 and +2.64 units won/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.05 finished with a 6-3 and +2.46 units won/9 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.04 finished with a 5-7 and -2.45 units lost/12 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.03 finished with a 2-1 and +0.82 units won/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.02 finished with a 4-4 and -0.36 units won/8 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.01 finished with a 4-2 and +1.64 units won/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.11.30 finished with a 4-2 and +1.64 units won/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
L10 Days NBA 2009/2010 Pointspreads and Totals Tracker: 25-27 and -4.23 units won/52 units risked.
NBA 2009.12.11 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.10 finished with a 0-3 and -3 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.08 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.07 finished with a 2-4 and -2.18 units lost/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.06 finished with a 4-1 and +2.64 units won/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.05 finished with a 6-3 and +2.46 units won/9 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.04 finished with a 5-7 and -2.45 units lost/12 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.03 finished with a 2-1 and +0.82 units won/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.02 finished with a 4-4 and -0.36 units won/8 units risked on point spreads and totals.
L10 Days NBA 2009/2010 Pointspreads and Totals Tracker: 24-25 and -3.1 units won/49 units risked.
NBA 2009.12.12 finished with a 3-2 and +0.77 units lost/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.11 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.10 finished with a 0-3 and -3 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.08 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.07 finished with a 2-4 and -2.18 units lost/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.06 finished with a 4-1 and +2.64 units won/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.05 finished with a 6-3 and +2.46 units won/9 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.04 finished with a 5-7 and -2.45 units lost/12 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.03 finished with a 2-1 and +0.82 units won/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
L10 Days NBA 2009/2010 Pointspreads and Totals Tracker: 24-24 and -2.12 units won/48 units risked.
NBA 2009.12.13 finished with a 2-0 and +1.82 units lost/2 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.12 finished with a 3-2 and +0.77 units lost/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.11 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.10 finished with a 0-3 and -3 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.08 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.07 finished with a 2-4 and -2.18 units lost/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.06 finished with a 4-1 and +2.64 units won/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.05 finished with a 6-3 and +2.46 units won/9 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.04 finished with a 5-7 and -2.45 units lost/12 units risked on point spreads and totals.
TommyGold
12-14-2009, 11:22 PM
Indiana Pacers @ Orlando Magic: Under 208 -110 (1.91) The Greek
Orlando has this game on their hands, without Granger the Pacers will lower their pace and score a lot less points. Murphy, who has been one of the best team scorers will have a difficult task today and therefore I expect a weak game from Indiana. I don't see Orlando giving their best to win the game, they should play it with a slow pace too, they should start with a nice lead and then they'll just manage the lead.
Both teams have bad records, however the Warriors still one game here and there in their last games, the same can't be said of the 76ers. But the Sixiers won another soul with Iverson, even if he only plays only 30 minutes, he is a good scorer and against a weak defense, he can make the difference with Iguodala. Philadelphia has fought on their games, only losing on the last quarter and today they face a team which should lose against them in the paint, plus their good perimeter shooters.
Boston Celtics @ Memphis Grizzlies: Under 194.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Boston has an excellent defense and thanks to that, they are scoring several straight wins, specially on the road, where they close even more the ways to their arc. They'll face a very strong team in the paint and I expect a close game, a strategic one and where the sagacity should prevail. After a great win yesterday, Memphis should not give up this game very soon and that might be enough for the game to have a slow pace. At home, the Grizzlies also have a strong defense and it seems very unlikely that any team can reach the 100 points score.
Dallas is a spoiled team, they don't make any effort and their displays have been average. They're coming from 3 wins and receive a team with a losing record and I don't expect them to score much more points than their opponent. On the other side, the Hornets have done an awful display and will surely give their best tonight. Their roster has improved since the start of the season and I expect them to fight for the game, at least they should have the "heart" for it.
Denver has given big beatings against their visitors but on their last games they've passed a rough patch, but managed to recover on the last quarter when trailing by 10 points. The Nuggets are a well structured team when it is time to decide the game, they are unforgiven and they give their best to win the game. Tonight they face Oklahoma City, maybe the team which matches best talent with youth. Thunder cand goo things very good but they also lose their heads easily. Against a team like the Nuggets, they'll hardly surpass Denver's "guile" and due to their youth, they'll easily lower their arms.
Ontie
12-15-2009, 08:22 PM
very nice job Tommy so far...
very useful picks, congrat!
what do you think about my pick C.BOSH to score UNDER 25,5 points @1.83 @Miami?
TommyGold
12-15-2009, 08:53 PM
NBA 2009.12.15, final 4 picks:
New York Knicks @ Charlotte Bobcats: New York Knicks -4.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
L10 Days NBA 2009/2010 Pointspreads and Totals Tracker: 22-19 and +1.06 units won/41 units risked.
NBA 2009.12.14 finished with a 3-2 and +0.73 units lost/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.13 finished with a 2-0 and +1.82 units lost/2 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.12 finished with a 3-2 and +0.77 units lost/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.11 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.10 finished with a 0-3 and -3 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.08 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.07 finished with a 2-4 and -2.18 units lost/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.06 finished with a 4-1 and +2.64 units won/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.05 finished with a 6-3 and +2.46 units won/9 units risked on point spreads and totals.
TommyGold
12-15-2009, 09:27 PM
very nice job Tommy so far...
very useful picks, congrat!
what do you think about my pick C.BOSH to score UNDER 25,5 points @1.83 @Miami?
Hard to read that game, everything could happen. So, I canīt give you my opinion, as I donīt have a clear opinion. But good luck for you!
Ontie
12-15-2009, 10:04 PM
now @1.71 (Bet365) CB4 Under 25,5 pps
TommyGold
12-15-2009, 10:16 PM
CORRECTION: my first NBA pick is Charlotte Bobcats -4.5 and not New York Knicks -4.5. My appologies for this mistake.
The New York Knicks are in a good moment and their run and gun game is finally working. However, their win in Atlanta will hardly be repeated and today the Knicks face a team with a game very similar with Atlanta's one at home: The Bobcats defend very well and they don't neglect their offense. It will be a very difficult game for the Knicks to sell their game and therefore, it will be very hard for them to keep it close. Charlotte thanks to their defense and with the addition of Jackson, has also become a dangerous team on the offense, and so far the Bobcats are a very reliable home team to follow.
TommyGold
12-15-2009, 11:07 PM
Los Angeles Lakers @ Chicago Bulls: Over 193 -110 (1.91) The Greek
The Bulls are doing incredible mistakes and it is rare to see them playing decent basketball as the team rarely meets itself... Yet, we cannot forget that we are talking about the "Chicago Bulls" and on the games when they host the champions, they simply will not pay homage and there will be a demand for a good performance, since the Bulls has good scorers in their roster. The Lakers were a bad road team and which played without any enthusiasm, but since the return of Gasol, they had a nice wins streak and now the team has won a new soul, where the offense is a major part of the Lakers' game. I expect here a pretty game, with the Bulls chasing their losses and the Lakers taking advantage of the great permeability of the Bulls defense.
Detroit has 5 wins in their last 5 games, yet those wins were achieved with a lot of heart or against teams that didn't took the game seriously. The Pistons are a team that easily incurs in overconfidence and has several teams without rhythm and playing time. The Rockets are a team that when faces more permissive and less committed teams in the game, they don't forgive it and even the Ariza's suspension should not bet enough for Houston to let this game go away, since they've good shooters and also nice defenders.
San Antonio Spurs are not a road team, despite their wins as visitors on their last games, which were achieved against teams which have bad defenses or weak offenses. Today, the Spurs visit the Suns and these might be permeable on the defense, but they don't neglect their offense, being the best offense in the league. Phoenix is unbeatable at home and surely it won't be a shaky road team that will spoil their home record, specially when we know how much rivalry exists between the Spurs and the Suns
L10 Days NBA 2009/2010 Pointspreads and Totals Tracker: 19-17 and +0.33 units won/36 units risked.
NBA 2009.12.15 finished with a 3-1 and +1.73 units won/4 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.14 finished with a 3-2 and +0.73 units won/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.13 finished with a 2-0 and +1.82 units won/2 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.12 finished with a 3-2 and +0.77 units won/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.11 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.10 finished with a 0-3 and -3 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.08 finished with a 1-2 and -1.09 units lost/3 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.07 finished with a 2-4 and -2.18 units lost/6 units risked on point spreads and totals.
NBA 2009.12.06 finished with a 4-1 and +2.64 units won/5 units risked on point spreads and totals.
Memphis has made great games, winning one, and stamping his foot to teams like Boston, where they lost by fewer and fewer details. Despite being an enjoyable team to watch play, thanks to time have the lane and good shots are not a team that knows how to make their's athletic skills to defend. The good performances and good games, has been constant, that is to be against teams that are not applied towards the defense. But today will play home to Atlanta, a team that defends very well especially at home. If you have defended very well, the team joined the cardapia have an excellent attack, where he played leading to Composing Easy baskets. Your attack goes in high, with an average of more than 120 points scored at home in the last games. Faced with a team that very well attack and defend very well, it's hard to see Memphis maintain the exhibits, thanks to its defensive sloppiness.
The coach of Sixiers finally changed the layout of the game, making his players play well faster when pos Brand on the bench in favor of another guard. The result was immediate, an easy victory against the GSW, with plenty of points scored. The fact is that despite his age Iverson is player for this type of game, and Iguodala will also play today, that he's equally well with games rapids. Given the likely scenario of the Sixiers maintain that pace for today, can be a fast game, and Cleveland should not certainly want to stay backward ... even further when you have nothing less than LeBron James, that if necessary alone takes 40 points of the hat. Cleveland is probably prudent for the type of game you will face, and not much would get the game, because they also have good shooters.
Indiana had dropped back to level with the lesion of Granger, having to fit a new pace of play. But Dunleavy returned, but he is a player much slower, and not to give any better against teams who defend well, as is the case of Charllote. They go to play at a slower pace, and in the last 3 games at home, and so won the Nets, having lost the rest of the games. Today, against Charllote, which is a team that defends well, are expected to have enough trouble ultrupassar the barrier. Their defense has never been anything impressive, and the truth is that Charllote has improved immensely in this regard and can now claim his second victory away from home, that they have improved since the offensive aspects earned their first away game, they lost in OT by 1 in Dallas, and lost only well in the Spurs. Note therefore clearly an improvement, which now should be to your advantage, your good attack together with its defensive profile (which is particularly evident outside the home). The fact that B2B game to Charllote can influence the odds, but the team does not get wrong with this and are 4-2 in that situation.
Detroit finally has the return of Hamilton, who as expected, has become "the jewel in the crown". However, lesions of Bynum and Gordon, are equally important, that they have acted as the best in the absence of Hamilton. Even play today, are with little pace, since not play a week due to the knee. They had a good phase, with 5 victories followed, but over-confidence betrayed them as expected. For today I again a poor game from them, as Hamilton after some time away, you have to play a B2B game, something that should not hold well at this stage, and the absences of two of its best basis, the team will have a hard time at home in New Orleans, that this team back to their level, with the team finally produce the expected. New Orleans can not afford to lose many more games at home, and CP3 again in great shape, will surely think again to try to go to the playoffs.
For tomorrow, NBA 2009.12.19 might be a pass since i'll be with my family for some quality time. :D
NBA 2009.12.18, final 7 picks:
Utah Jazz @ Atlanta Hawks: Atlanta Hawks -6 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Utah is a good team, playing a good game, and with a 8-3 record in the last games. They played 3 games in that time on the road, and only won one, and the other loss was the only loss at home. The spot for this game is that Utah really struggles on the road, with a 4-6 record, but they specially lost on the road when visiting good teams with a positive streak and playing well at that moment. And it's what will happen today. Atlanta is playing really good so far, giving many blowout wins lately at home. Another important aspect is that Deron Willians got heart in is leg last game, and could play with a lower pace than usual for him.
There isn't much to say about this matchup. Two teams that struggles on defense, but can play well on offense. However the advantage are in Memphis side, as they have size and good rebounders in the paint, and are a team with facility to score in the point as well, and also have good shoters behind the arc.
With Billups out, Nuggets are not the some king of team, as he is the brain. THeir defense will be worst today, as Billups is their best defender, Carmelo could be a great scorer today, however he can have some disciplinary problems, and the pace of the team will not be the same, as Lawson is a rookie who needs to increase is team game. NO are improving game after game, and today CP3 will have no one to stop him or slow him down. Peja and West are improving as well, as long as Okafor. I've see a nice spot here, particulary with these odds.
Detroit after a good streak, returned to the place that we all have seen so far this season. A struggling team. Bynum will play with pains, and if Struckey is probable, Gordon e Hamilton aren't probable to play today. After all, these are the best scorers for the team, and if the team struggles a lot with Bynum, Stuckey and Gordon in good shape, imagine without them. We have seen in last 2 games, Or they play a bad game, without sense, or they seems to go ok, and suddenely their mind stops. Yes, going in Detroit will always be hard, at least without Hamilton in good shape and Prince. Oklahoma is with a good record, and after a bad last season due to their youth, they are showing this year that they are already adpated.Oklahoma people have started again to go see some NBA games, and are making a great support for the team. And it is important, as this team is young and can be push by the public. Against teams that are no solid or cohesive, Oklahoma don't forgive, and control the game. Today is what I expect. Oklahoma is improving their ex-rookies as weel as their new rookie, starting to have a great basketball game. Hosting a broken team, with key players injuries, is like a sweet to them, and I think that they will grab it and "eat it".
What a value! To start let's just see: after playing at home against Houston and won 121-103, Dallas has play 7 home games. In those 7 games, there aren't any convicting wins!!! Yes, Dallas is playing bad at home. But is not their game that is bad, they play enough, but they are playing with an excess of confidence and as spoiled kids. Is last onte, they almost permit a comeback to NO in 4š quarter. Won the previous one in OT by 1 point against Charllote. By two points against Philadelphia, benefiting of an error by Sixiers. Before these games, the big loss to GSW. And the two previous games, one won by 2 points, and another won on OT.
I'm the only one to see something here?
Houston are improving their game, with solide defense, but without Ming, they are playing with a higher pace and scoring more. T-mac returned almost after a year, and it's earning minutos and get on the rythm. The team is solid, is all ok, and it's advise about how Dallas play, as they already lost 2 games this season against them. Don't forget that they aren't so bad in road as some thing, they are with a positive record of 8-7 despite the 2 last games were losses.
Dallas will host today another rival. At home, one place where they are 9-3 but shaking like hell in every games. They are lucky to be with that great record, as they didn't deserv all that wins due to the mentality they showed.
So, today we will have a game between to neighboors and rivals. Tipically this games are won by foreign team. However I can see here a great spot. Dallas will show up in this game with confidence, thinking that it will be easy game as they already won, and by many, two games against Houston this year. However, Houston isn't a team to be carefuless with, as they take every chances they got to control and stay leading the game. Today I expect that Houston will show up with the right mentality to the game, and they wish some revenge from the last games. Against a spoiled and with an excesse of confidence team, I think that Dallas will taste a deserved loss after the loss against GSW, as they are not playing enough and keep the right mentality during the games.
Detroit has been quite good at home, winning last 5 games. That's a boost that the team had, with 6 wins in 7 games. But since that, they lost 3 on the road, and lost their momentum, has they didn't had any chance to win those games. Lakers are improving a lot, and in the lat games, they only lost on Utah, but they will want to end this roadtrip well. They got a big advantage on the paint, as they will face and old and lazy Ben Wallace, and in the backcourt, Pistons got good players, but some of them are playing with injuries, others will not play, So, they will not produce enough, and with few players in that position, they will have no rotation and it will be prejudicial to Pistons. Against a team with Kobe, it will be hard to Piston even try their chance in this game.
Without Dirk, Mavs always struglles, after all, he is their best player. Kidd is an old player and will have to be the one to take the lead of the mavs game. Kidd is a smart player, and he knows is limit and he is slower than few years ago. So, he will try to make this game a game with a low pace, and press Mo as well.
Shaquille will play also, and another reason to expect a low scoring game. But even so, Cavaliers is not the kind of team that pressionate to play in a higer pace. They just go with the flow. But I expect today a a bad game to be real, as Dallas needs to improve their home game, and for that, Kidd will take the lead and think all plays. Cleveland are not beeing a smashing team as before, and LeBron is the only key of the team, however, it's unlikely to make him score 50 points, as Clev needs to be intelligent in this game as Mavs.
Chalotte is one of the best defender teams, second in the league in allowing points, 8th in 3 points and 9th in FG%. And if they wera also one of the worst teams in offense as well, they have improved that a lot after the trades they made. Jackson is a pure scorer, and has give more power to their offense, and the results were immediate. Despite the 1-11 record on road, Charllote in last four road games have won in Washington, blowout loss in San Antonio, loss in OT in Dallas, and a defeat by small margin in Indiana.
Knicks had a good moment, but this team still needs to improve their game in order to keep a good record. They got some wins, over no-defense teams, or teams that think it would be to easy. The normal game for Knicks is run and gun, however, when they start to miss, they usually miss a lot, and lost.
Despite the good record of Knicks at home in last games, Charllote is a good defending team and will implant that in today game. When Knicks faces a good defending team, they really strugles, and it's why i think Charlotte got value today.
Sixiers have adopted a faster game, moving one men of the frontcourt to the bench in exchange for a guard. The results finnaly appear, and after a 11 losing games streak, they finnally won some games and are fighting with the mininum conviction to. Washington are going thru a bad moment, with 1-7 in last 8 games. The teams is under some questions because they have 3 all stars finnally playing togehter and some young that are showing a good improvment, however the results still missing. But today, we will have a game between Sixiers, a team that is starting to play a a kind of run and gun, and Wizards, a team that have great scorer, but is not a good defender. Due to the rumors of trades, I believe that the Wizards players will try to show all they know to try a trade to a good team.
Even without Wallace and with Jackson leaving the game after half game played, Charlotte gived a good responde in their last game on NY. Even without these 2 players, key players, the team suffered from an last minutes inspiration of Gallinari and and lack of accuracy in those minutes. Today, the team should be ok again to play, and I expect a blowout win.
Detroit is sufering big problems. They are playing a bad basketball, but it seems unlike to improve it for now, as they got all their best players with problems. Some of those players will not play, other, like Villanueva and Bynum, will play with pains. Without Villanueva in the frontcourt, Ben Wallace doesn't have the age to stand in the paint and make something. Villanueva will probably play, but like he said, he got sharp pains during any step he make. So, it will be hard to make a good performance. Something with Bynum, and that will leave Stuckey alone and without any credible rotation.
Charlotte is a great defender particulary at home, and will keep saying that after the trades, they had improved their offense to join their good defense. And that's the truth. Facing a broken team is a game easy to play for team, and Detroit haven't any argue to even try to fight for this game.
Atlanta is playing a great game, giving blowout losses for those they hosted. However, on the road the conversation is differente. They are not able to smash the opponents as well as they do at home. They are 7-5 on the road, but for example, they lost 2 games in last 4 road game in Detroit and in Chicago. Against desperate teams. Their edge is usually on their big and atlethic frontcourt, with Joe Johnson dishing or scoring points behind. However, Johson made 40 points last game in Chicago, but it wasn't enough to give Atlanta a win. So, this roadtrip they will end only few days after christmas, didn't start well.
Minnesota will probably have Gomes again today. He is probable, and after Love returned from his injurie, this team had a great improvment. They are 9-3 ATS in their last 12 games, and in their last 5 home games they only lost one game without a chance, as they won 2, lost 1 by 1 point and another by 2 points.
Timberwolves have concentration and the will to win today SU. It will not be easy, but this is a real chance, as they strong enough to hold Atlanta frontcourt, and have two great and motivated guards behing. Atlanta is losing some "gas" when facing teams that give their blood in the field to try their chances, and on the road, they are not so strong. Johson could be again their hero today, as they will have troubles in frontcourt, but its unlikely to happen, as he already made a great performance last game, and it's hard to expect another performance as his last.
Golden State are a team that base their game on run and gun style. They got great scorers, but in the frontcourt they have no advantage right now because of their injuries. They still have great scorer behind the arc, however isn't enough when they face teams that are concentrated. They are now dealing with that injuries, but it's probable that after Christmas they will have the return of their 2 best players in the frountcourt. So, they probably will be real and only target a game to return to victories after Christmas. This team is 1-9 in their last 10 games and have several trade rumors, as Maggete isn't appreciated by the fans anymore, even knowing he his a great scorer. The truth is that this team can make bug surprises, however they have to face teams that think the game is won before the start.
Today they will face Grizzlies, a team that is improving a lot game after game, with a solid team from front to back. This will be their last game before Christmas, and are coming from great wins at home, which will probably be a great boost to their confidence. Memphis are much better now, with high control of the games, as they are can combine a good offense with a great rebounders, either in defense and offense. It will probably enough to manage today game against a no-confident team.
This will be a matchup between two contenders to the championship. But isn't all. It's probably a game between two runners to MVP title.
Cleveland after LeBron turned a star, have two kinds of teams. The first kind is a team that it's only LeBron plus 4 players. Since they signed Mo Willians, and with improvement of their centers. But the team get a little bit comfortable again, and still to much dependent of LeBron. For this year they signed Shaq, however it's only a big name, and isn't anymore a big player in quality terms. So, even we thought that this team would improve from last year with this sign, the truth is that the team isn't corresponding so well this season. They already have 8 losses, isn't much, but for the expectations is a little bit to much. They are struggling against teams that are showing a good game, as they are a little bit less effective in their defensive, as their centers aren't producing the expected.
Lakers are 16-1 after the return of Gasol. They are playing well, and are strong in the paint. This team is the actual champion, and are already launched to make a great season. This team, even when they slowdown, are able to win. Even with a broken finger, Kobe led this team to some straight wins, showing to everyone what is a champion. Their offense is going great particularly at home, and they usually allow less than 95 points. If you thing that they have an average of 105 points scored, we can conclude that their average is a win by 10 points. Show how ease it his, and this team is invincible at home since the return of Gasol, the key to a great improvement for this team.
Today we can expect two different teams. Cavaliers will try their best, with LeBron making a great game for sure. Shaq will return for the house where he was a big star and a champion, but he can't play many minutes. In the paint, there is a huge advantage to Lakers, and will be probably the key for this game. LeBron will be the best scorer for Cleveland and they will have to wait for some inspiration for another player, for example, Mo Willians. Lakers doesn't have to wait for anything. Their players are all good scorers, and this team enjoy and loves to play this big matches against another contenders. It will not take their foot off the accelerator even when they get in control of the game.
Pick: Los Angeles Lakers -5.5 -110 (1.91) The Greek
Los Angeles Clippers @ Phoenix Suns
Christmas should be a happy day for players. We can expect some Christmas spirit today, and the effect will be probably a soft defense, as both team will not be to hard doing something that they aren't good to.
Clippers are a team with good scorers. They have great scorers behind the arc as Davis and Gordon, and great scorers in the paint, such as Kaman and Camby. This team average normally 100 points allowed and the some on scored, but the tendency is making this numbers groin, as they are with 101 points scored and allowed in last 5.
Suns is a well known team. In 12 home games, only once they missed the target of 100 points scored. At home, this team was invincible until 2 games ago. In last 2 games, the team suffered the first and second home loss. Something strange, as they were showing a great game led by the veteran Nash.
This matchup have all to be a comfortable over. Some joy due to the holiday, two teams adept of offensive game, one bad defender as host and another as visitor, and a team that will be try to win this game with all they got. Suns can't miss another win at home and today will fight hard. And when they fight hard, it means that they will give all they got on offense. However, Clippers aren't making easy the game in this roadtrip, and normally scores 100 points even against good defensive teams. Against a no-defense team, it will be probably be higher.
Pick: Over 210.5 -110 (1.91) The Greek
TommyGold
12-25-2009, 04:24 PM
Miami @2.18 (2 Units)
GL
Good luck!!! :wavey:
Bleeth
12-25-2009, 04:30 PM
Tommy what do you think about LeBron over 29.5 ?
Bleeth
12-25-2009, 04:32 PM
Good luck!!! :wavey:
Thanks Tommy, as you see i changed my Username (from YasmineBleeth to just Bleeth) and Avatar in hope that maybe now there will be more good predictions (especially NHL) :wavey:
TommyGold
12-25-2009, 06:45 PM
Tommy what do you think about LeBron over 29.5 ?
I think that bookies were smart about that line. There is no doubt that we will be the big scorer for Cleveland. However, sometimes LeBron is spared when there is nothing to do.
Ontie
12-25-2009, 08:56 PM
is there in Nba history a more pathetic team than actual Knicklebockers? what a disgrace for this sport
TommyGold
12-25-2009, 09:04 PM
Thanks Tommy, as you see i changed my Username (from YasmineBleeth to just Bleeth) and Avatar in hope that maybe now there will be more good predictions (especially NHL) :wavey:
Straight Up Winner! :worship:
Bleeth
12-25-2009, 09:16 PM
Miami @2.18 (2 Units)
WIN :dance:
Bleeth
12-25-2009, 09:35 PM
@1.36 on Lakers , oh cmon you blood sucking bookies, why don't you just give the title to Lakers right now and spare me these crappy odds :rolleyes:
This is a matchup where a western conference team will host a eastern conference team. More than a month ago, Jazz went to Philadelphia won 112-90, something changed meanwhile, however I think that those changes just increase our spot.
Sixiers are now playing a faster game, has they had taking out one center to add one more guard in their style of game. This was a turning point, however, they still missing results. There is no doubt that they stated to discuss more the game, and after 12 straight losses, they already won 2 and lost another in OT in their last 5 games. They team weren't a good defender before these changes, however, they get worst after it. The only improvement was in their offense, and the add of Iverson only improves this effects, better offense to worst defense. This sign was to reimburse the lost for injuries of Louis Williams, but he returned last match. But today we will probably see Sixiers without Iverson, and so, this will be a match with the old players playing a new kind of game due to Iverson sign.
Jazz are a home team. In Salt Lake city they got always supporters, great fans in every game, and this is an arena where referees usually turns supporters of the home team as well. The team has maintained their key players from last year, but this season they are struggling a little bit despite the positive record. The truth is that they can be a contenders if they play a good game as every one knows they can. They are showing it some times, but they have to improve it if they want to be in the PO, and there is no doubt that playoffs are their minimum achievement to this season. This Christmas break can be a turning point to this team, and I expect it.
For today, there is a huge advantage for Utah Jazz, as they are a good defenders at home. With the kind of game that Sixiers will take to Utah, there is no doubt that Jazz knows handle it. It's the kind of game that makes Jazz shine, as they can play a fast game as well, and show some strength on their defense as well. With a high pace, there is no team who can leave Utah happy, and Jazz usually outscored opponents when they win.
Pick: Utah Jazz -7 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
San Antonio Spurs @ Milwaukee Bucks
Both teams are passing a bad moment. But these 3 days off, will be an opportunities to think about their moment, and improving where bot teams can be strong, as defense.
Milwaukee is 4-12 in last 16, after a good start. They have Redd ok after an injure, Bogut that is a good defender, and a great improvement of Ilyasova. They also had accuracy in the draft, choosing the best rookie so far in this season, Jennings. When this team win, usually they score around 90 and only allow around 80 points. In their last 18 games, they only for 5 times they scored more than 100 points. And they aren't scoring less points lately, they just are more soft on their defense, and it's what they have to improve in order to achieve more wins. And this days off were certainly to talk about it and make the players understand how important is defense.
Spurs are a disappointing so far. This team, that plays together at so many time, seems now a old team. The strength of this team is their defense, as they are players that play with a low pace and got the size in the paint. In the road they are with a negative record, because their defense doesn't work in the same way. But this pause can give good effects on this team, They rested for few days, and so they would be prepared to manage the games.
Both teams have to improve their defense. After this Christmas break, I think that both teams will try to control the game by their defense. Probably this game will be played in a low pace, many mistakes will be probably committed due to a strong defense from both sides.
Pick: Under 191 -110 (1.91) The Greek
Dunno if I'll have time to properly focus on handicapping the other NBA games for today or for the next days, the family is celebrating the arrival of a new member and I my results might suffer from all this happiness. :P
This will be a matchup where a Eastern team host a Western team. Houston used to be a defensive team with Ming, however they have been adapted this season to play a faster game in order to keep competitive despite Ming season absence.
So, this ultra defensive team has started to use fast players, which could make them score a lot more.
However this doesn't happen in every game. When they faces a team that knows how to defend, they usually play a lower game to try to keep the scoreboard balanced.
Cleveland is incredible how they play in Sundays. They just enter the game with a high defensive, allowing few points, and with a low pace in the game, that keep them also away for a high score.
This year they aren't pushing themselves to big performances when they aren't facing a direct adversary, keeping only the control of the game against the other teams and with a low win margin. Today I expect a game played in a low pace and with a low score.
Pick: Under 192 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
San Antonio Spurs @ New York Knicks
Knicks are going to their 7 straight game scoring less than 100 points. Their percentages are decreasing and their confidence is not the best right know, as they are nervous because of the memories of the start of the season, which could return soon.
This is not the best game right now to Knicks, as Spurs are a hard team to them, as they are 2-8 against Spurs in last 10 games. Spurs are being a disappoint so far, as they were expected to be one of the best teams on the league.
However, this had a break in Christmas that could benefit this team.
They are a team that doesn't enjoy to keep a high pace, as they are the oldest team in the league. Since Christmas, they went to Milwaukee won 112-97. But it's hard to keep this high score, as their bench shoot 71.5% on their attempts.
In a B2B game, Spurs have to be smart against a fast team such Knicks, and they could easily control this game if they keep a good defensive and a low pace.
ATTENTION: Sacramento Kings' Tyreke Evans might not play tonight (sore right ankle) and that is a nice edge for Denver. You might want to wait until it is confirmed that Evans will not play tonight before risking this pick. ;)
NBA 2009.12.28, final 7 picks:
ATTENTION: Sacramento Kings' Tyreke Evans might not play tonight (sore right ankle) and that is a nice edge for Denver. You might want to wait until it is confirmed that Evans will not play tonight before risking this pick. ;)
For the next 2 days, today and tomorrow, is very unlikely for me to post any picks. I'm about to travel to pass the New Year's Eve out of town to spend some quality time with my friends, so I'll not be with the proper mindset do handicap NBA, NHL or college basketball. Yet, my college football bowls picks (+6.46 units won/12 units risked) for the next 3 days (until 2010.01.02) were already posted. ;)
SpinLES
12-31-2009, 07:35 PM
Yeah ...good shit Tommy :worship:
TommyGold
01-02-2010, 04:40 PM
NBA 2010.01.02, first pick:
Houston Rockets @ New Orleans Hornets
Both teams ended well last year, and there is no doubt that both are motivated to start this year in the best way. Houston ended up with a win against their rivals Dallas, while New Orleans hosted Miami to win as well. In this part of the season, the Rockets are with a better record, specially due to road games.
Today, I expect Houston to struggle a little bit on the court, as I can see advantage for the Hornets. Houston got a faster game this season than last one, a smart play as they lost Ming for season. This made the team more soft on the defense, and quicker in their offense.
Another highlight is that they have kind of "fired" T-mac, as he will not play with the team anymore, and is waiting for trade. It's true that he had several injurie problems and have missed most of this season so far, but he is a all star player.
NO had creepy their way, keeping alive their run to playoffs. They had a bad start, however they are making their home something really strong, and are enjoying an improvment of their best players, wich are giving them a big help.
Today, despite the good road record for Rockets, I expect Hornets to dominate this game. Rockets normally take advantage on road games when their oponnents shows a lazy game, teams that think that the game was won before the start. However, the Hornets at home never make it easy, and never make a lower pace even against the worst teams.
So, we can expect a focused team hosting the Rockets. Brooks that have been one of the best players for Rockets will have to handle today with CP3, something that I can't see him making right, as he will not be able to defend CP3 and will struggle on offense against him. Even the rest os the positions, there is advantage in each one for Hornets.
First of all, there is a little tendency to unders on Sundays for most NBA teams. But that isn't the reason for this play. Knicks are 8-0 on under last 8 home games. The last time they scored more than 100 points were one month ago. The last time they allowed more than 100 points, were before the end of November. Long time without a doubt. That is because Knicks have made some adjusts, and after they started the season without caring about their defense, they realize that they needed to make also a defensive game when it's about to defense, in order to keep control of the games.
For Indiana this is a B2B game. The last time they passed the 100 points mark, was 6 road games away, more than 3 weeks ago. Despite a 233 points last nigh game, Pacers are without their major players, and will not play against a week team as Timberwolves are being right now. They were with 8 straight losses before last nigh win, showing that they miss Granger, and trying to adjust their "run and gun" game to a low pace, as Dunleavy is not so quick as Granger. In order to try to get a second win on a row, they need to be effective against a team that is showing a good home game.
Despite this seems a run and gun teams, and a low line, the truth is that neither of these teams have even been close of that number in their last home/road games respectively. Pacer are coming finally from a win, and without so many players, they will have a letdown due to euphoria. Knicks are with 2 straight losses at home, and will try hard to turn things, specially with the high moral they get on their last game. They will be solid on defense, as that will be something easy with their advantage, and Knicks are not a kind of team that shutdown their opponents as much as they can, and if they get a comfortable margin, they will certainly low down their pace.
Pick: Under 207.5 -110 (1.91) The Greek
Charlotte Bobcats @ Cleveland Cavaliers
This is a matchup that were already played in the the first games of the season. In that time, Cavaliers hold the Bobcats with a 90-79 and a 169 points game.
Now, Bobcats are quite different, as they added a pure scorer to their roster, Jackson. And they are motivated, as they won their last road game, something they were chasing in their last road games. Now, I believe that they use their motivation to discuss this game, and there is only a way to do it, being a bright defense, and keep a low pace. And that isn't difficult, as Bobcats are the best defenders on the league.
Cavaliers are playing better day by day. But there is a strange tendency, as they are 40-12 on unders on Sundays. Today we can expect the same. With their improvement it's hard to believe that they will be defeated today against a poor road game, and they are certainly aware of what kind of the team they will face. So, they will also have to be good defenders and hold the scorers for Bobcats, and take advantage of their scorers, particularly LeBron.
Both teams are good defenders, and in last 5 games, Cavaliers are holding the opponents allowing only 88 points and Bobcats with only 92 points. This is because both teams are trying to improve their game and making their defense better, as they have weapons to do so. Today, both teams will face each other, and the questions is, who is the better defense?
Both teams are making a median season, and forgetting the beginning that Hornets had, none of the teams are achieving more than 2 losses in a row. These are the kind of teams that have aspirations to go to playoffs, but there is no doubt that they need to improve and be more regular.
Jazz are well known for their strength at home. Despite 2 losses in last 3 home game, this team have a record of 12-5 at home, and when they are concentrated, they usually won any team. At home, this team is very balanced, scoring around 105 points per game and allowing 97 points per game. With Deron distributing the ball, and with sized and atletics mens on the paint, this team can be very strong, specially against teams that are not so balanced.
Hornets are the kind of team that when they lost, they usually lost by many. This team depends to much on CP3, and more important this year, the biggest factor to know if they will win, is the motivation. When they are motivated, they can fight the game and usually win, but if they start to miss and see the opponent get some distance, they usually get disoriented. The is easily seen on road game, where the team is 2-13. With fans of the other teams pulling them down, this team simple can't work.
Today, in one of the worst arenas to play for any team, in Salt Lake City, it's hard to see any motivation for Hornets. And they can't get motivation, they will have a blow out loss. Jazz can easily blow out their opponents at home, as they get well motived by their public, and fire a lot. Despite Hornets have CP3, is not in the guard position that we have biggest different. In the paint, is hard to see Okafor, West and Pedrag facing Milssap, Boozer and Okur. And even in the bench, Utah is better.
Tonight the King's will host the Suns, who came from a lost against Memphis, at home. At last games they was a little bit irregular, with alternated results. The home team came from a 3 loss streak, even they are strong playing at his court.The last lost was against Dallas by 99-91, with a great game of Casspi.
At Phoenix side, Steve Nash, the "old man" is the key player of this team. He's an excelent PG, with higher averages of points and assists (he have 11.2 apg). Against Sacramento this player plays very well: at last three games (included the victory over the Kings by 116-104 at December), he counts with 30.7 points and 9.3 assists. On the other side the star is Tyrek Evans, a PG with 20.1 ppg, who's back after the last game of the Kings against Dallas, when he played 38 minutes. The two teams have great players behind the arc, like Jason Thompson at the King's side and Stoudemire at the Sun's. This two players are a great rebounders and i excepect a nice fight in the paint.
Like i said, the Kings came from 5 losses at the last 6 games, with two of the losses against Kobe and "friends". Sacramento couldn't forget the 3 points of Kobe at last second, who give the Lakers victory. But i think the last results of Sacramento could be explained by the lot of games in a few days, and with a tired team is not easy to win a lot of games, against strong teams. With Evans playing 38 minutes at last game, the team hasn't a good exibition. To compensate Casspi played well and scores 22 points, but he couldn't bring the King's victory.
I hope that will be a close-game. Sacramento rests 3 days and will play at home, with Evans at maximum force, not rusty like the last game. On the other side the Suns starts the year with a ugly loss at home against Memphis by 25 points, and they not play well as they wish on the road. With a close-game i see value at the Kings ML, so take the Kings.
Pick: Sacramento Kings ML +130 (2.30) The Greek
TommyGold
01-06-2010, 07:25 AM
Very sick loss on GSW ML... :( Yet, I'm winning 60.51% and having a 15% EDGE on spreads and totals. :P It should lower later in the season.
The Wolves are making a lousy season. The have a bad record at home and on the road as well. Today, they will face a bad road team, at least supposedly, but the true is that this bad road team can play better on road than Wolves at home. The records are pretty similar, however one team can play well and another just struggle to do it.
Timberwolves with only 4 wins at home, have their biggest problem on defense. They usually can't stop their opponents, and they can't also score enough to equalize teams that easily score. They usually score around 100 in their good days, and today against a run and gun team, perhaps they can score a little bit more, but they can't have the pace to win this contest. In their home game, they have an average of 93 points per game scored. But even if they got a window in their offense, their defense can't accomplish the same, as it's rare to them to allow less than 100 points. Against a team that have facilities to score, this can be a bad nigh to Wolves.
Warriors are the kind of team that gives a high pace to the game, and normally just play on the offensive side. They had a horrible lost last nigh on Denver, and they are aware that they can be better and achieve better results, specially when their frontcourt mens finally returned from injuries. Against a team that it's play a bad game, struggles on defense as well as on offense, the key of the game will be the offense. In that side, Warriors have a huge edge, and will probably easily win this contest.
This line should be so short, even if we keep in mind that both teams will make a B2B game, and Houston had yesterday one of the lowest pace game and lowest accuracy this season. But yesterday it was a different spot, Lakers were dealing with some injuries and were looking for revenge. Suns played on road, and made the enough to win, but still, they were able to score 116 points.
Today we will have a matchup where we have a huge value on over from my point of view. I expected a line around 227/2230, so we have almost 13 points on our side. Suns are strong at home, and they make the rules on their home games. And one of those rules is play fast. There are many teams that aren't able to keep that pace, others can lower a little bit Suns game and achieve win. But today they will face Rockets. And what are Rockets able to do since they lost Ming? Play a fast game, and try to keep the scoreboard balanced as much as they can. Despite last game, Rockets have the players that they can count with this season ok. This team can easily score 100 points, but against a team that forgets to defend many times, Rockets will probably be able to increase their score. And when Rockets "enter" this kind of game, they can easily forget their defense as well. And Suns at home, less than 115 points, is a kind of defeat.
Rockets will probably to Phoenix to fight the game in Suns rules. High pace, low defense. There are the ingredients for todays game. Both teams got players to make this game like this.
Today, Hawks will have the perfect matchup to show to everyone that they are already in a great form. Hawks had a period where they give blowout losses to everyone they faces, but they have struggled for a few games, in games against Cleveland and Knicks. Now, and after two straight wins against Boston, they are able to pull up again their best game. They will face a break team after the scandal involving Arenas, their franchise player. But Washington is not playing so bad as every one expects, after all, they are accustomed to play without Arenas, as he had only returned few months ago to the competition.
Despite in the beginning of the season these teams had a game in Atlanta that ended with 100-89 (189 points), we canīt expect something different today. And the biggest difference it will be in the number of points, as we canīt be sure about how will Wizards be able to manage the game. But with Jamison, Butler and so on, they are a team with good scorers and able to score lotīs of points. Atlanta will face this game giving all they could give, and they are a team that easily score 130 points at home, making a game with a high pace, caring more with their offense than defense. If Atlanta play in that pace and scores a lot of points, Wizards will also be able to pass the century mark easily.
Pick: Over 203.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Phoenix Suns @ Indiana Pacers
More than 75% of the bettors are going on under, making this line moving in our favor. Itīs a bet that people make without any analysis, just because itīs a high number. But that is not the right way to do things, and we have to be methodic.
Suns and Pacers will meet at Conseco Fieldhouse. This is a traditional arena for overs, as here, at home, Pacers always plays with a high pace. But lately pacers have slowed down, as they lost to improvement list their best and fastest player, Granger. However, he comeback to action last game, and so, we canīt expect a huge improvement in Pacers offense.
Suns are also a team that likes to play fast. Their kind of game is also the run and gun, and despite there is the impression that they are slowing down, that is not true. First, they never negate a fast game if the opponent is willing to play with a high pace. After hall, playing in high pace is the "water where they live". The fact is that at home, Suns are scoring less lately, but that is something that happen, is not a tendency. At the road, they struggle a little bit in few straight games, when they played against strong and good defenses. But when they faces a soft defense on road, they never score less than 120 points.
Today, we will have a perfect matchup for those that just love overs and big scoring games. Suns will face Pacers, that with Granger back, will try to play their best game at home, that is run-and-gun. Suns just love to play that game, so I expect a easy over despite the high numbers.
Bobcats are playing very well at home, being one of the best teams at home. They will face a team that can do their best and their worst, and depend too much on Wade. Here, Bobcats can easily neutralize Miami team, and Wade isn't enough to make Heat discuss this game.
Indiana Pacers @ Orlando Magic: Over 210 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Pacers are with their full strenght, and will have to make everyone believe that the last game was a mistake. Orlando also needs to show that they can play pretty well, and will probably allow a fast pace.
Blazers are being inconsistent since their injuries curse appears. They can play well, however, I can't see them to have any advantage in Philadelphia, as 76ers can play a fast game, and use size in the paint.
Boston Celtics @ Detroit Pistons: Under 187 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Garnett still out of the game, and Detroit still playing a bad game. This is a bad contest, with two teams that will make this matchup a matchup to see who can play worst.
Hornets are great at home, it's true. But they are to soft to face a hot team like Grizzlies right now. Grizzlies are confident, playing well and without fears. Hornets have CP3, but he will not be able to make the diference, and Memphis will dominate in the paint.
Thunders are lead by Durant, and there is no doubt that this young team have talent. However, this line is to high, Wolves players are improving, and they have the experience and the youth to fight for this game.
The Nuggets are improving a lot their game and they will "attack" hard this game, while the Warriors only have 4 players with a lot of playing time on their legs, the remaining roster will be filled with players coming from the D-league, and their main scorer are facing physical problems.
This matchup give us a good spot, as we don't have a big spread for the home team. Despite the recent results that Bobcats had, they still being the worst road team, they are the kind of team that plays pretty well at home, but plays badly on the road. In the other side, Nuggets are a great home team as well and are the kind of team that usually win by more than 10 points easily.
Bobcats come from 2 straight losses, including the last game at home. Something rare, and definitely is not the best spot now, playing on the road after a home loss. They have to manage that loss, and on the road, they aren't able to manage it properly. Despite great scorers, is the kind of scorers that work just fine at home, when the crowd support them, but on the road they struggles very often.
Denver, are coming from big wins. The key for this team is Billups, a brilliant player, as he have skill and the brain to lead this team. This line is a little bit low because Carmelo is in doubt, however, he is not the kind of player that makes the team play, he usually play alone. If Carmelo miss the game, someone is going in his place and will try their best, as isn't easy to fight for Carmelo place, after all, he is an All Star and a great scorer.
Today we can expect Nuggets to play their best, Billups is in a good shape, and this team at home just blow out the opponents. Bobcats are coming from 2 straight losses, including a home defeat, and hare a bad road team. They are not with their confidence up, and now how difficult it will be to play in Denver.
I can't take the lines on the Bucks @ Mavs, they are to risky. Bucks could make this a close game, due to how Mavs approach games against "easy teams". However, it's always a risk.
NY are playing bad, with key players out because of injuries. Wolves are trying to fight on their road games, and today is a good spot, there is no doubt that this game can easily goes to Wolves side, as they are in a better shape.
Wizards is really hard to read. They usually plays well and cover high spreads at home against powerfull teams. But Lakers are playing better, Wizards are going trought a strange period.
Suns just NEED this win. There is no other way to aproach this game. Bobcats are playing well, but not on the road. There will be also a revenge spot for Suns. And something seems really easy to me: Over. Both teams got great scorers, and will be a really fast game.
Warriors still losing their players, and they are now starting with 2 D-league players. Kings are achieving many losses, and this is the righ contest to bounce back, as they got the players to fight for this game, like Martin and Evans.
Lakers are improving their road record, as they know that they need to be as good on the road as at home in order to obtain some credits to fight for the NBA title. Despite a 8 road games trip, in the middle of it Lakers showed that they are playing well, despite some struggling minutes. Jackson is trying to get more bench minutes to his key players, but that already cost him a win in Toronto. Now, he is giving everything he can to achieve more than 15 points lead, and only then he makes his key players rest. The team his with 1 day off, and will have another day off after this game. The bench players can't struggled so much as they did in the past, and have to prove that they deserve a rotation spot. So, I expect them to manage well the lead they have when they enter the game.
Indiana is with Dunleavy out. Granger is back, but this all star is not so visible when playing against another all starts, because the quality is higher than usual. Their last 2 home games were losses, in it was because they lost the rebounds battle. They can't manage well teams that have size and muscle in the paint, as they only have one good player in the paint, that it's Murphy. But Murphy can't handle properly Bynum, as Bynum is twice the size of Murphy.
So I expect a really easy game to Lakers while they play with their best team, and today his a perfect spot to Gasol shine. Even Kobe will have much more space than usual, and it's always dangerous when that happen. So, even if they bench players can't make the same of Lakers key players, I think the lead at that time will be to high to get in a wrong way.
Today Blazers will face one of the hottest teams right now. Blazers made a great game 2 days ago at Dallas, winning straight up when they were dogs by 8.5 points. Since they lost Brandon Roy, this is the only good result. Can this give the idea that "they are back"? No, and it's easy. Any team with a letdown spot, struggling because of any reason, can go to Dallas win. It's hard to believe but it's the true. This team had a great start, but since they start losing important players due to injuries, the team went down. Last week, Roy was put in the injured list due to hamstring. Since that, the team had made poor games, with exception to the game in Dallas. And Andre Miller will not score again 52 points.
Bobcats are strong since they acquired Jackson. After a great run at home, they started to play on the road, their weak point. And after losing in Atlanta and Denver, they managed to get 3 straight wins, many as they achieved in 14 road games. The team is playing pretty well, with great scorers as Jackson, and great defenders. Wallace was called to participate in the all stars, and is showing why he deserve it.
Today, Bobcats that are passing a great moment, will face a broken team that will play without their best players. A team that can't keep the pace in a game when the opponent approach the game thinking the game isn't already won. Today, Bobcats should be at least 6 points favorite, but due to the fact that their road record is poor, they are dogs. But don't forget, the team had a BIG improvement, and the results are appearing on the road as well.
Bucks are not a good road team. They are 6-19 record and scoring only 93 points per game while allowing 98 points per game. Their game is based in Jennings and Bogut, as they have Redd sidelined for the rest of the season. However, Jennings is passing a bad moment scoring few points.
Knicks are now hopefully finishing a letdown spot, that happened due to some important injuries. They are not a regular team, with a 12-14 record at home, and allowing 102 points, the some points they score per game.
While Bucks are slowing down, Knicks will try to show what they got today, when the team will be all ok to host Bucks. Knicks can easily play a run and gun game, and Lee and Harrington can make the difference in the paint. When Knicks starts well a game, it's really hard to stop them, as they can score easily from anywhere in the field.
Bucks have a good man in the paint, Bogut, but Knicks have all the edge in the paint at home. Jennings is passing a bad moment, and without him, the team struggles. Even thinking that Jennings can improve a little bit today, this is not the perfect game to let him carry the team again. his spread is small, as Knicks can delivery easily lot's of triples in the last minutes of the game with Galinari.
Bucks are not the kind of team that is able to stop Knicks as they were playing before the injuries. And I expect Knicks to return today to their best performances.
After a great weekend for Wade (the MVP of all star game), Miami will go to Philadelphia play close game. Miami have all their players rested, and it's a team that only depend on their mood to play well. After so many days off, the team will likely approach this game with the right angle, and that is easely translated to many point from their part.
Sixiers are also rested after a loss ending their 4 winning streak games. They were scoring lot's of points, 104 points per game, and allowing almost 100. That's because the team can have a high pace during many minutes in the game. Today, Iverson will return, and we can expect a faster game than lately.
Sixiers are small favourites today, and will make their best to win this game. They know that Miami will appears today with energy, so they will have to be better on accuracy, as this will be probably a fast game.
Pick: Over 190.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Minnesota Timberwolves @ Detroit Pistons
Everyone expects Timberwolves to keep their pace. It's true that they were lately scoring more than 100 points per game, however, today we have a different situation. Timberwolves scored lot's of points because their opponents let so. Some of them lost due to that, however, it was because teams didn't approach well the game.
Many teams were already thinking in after all stars, another teams had players that were playing slowly due to injuries or just because they were tired. But now, we will enter the second part of the season. It will be more serious than before the all star, and many teams will try their last efforts to get a playoff spot.
Timberwolves will face today Detroit, that is a team that plays a lot with their defense. Detroit is far from playoffs, but none team can quit just after and all star. They will enter this second part of the season with what they do best: DEFENSE! And against a team that is not quite good, they will probably prevail with their defense.
Pick: Under 198 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
TommyGold
02-17-2010, 12:07 AM
New York Knicks @ Chicago Bulls
Chicago had their best streak just before the all star break. The team where scoring almost 100 points per game and today will face a team with no defense, and they will explore it as they got players that can score easily. Knicks, were playing badly before this break, and will have the winner of slum dunk contest out due to flu.
Chicago will try to keep their shape, and they know that they can win this game if they focus on their accuracy. They are not good on defense, allowing around 95 points per game, but they know that Knicks are not in their best moment. Even after this break, they are without N. Robinson and are a affraid team on road, allowing more than 105 points per game.
We can expect today a easy win for Bulls, as they will have to be focus in this second part of the season. Knicks will probably try to keep a high pace, because it's the only way to try to discuss this game, but they will not be able to score as much as Bulls.
This year, in two games against Suns, Memphis were abel to get a unquestionable win in both of the games. Last year, only one game against Suns was played in Memphis, and Memphis won it to.
We all know how Suns plays. They are lead by the veteran Nash, they are the kind of team that play run and gun. They are bad on defense, and the team is turned and focus in offense.
Memphis is a young team with lots of talent players. WHen they faces teams that's "invite" to play a fast game and focus on offense, they glady accept the "contest". This young team can easily score in any part of the field, and have the edge in the paint against any team in NBA.
Their frontmans are great on offense, much better than in defense, and playing a run and gun game, only benefits Memphis team. That's why I think they shoul be favourites, they already prove it this year with two easy wins against Suns.
Pick: Memphis Grizzlies ML -103 (1.97) 5Dimes
TommyGold
02-17-2010, 12:49 AM
Dallas Mavericks @ Oklahoma City Thunder
The young team that Thunders have, can lead the team to playoff spots. They are showing that they can be mature, and have an all star as Durant, one of the best scorers in NBA. One of the few teams that can contradict team is Dallas.
Thunders were underrated by most of the teams in the beginning of the season, but lately those teams seems confuse, with difficult to know how to handle with team. However they forget that this team, despite they dont show, they are young. Rookies and sophomores are the most important players in this team.
Dallas get a good trade, with Haywood, Stevenson and all star Butler. This players will give more talent and strenght to the team, and also more bench depth. They will face this second part of the season with a good roster, that can give gurantees to Cubain, who said last year "We just suck".
Dallas know how to handlee with Thunders, and their new players will show why they deserve a spot, and will likely be better than they were in Wizards, as they will play in a team that plays more as they like.
Golden State are always able to score. Even when they have almost all their players injured, they call players from the development team to play in the starting lineup. But even then, they are able to score a lot. The Warriors still have lots of players out, including Monta Ellis, one of their best scorers. But their kind of game is still the same, and the players that will play today can be less talented, but will make the job and score lots of points as well.
Lakers are without Kobe, but the team are playing a quicker game without him. The players that have entered the rotation when Kobe missed the games, are trying to take their chance to show that they are good enough. Today, they will face one of the worst defense in the league. As a team that can easely score, they will take this chance to show that they can be great scorers too, and will try to do a good performance to show that they also deserve more minutes. And as we all know, the offensive performance is the performance that most of the time people notice.
Pick: Over 216.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
TommyGold
02-17-2010, 07:29 PM
NBA 2010.02.17 first 2 picks:
Detroit Pistons @ Orlando Magic
After a great win yesterday at home, Pistons will play again today. It's a back to back game, however they are coming from 5 days off. They shouldn't be tired, but more important, they are with confidence and with the will to chance the path of the team. Pistons are the kind of team that starts every year with a minimum target, playoffs. However, they are disappointing the fans this year, with poor games and a 19-33 record. However, the team is not so bad as it seems, they still have good players, and despite their best players missed many games in the first part of the season, the team is all ok now. There is no excuses to keep the bad performances and fail to get a better record. Yesterday they entered the second part of the season with a great game, winning it by 23 points. So, they will arrive to this game thinking that they are able to make the difference in the remaining part of the season.
In other hand, Orlando will have 3 home games. After Detroit, they will have to handle with Mavs and Cavaliers. That's enough to approach this game with the minimum resources. Orlando is a good team unquestionable, and can get great wins, but is not the kind of team to win by many points, as they slowdown when they are leading with comfort. That's why it's hard to expect Orlando to enter todays game with all they got, as they probable think that this will be the easy game and they are already thinking in the next games. And Detroit can make a surprise, at least, they will try.
Pick: Detroit Pistons +11 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Chicago Bulls @ New York Knicks
Yesterday, Knicks went to Chicago. The game ended with 203 points, but that's because Bulls were leading by many points, and in the fourth quarter, both teams slow down and quit the game, otherwise, the game would probably ended with 220 points or more.
The things that made me going in the over yesterday, still available for today matchup. Players are not tired as they rested almost a week. Nate Robinson could return today.
So, both teams learned yesterday some thing about each other. Knicks will have to use it today, as they will probably try to get their revenge after the big loss yesterday. The biggest difference in the game, was the accuracy. With only 30% of shots right, Knicks will have to improve it a lot today, and at home, that seems really easy to them. However, their defense shouldn't be able to stop Bulls, at least, to make the difference. They had shoot yesterday 60%! Bulls probably learned the lesson, and will know today how to score. They will probably keep more than 50% of accuracy today.
Knicks will make a fast game. They know that right now, they are not better shooters, but they can shoot more. Bulls learned yesterday how to handle Knicks. The trick is not try to make a good defense, is only shoot better.
Houston will go to Milwaukee to a matchup against against a good defensive team. Despite the 12-14 record on road that Rockets got, they are not a good road team. They have managed to get 12 wins on road, but this number will probably have a small increase for the rest of the season. This team seems a good defensive team, however, their kind of game is usually to fast to make a good defensive work. On road, their defense sucks, and when they face teams that defend and don't let Houston play fast, they struggle.
Bucks are one of that kind of teams that makes the season in their home games and an ocasional surprises. At home, they got the edge in the paint with Bogut and a rookie that is shinning a lot and making the diference, Jennings. They can score a lot, play a fast game, but they are smart enough and know that their edge is on their defense. Against houston, that's all they need to get a confortable win.
Pick:Milwaukee Bucks -5.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
*One unit each always.
TommyGold
02-17-2010, 10:37 PM
NBA 2010.02.17 another pick:
Utah Jazz @ New Orleans Hornets
Utah are 7-0-1 in their last 8 road games on ATS. They were playing really well before the break, and showed yesterday that they still reaming with their "momentum". They are strong in every positions, with Deron, Boozer and Okur.
New Orleans are without CP3, and the true is that is a big loss to the team. They could hold a little bit after the all star break, winning some games, however, they will return today to action, after 7 days off. To a team that will play more 2 or 3 weeks without their leader, it will be hard to show competitiveness in this first games.
Without CP3, the Hornets will not be able to discuss games against teams that are strong and have big mens, as Boozer, Okur and Millsap. Their athetism is a little bit soft, and they will not be able to control the gam in the paint against Utah. And they will not be able to defend Deron Willians as they should in order to discuss the game.
Pick: Utah Jazz -4 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
*One unit each always.
TommyGold
02-17-2010, 11:23 PM
NBA 2010.02.17 final 2 picks:
Sacramento Kings @ Golden State Warriors
Despite the break, GSW weren't able to treat their players from the extensive injured list. They played yesterday and they seems with lack of confidence and rhythm. In their last games, they lost 9 straight games, and ended the first part of the season with a win. That should give them confidence and the strength to look forward in the second part of the season. The team can play a fast game, but they can't defend but that's not their main problem at this point. They have players from the minors playing lot's of minutes, few players of their initial roster at day 1 is playing right now.
Kings are being so far a nice surprise for me. With two rookies making the difference, Kevin Martin have more space, and the team is well equalized and playing very well. Yesterday, they were almost able to win to Boston, but they couldn't hold the lead in the final part. I think that they are able to approach this second part of the season with a positive perspective, and forget the last month before the break, where they sucked a lot.
Today, Kings are a team more organized and with more confidence. They are able to play pretty well in a fast pace, and make the difference today defending when they have to.
Today is the last day to close the transfers window and as you might noticed, there are several regular players being benched in the last 2 days (and seeing little game time in the process), which screws any analysis of the game, so I might not have a play for tonight.
Denver is coming from a big win, giving an upset defeat to Lebron in his home. Carmelo accepted the challenge that LeBron launch to him, and was the winner. Today the team is probably confident, and we still can despise a little bit the back to back factor, as they are coming from the break and played yesterday their first game in 7 days.
Denver is one of the brilliant teams, as Billups seems more inteligent that ever. With Carmelo returning after almost one month out, and scoring 40 points in Cleveland, this team will attack this second part of the season to show that they can be a contenders fro those that still give them no value.
They will face today the biggest winner in the trade contest, trading all their biggest players after the loss of Arenas "to the gangs". So, we can expect a good team today from Wizards, as they are building a new team. A really easy win to Denver is what I expect.
Pick: Denver Nuggets -5.5 -105 (1.95) The Greek
San Antonio Spurs @ Philadelphia 76ers
The biggest problem for Spurs this season, is that they are to old to play 4 games per week, sometimes, 2 games in 2 days. However, they can use the all star break to rest, and comebak with the best they can provide. After all, this is a team with Duncan, Parker and Ginobili. The talent is huge. They started well, despite some laziness in the last minutes, but they built a confortable lead during the game. They are strong in the paint and can stand up against the big frontcourt of Sixiers.
Sixiers started this second part of the season in the wrong way. Iverson was grumpy, Thadeus and Willians started in the bench, and the team achieved a big loss at home, against Miami. It seems that they already understood that the season is over for them, playoffs seems far.
Today, Spurs will have they can, they have to, as this is their best games, as they had a weak off to rest. Sixiers is the kind of team that easily quit during the game if they started to lose by many, and I expect them today to play under their abilities.
Pick: San Antonio Spurs -3 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Milwaukee Bucks @ Detroit Pistons
Bucks were among the positive surprises this year, leaded by the impressive rookie Jennings and with Bogut being the strength. However, they seems to slowing down their efforts, as they ended badly the first part of the season. The first game in the second part, was worst than the worst nightmare, as they get a defeat by 28 points t home. It seems that lost all their abilities, and will now make the season that everyone thought this summer. Jennings is losing is moment, and passing a bad time, and that have repercussions in the team instantly.
Detroit is going in the other path. They finnaly got all their players without injuries and ready to play. They have been so far one of the biggest dissapointing teams this year, as they were appointed as a strong contenders to playoffs. But the season went bad during the first part, and now it's time to recover. Two days ago, they went to Orlando, abel to hold Magics for 3 quarters, and entering the fourth with signs that they could make the life difficult. But suddenly they struggled and lost that quarter by 20 points and ended with any chances. However, tere were good signgs of a good rehab, and today I expect it to be effective.
November 9, Detroit went to Milwaukee and win 93-81. They know how to do it, and they should now be better. Their biggest weapon is their defense, and they will hold Bucks offensive easily. Bucks in other hand, will try to be good defenders in order to discusse the game. But they will not be able to score many points.
Toronto had some problems with their defense, but establish it during the first part of the season. However, it's hard to believe in their defense with Bosh out. The last time that happened, they suffered almost 150 points. The kind of game that Toronto plays when things are going in the difficult way, is a run and gun game, something that they are good. Even with Bosh out, Bargnani can fill that spot in the offense pretty well.
The Nets after playing against the Bobcats, have achieved a great win, then returned home and lost to Miami, with an overall score of 171 points. It's never easy to play against a team like Miami, that can "destroy" the show sometimes. At home, they are scoring few points, but isn't due to lack of talent, as they are able to score many points on road. They're getting difficulties at home, as the supporters are not happy with the team with be worst record on NBA.
However, after a loss by one point, they will give all they can today, specially when they know that Bosh is out and they have Lopez. Devin Harris, Lee an Jianlian are the kind players that will proudly accept the chanlege for a gun and run game, and this will be probably a high scoring game, as will not be Toronto to descrease their game and will be Nets to increase theirs.
Pick: Over 198.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Miami Heat @ Memphis Grizzlies
Miami is one of thouse alarming teams. They can compete for the worst coach in NBA, they can play a horrible game, or they can give an upset to big teams. There are two keys for this team. If Wade plays well, the team can achieve any goal, and when there is a need of a coach, the team can't achieve any goal due to Spoelstra. Today, they will only have their worst, Spoelstra, as Wade is out this game. Without him, the team normally struggles, even with him they do it some times. Their strenght will be with O'neal and Beasley, but they can't have that edge against a team like Memphis.
Memphis is a strong team that were passing a bad moment, but went last game to Toronto win the game. They got and huge edge in the paint, with M. Gasol and Z. Randolph, as they are great rebounders and particullary good as well in the offense. But they are not the only thing this team have, but today, they will be key players to lead the team to a big win. The team is one of the most equalized teams in NBA, with Conley, Mayo e Gay supporting their frontcourt.
Pick: Memphis Grizzlies -6.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
TommyGold
02-20-2010, 01:48 AM
Atlanta Hawks @ Phoenix Suns
What can we expect from an healthy Suns? Only a fast pace and a good accuracy. They are with a 6 straight games with unders, and that's why this line is so low, as I can't see Atlanta try to make a good defence and try to hold down a fast game.
With Crawford ok, he will be one of their biggest weapons, as he can score fast points. But Atlanta isn't defense, despite their good defensive game. On road they allow almost 98 points, and can play a game with a high rythm.
Against Suns, Atlanta will try to keep the pace, and with great scorers, they will easily win. And even thinking they are a good defense, it's to hard to acomplish a good defense in Phoenix, as Suns are able to overcame any defense, specially at home.
Pick: Over 212.5 -110 (1.91) 5Dimes
Utah Jazz @ Golden State Warriors
Utah is 8-0-1 in last 9 road games and 14-3 overall in last 17. Their strengh and work has been amazing, as they are able to win games that they actually didn't played well.
The road isn't something that scares them, and even with Okur out today, the team have enough big mens to occupy the space in the paint. Behind the arc, they have fast players and great scorers as well, with Deron being the key of their game.
They will face today a team with no defense. The truth is that they play that game called "if I can score more, i "probably" could win". However, they are with many injuries, and it's really hard to this team achieve two straigh wins.
Jazz are really good facing teams that are breaked. Warriors are one of that kind, as they only play half the court. And even their roster is breaked, with some players playing the game, anothers sited for the 48 minutes.
Boston will play their fourth game after the break. They traded House and Giddeons for Nate Robinson, but he will miss today game. So, there will be lack of good Guards for rotation, something not good when you are playing your fourth road game in six days. Even thinking that Boston had improved their defense and won the last 3 games, there were some difficulties to win against Sacramento, won obly by 1 against a Lakers without Kobe, and then, had a massive win in Portland a against a debil an inconsistence team. So, they are not so good as it seems to be dogs only by 2 ball possessions against one of the hottest teams.
Denver had a ridiculous loss in Wizards, after a huge win in Cleveland. They are 23-5 at home, and with the upset they had last game, they will not make easy todays game against Celtics. They know that they are in a better shape offensively, and at home, even the best defense have problems do defend them. With Anderson back tonight, the frontcourt of the Nuggets will have enough power to face the powerfull frontcourt that Celtics have. They should won this contest confortable.
Pick: Denver Nuggets -4.5 -110 (1.91) The Greek
*One unit each always.
TommyGold
02-21-2010, 10:25 PM
NBA 2010.02.21 more 3 picks:
Memphis Grizzlies @ New Jersey Nets
Somehow, the Nets seems unable to score more than 90 points at home. They are worst at hoem than on road, where they can aliviate the tension that supporters give them. Isn't easy to bet the team with the worst record, specially when the team is breaking some bad records. With Jianlian out, only Brook Lopez will be able to try stop the great frontcourt that Memphis have.
Memphis can score very easily, and will have to take today opportunitie to turn things, as they are not in a good moment. With Randolph and Gasol making this team being the best team scoring in the paint, and well supported by the players behind the line, will not be this team to hold them.
Pick: Memphis Grizzlies -6 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Houston Rockets @ New Orleans Hornets
Houston made important trades, and if we think that T-mac weren't helping the team in the last months, were positive trades, as they lost an important player like Landry, but he have enough players to compensate, and won a all star player ang big scorer with Kevin Martin. Yesterday, and after they were leading by more than 10 points at half time, they lost the game. The team needs time to sync, and the first match is always hard, and they payed that proce high because they were playing against a run and gun team.
It's true that without Ming, they are a little bit soft in the paint, but they can a faster game, and will get more accuracy with K. Martin playing. Hornets are without CP3, the key of their win against Houston at home 21 days ago by 4 points. Despite they have big players, they are a little bit soft to. The team it's more lazy than Rockets, and today Rockets will dominate easily this game, as they have the edge behind the arc, and can be a little bit better in defense as well.
Pick: Houston Rockets ML +115 (2.15) The Greek
Atlanta Hawks @ Golden State Warriors
In January Warriors won at home to Atlanta with 223 overall points scored. In December, Atlanta won at home against Warriors and 214 points were scored. Atlanta knows that on road their defense is not so strong as at home and needs to improve their offense. They have the abilitie to do it, as they have great scorers that can play a fast game, and the ex-Warriors Crawford is a bench player that keeps a high pace. They just need to score around 45%, that is their average on road, to score more than 110 against a team that makes no defense, as they can score easily for any position.
The Warriors will have Monta back tonight and will impose their fast game. They weren't able to score lot's of points lately, as they had faced teams that forced the game to a low pace and with many mistakes for Warriors. But they were playing with several D-league players, and had lack of their "true" players. But with Monta Ellis back, the team gain a big reinforcement in scoring matter. With him back, and knowing that Atlanta easily enter and let them play their game, we can expect a huge scoring game, as there is no doubt that Atlanta will score many points, and Warriors will be able to score enough, as they will try to keep the game close.
Pick: Over 211.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
*One unit each always.
Denver was leading by 82-73 in the end of the 3rd Qtr...
The Spurs were leading by 76-73 in the end of the 3rd Qtr...
The Nets only had to score a handful of points to cover the Over...
So, it's the second time this month I finish the day with a 2-7 on spreads and totals... :|
Blazers are passing big problems with injuries, and it seems that they are forcing Roy to return as soon as possible to try to invert the situation, as he his the franchise and best player. The team is showing some insconsitence, and bad results against the strongest and more balanced teams. Their defense are struggling lately and they acquired Camby to compensate Oden injury, but he still needs more time to get sync with his team.
Jazz are going fantastic, and as I said last game, they are able to win even without playing well. This year they have played already two games against Blazers, and were able to win confortable, even in Portland. Deron will have a hurt Roy defending him, and will be able to do whatever they can. Jazz can also defend well, with big and great players in the paint, and can make the game as easy as Celtics did that went to Porland win by 20 points two days ago. Blazer will try to defend as good as they can, but probably will not be enough.
Sooner this month, Bucks went to New York. The result was favorable to Bucks by 12 points, but at this point, we have a really different situation.
The Knicks are the big winners of the trade season. They were able to ensure a low cap salary for next season, that was their main concern, but they were also able to improve their roster. They've got an all star player with T-Mac, that already won the fans, and Eddie House, that we have to be fair and say that will be much better for the team than Nate. Nate was the kind of player that hadn't good relations in New York, and worst, the kind of player that force all the players to play for him when he is playing.
With House, they gain a good shooter and a reliable guard, something that Antoni appreciate. And with Tracy McGrady, the team gain a big scorer. In their last game they fail to win to Thunders in OT, but the win was close, and everyone in NY believes that they will win today. Their confidence is high.
Milwaukee is still achieving good results and only once in a while they play a bad game, but it's notorious the lack of performance that their leader guard is having right now. Bogut, their other top player, already showed this season that we can't win the battle against Lee.
Pick: New York Knicks PK -110 (1.91) 5Dimes
Indiana Pacers @ Dallas Mavericks
The Mavs are another team that had a great profit this trade season. Trading Howard for Haywood should be fair enough, but they were able to ensure even a best player, Butler. The talent of this team have raised much more than anyone should expect before the trade. The results were immediate, as the team were suffering several defeats in a row, and after the trade and the break, they got 3 wins in 3 games.
They were able to get turnbacks, with big second parts. This show that this team can really work, but with 2 new players in the initial five, it's logical that they struggle for several minutes until they get their "mechanism" ok. But with the team, they will need less minutes per game to show their talent.
Haywood give them the strength they need in the paint, with Marion and Dirk which are great scorers as well. Behind, they got the old Kidd, a smart player that can be more important than points, and Butler, a massive scorer as well.
Indiana have an all star player, Granger, that can play many points in every game, as they play a fast game that is favorable for him. However, their kind of game give them big problems on road game, where they are 7-21. They have no defense, and when they face teams that can defend them and score easily, they usually lost by more than 10 points.
Hibbert is to lazy to hold on Haywood, and Troy will have big problems facing all stars like Dirk. Their guards will have big problems in distributing the game, as they will have Jason Kidd in front of them. In November, they lost at home by 21 points against Mavs, but this time, the team will face a better Mavs and in Dallas, which give them more edge.
This month, we had a great profit with Utah. Yesterday, once again, the team was abel to a comeback after being losing by 25 points. They don't need to play well, as they have a good coach and great players in every position. They just need to do enough to ensure wins against teams that aren't depth.
In the other way, Atlanta lost yesterday in Golden State, after being in lead all the game until the last minutes. They were outscored in the last quarter and had a bad defeat. The problem that is appearing for them is lack of defense, their biggest weapon when season started.
Atlanta will play their fourth and last game in this roadtrip, and were able to win only against Clippers, a team that is passing several problems, trades and fired the coach. They went to Phoenix and Golden St. and lost. Today they will go to Salt Lake City, a arena that can be a hell.
The only game this season they had against Jazz were at home in December, and they were abel to win as they hold Jazz for 83 points. But now, this team is not the same and isn't defending the same. They are also showing some difficulties in offense lately. After a great first half of the season, where it seemed that they playoff would be something easy, they are now putting it in jeopardy.
Utah is making a great run lately. 17-2 put them back in the path of playoffs. In February they only lost their last home game, against Lakers. This team had a true sixth player in Salt Lake, where their supporters can really make the arena full of tension for the opponents.
After a loss, it's really unlikely that they would suffer another in a row. This team at home can be even more efective than ever, with a great defense and a good accuracy in offense. So, this team, can improve a lot, but really a lot, from the last games.
If in their last games they were able to win and obtained it, it would be more easy today, as they will be better, will have Okur back, and will face a team that is struggling a little bit.
Pick: Utah Jazz -5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Knicks, Mavs and Jazz are final for today. :)
TommyGold
02-23-2010, 08:02 PM
NBA 2010.02.23 first pick:
Los Angeles Lakers @ Memphis Grizzlies
Lakers have managed well the absence of Kobe Bryant. They only lost last game, by one point, at home against Celtics. But that was a special game, where the smell of playoffs was huge. So, it was difficult to win without their best player, but that situation will not happen tonight. Tonight Kobe will return to action, and after his loss, we can conclude easily that Kobe makes his team play under a lower pace this season. Besides that, the team is improving their defense a lot, and in the last 5 games they only allowed more than 90 points to Warriors.
Memphis is struggling a lot lately without 4 losses in a row at home. Their last win at home was against the Lakers, 95-93, and since them, they are passing a letdown with a 2-6 record. Their offense is pretty good, as they can score easily in the paint and behind it. This month, they haven't reach 100 points at home in any game, including only 87 points with an OT in their last home game against Miami.
We can expect a low score game, as Kobe will return and will probably put the team playing with a lower pace. Lakers defense has improving lately so far, and on road, they are the kind of team that tries to keep a low pace always. Memphis are not passing a good moment and knows that have to play with calm and try to improve their defense as wells, and will be more focus in that than in offense.
We have to be aware about recent performs that both teams had. Celtics got the lowest point of this season with 3 losses in a row. It was just after the all star break, and that means that their approach to second part of the season is not the best. For a team that have and average of 101 points per game scored, they were hold to lower number. Despite the game they loss in OT, they were hold below the 100 points mark. Even in their last game, that was a win at home against a soft defense team, they were able to score only 105 points.
So, at this point, their offense is not working properly well. One of the causes is Mo Williams, their principal guard, that is scoring and a average below the 8 points per game after he returned from injury list, he that is one of the biggest scorers of the team. Of course that with Lebron, is hard to believe that this team can struggle offensively, but even Lebron, although we have good numbers, are not producing as much as he usual do. However, the team needs to prove that they are strong, and can easily put away bad periods, like champions have to.
The key will be to play with more concentration, and as they will face another contenders to the title, they will have to approach this game with a huge defense and without mistakes.
Boston has entered the second part of the season showing that they would be better than they were in the first part of the season. Lately, they were able to hold opponents offense, Sacramento, Lakers and Blazers. That's something big, as this games were all on road. Just in Denver they had a big scoring game, but Denver knew just well how to face them at home. In their last game, at home, they were able to hold NYK offense, but they didn't forced their defense, as they could be able to win just with offense. Even so, the game only had 216 points.
Todays game will be like a playoff match. Both teams know that they will have to be able to keep some secrets and not showing all they can do, as they know that they will face each other in an advance part of the season, and the knowledge that both teams can have will be important. Even so, both teams will do whatever they can to win this match, will be focus on defense, and that's why this will be probably a game with a low pace and few points.
Pick: Under 193.5 -110 (1.91) The Greek
Denver Nuggets @ Golden State Warriors
For this matchup, the Nuggets will try their first two wins in a row, and will be aware about the Warriors. The most important thing about this game, is the cirucmstance from the last time these teams played. On January 20, Denver won in OT at Golden State due to clamorous mistakes by the referees. The fair winners should be the Warriors, and they will not that game pass away from their minds so soon.
Today, despite the absence of Maggette, among others, the team will make their best effort to get a win and revenge that game. In three NBA games this season, this is the overall score: 252; 255 and 241. Only the last one was on OT, but its pretty clear which is the gameplan that the Nuggets have. They will play the game that the Warriors want to and will try to play the 'run and gun' (all-out attack) game.
In those conditions, the Nuggets can score very easily, as they have great scorers, such as Carmelo, but when Nuggets enter that kind of game, they also reduce their defence. But they know that they can score more than the Warriors, and that's why they will try to make this game a great show off game with lots of points. They know that if they try to decrease the pace of the game, they will risk the result, as the Warriors have lots of confidence today to win this game if it stays close.
Orlando did enough in the first part of the NBA season, placing them first in their division. However, they are not too comfortable, and they can't rest with Atlanta only three wins behind. Concentrating on results now will allow them to avoid late problems due to injuries or just bad nights. Since the break, they have lost at home against the rebuilt Dallas team, and on road at New Orleans. In between, they were able to win at Houston by 18 points. If they were able to do that in Houston, they should also be able to do it in Philadelphia.
Orlando is well known due to Howard. He has been playing well lately, and owns the frontcourt. Their defence is playing well, and with Nelson back and Carter finally making performances we expected, this team is hard to stop right now, with great defence and great offence.
The 76ers are going in the wrong direction since the All-Star break. After the break, in six games, they were able to win two: in Oakland against the Warriors and at home against the Spurs. But this win against San Antonio was more about a poor performance from the Spurs.
Before that game, they lost at home by 27 points against Miami. They were able to face the frontcourt of the Spurs, but that frontcourt is a little bit lazy comparing to Orlando frontcourt. Today, they will probably play without their best man in the frontcourt, Brand, and this will be rough for the 76ers, as they will have few weapons to face Howard, Lewis and company.
Their defence has been smooth lately, and will probably keep going that way today. On the other hand, their defence has not been so bad, it seems that they can handle the absence of Iverson very well . Green is likely to miss too. With Dalembert and Speights the only avaliable centres, they will probably be crushed by Howard, and the other players in the frontcourt will also have problems. Behind the arc will be the key for the 76ers try to keep the scoreboard tight, however, they will probably suffer too many points to keep it that way.
Today, we will see only a few part of the Golden State team. They already had problems with the injuries, but today they will have to add Biedrins, Maggette and Ellis to that list. Maggette and Ellis are two of their best scorers, and without them, it will be only Curry to carry that responsability. Despite he his a rookie, there is no doubt that he have the talent, and he will be the best warriors player playing today. With him and Morrow, the Warriors will build a new team to face Miami today, and will have to use many D-league players for several players.
Warriors starts today an exaust road trip, where they will play against some strong opponents, and will have to give enough rest to Curry and Morrow. Miami have two defeats at home in their last 2 games, and needs to turn things. Wade will return today, and there is no better game for him. Today he can show how he can lead a team that are struggling, and playing against a team with no defense, with few "real" players, and that needs to play with rush, is the perfect game.
Pick: Miami Heat -10.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Sacramento Kings @ Oklahoma City Thunder
Since Kings traded Martin, Kings can't score as much as before. Tyreke is big without question, and can support the team, but there isn't any true company to help him in scoring matter. Kings have a young team with talent, but they need more time to get mature and be able to pass better some defenses. They can easily fight for games when they are facing teams that despise them, or go to the game giving only 50% of what they can.
But today, they will face a brilliant Thunders so far, as they face every game as a final. They give what they can give, never less than 100%, and it doesn't matter the opponent. One base of their game is their defense, and at home, it's rare to see Thunders let any team try to force a high pace. In Oklahoma, its Thunders that says how the game will be played. And that how, it's a low pace game, with a good defense, allowing few points from Kings, and scoring enough to win.
They have to control this game easily, as they will go to Denver play next game.
Pick: Under 204 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Indiana Pacers @ Los Angeles Lakers
Indiana got a win in their last game without any problems. The game was easy for them, and that was good for tonight game. They are fresh and willing to take their chance to score many points, and give to Lakers as much problems as they did about one year ago in LA. They will start today a roadtrip of 4 games, 4 kind of games that they have to be good in their offense to try their chances. There can't be better start than make a difficult life today to Lakers, and the only chance they have to do it, it's scoring lot's of points.
The Lakers, are coming from bad performances, despite their wins. In the last game, they were down by many points until they recovered to win by 6 against Denver. In their last 6 games, they lost all them ATS, and the supporters are not very happy about the recent performs. They have to give a big performance to their supporters, and today, they can easily punish Pacers without caring about defense, as they have all the edge in the paint. As a contenders to the title, they have to know play all the kind of games, including a fast game like run and gun.
At home, it's really easy to Lakers scores more than 120 points, and today we can't expect no less than that, with Pacers trying to keep the scoreboard as equalized as possible.
76ers will fight for this game to try save their coach that is with his job in risk. They have to give all they can today, despite they had a game yesterday, as they will face the Cavaliers next. This is the game where they have to take their chances and try to win.
And there is another unquestionable thing. To acomplish their goals today, they have to be focused and be able to ensure at least 45% of their shots. With a fast pace, they will be able to pass the (questionable) Bobcats' defense breach.
The truth is that the Bobcats are not good defenders on the road, specially if we compare it with their home defense. With great scorers and happy with their bounce back in their last games, they will have to be able to score a lot, behind the arc and quick penetrations to supress their lack of Centers.
This game will be a high pace game, with both teams probably reaching at least 100 points.
Pick: Over 188.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
Utah Jazz @ Detroit Pistons
I believe that after the break, Detroit was convicted that it were possible to turn things and get a playoff spot. But with a 4-8 record, they showed that despite their wills, the improvement were minimum and not enough. So, their commitment with their games suffered a little bit and is not the same we saw when they won against the Spurs at home.
Despite their last game at home, where they win against Houston in OT without Stuckey, the truth is that the team can't keep that momentum to the next game. Stuckey has been a key in this team, and with him out, and Ben Wallace probably out as well, the team is a little bit soft, as we all know how Prince and Hamilton are, a little bit soft and not the same players we saw in previous years.
Utah will play just the enough to ensure the win, so, will be focus in their defense. With Boozer, Okur, Millsap and others, they will easily secure the frontcourt and smash Detroit there. At home, 27% behind the line is the numbers for Pistons. With their lack of size and strength in the paint and with Stuckey also out, this contest will be a slow game, totally controlled by Utah.
Minnesota is suffering defeats over defeats. Is their game that bad? No, only their defense. They can very easily pass the 100 points mark. Denver, in their last 2 road games, weren't able to reach 90 points.
But that's something odd, as they are with an average of 102 points scored on the road. In the next games, 3 home games, 118 points were the minimum they reached. However one fact is that the Nuggets easily enter the games letting the opponents mark the pace with a high pace. They have great shooters, and a run and gun game is a better garden for them.
Today, Minnesota will try to make it a high pace game, to cover their lack of defense and try their chances. Even facing good defenses, they are able to score a lot, today, if they play that kind of game, Denver can despise a little bit their defense as well.
Pick: Over 216 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
TommyGold
03-11-2010, 01:00 AM
New Orleans Hornets @ Oklahoma City Thunder
With CP3 and Peja out, the big shooters are out for New Orleans. With Okafor and West, the size stills there, but they are to soft particularly on the road. Their defense is really bad on the road. Their young guards were able to make a better job than everyone thought when CP3 get hurt, however, they will face today a young roster like them, but have a big edge.
Oklahoma City is a very mature for their age, and that have been their edge all the season, and with Durant (who is scoring at least 30 points per game very easily) leading them, they are among the teams that is fighting for a playoff spot. The recent form is different for both teams, as NOH are with several defeats, and the Thunder is with few defeats lately.
New Orleans is a team that easily gives up the game, but Thunder uses all their irreverence and youth to fight for the games. With a great supporters in Oklahoma, happy for host a NBA team playing a nice game, Oklahoma have all the edge to control this game, and it will be probably another huge night for Durant and his mates.
Pick: Oklahoma City Thunder -7.5 -110 (1.91) Bookmaker
New Jersey Nets @ Dallas Mavericks
After the trade and the break, Dallas entered and amazing streak of wins. And they will enter todays game knowing that they had a great improvement and have to be looked as a contenders.
Even with 2 PGs out, the team will probably keep their offensive pace, that has been huge. Haywood will return today, and will have a hard work has we will face Brook Lopez. Probably in this individual matchup, both players will make a good job offensively, but not in the defense.
The Nets, despite a bad season, are showing some improvements, particularly on the road, where they don't have to face the tension they have at home. They play better on the road, scoring easily, and where they can fight and win games.
Probably they will not win this one, but will make it hard to Dallas, that will have to be alert and keep focus during all game.
Despite the loss that Philadelphia had last night, they have their minds in todays game, as it's a unique chance to bounce back. They are having problems to achieve wins against teams that have a strong study in the defense work. Lucky for them, today they will face Antoni with the Knicks. This means that the defense work is not well trained, as this team focus their game in offense. If they can't score more than the opponent, they can't win.
The 76ers showed that they are able to score, after all, they have Iguodala, Louis Willians, Brand, Young and others. Its true that they have several games with less than 100 points scored, but that's more due to mental problems. They usually slow down and miss to much when they start seeing the opponent to far in the scoreboard, and it's something that his happening very often. But today, they are able to hold the scoreboard enough to keep a high pace, with a accuracy like they are able to.
The Knicks went to Dallas to end a 13 winning streak made by local team, Mavericks. Due to 128 points they scored, they were able to revenge a big loss they had at home. Once again, the team showed that they are able to win when they score more than the opponent (well, this is a rule for every team ahah). It means, they are only able to win when they score a lot. So, today, they will have a matchup where the key is not the best defense, but the best offense.
In Philadelphia, the 76ers are focus in this game, as they know that they can easily score against a power defense team. But the Knicks are passing a good moment, with a monumental win in Dallas. They were the big champions in the trade season, with T-Mac and others arriving to New York. They can let the 76ers scores a lot, but will make their job, and try to score even more than them.
On the end of the first 2 weeks of March 2010, my NBA 2009/2010 HDP & OU Record was 288-215-8, +47.11 units won (503 units risked). On the next two and half weeks the quality of my internet connection on the road wasn't the best and if I was kinda lucky in the third week, then I gave it all back on the fourth week. Anyway, I decided to wait until I could get a grip on things, since I couldn't watch the games and do my research in good condition.
Right now, I just want to prepare my stuff for the playoffs and see if I can get some of the lost units in the last 8 days back. Good Luck to us! :)
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[Sexual orientations].
In this paper we study the concept of sexual orientation and its components by comparing the common orientations of hetero-, homo-, and bisexuality with alternative concepts suitable for describing persons with psychosexual and somatosexual divergencies (e.g., transgender or intersex developments). An assessment of these divergencies as well as their prevalence and societal influences are presented. Empirical findings on the relationship between sexual orientation and mental health are examined against the background of the sexual minority stress model, looking especially at the risks and the opportunities associated with belonging to a sexual minority. The paper also focuses on the normative power of a monosexual model. Finally, sexual orientation is conceptualized as an umbrella term encompassing both conscious and unconscious elements, including the aspects of sexual behavior, sexual identity, fantasies, and attraction.
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California school backtracks on Common Core opt-out punishment By Perry Chiaramonte Published June 24, 2015 FoxNews.com Facebook289 Twitter195 livefyre817 Email Print A California high school where a majority of juniors opted out of Common Core testing has backed off of plans to ban the students from using the school’s parking lot and from taking part […]
Against the Common Core by Williamson M. Evers Thursday, September 4, 2014 Editor’s note: This essay has been adapted from the testimony of Williamson M. Evers before the Rules & Reference Committee of the Ohio House of Representatives, August 19, 2014. The question I would like to address is: Do the Common Core national curriculum-content […]
CHARLESTON, W.Va. – On Saturday the West Virginia House of Delegates voted 75 to 19 to repeal the Common Core State Standards adopted by the West Virginia State Board of Education in 2010 and the Next Generation Content Standards and Objective adopted in 2011. HB 2934 whose lead sponsor is State Delegate Amanda Pasdon (R-Morgantown) […]
Jan 16 2015 WASHINGTON, DC – As the U.S. Senate begins debate over elementary and secondary education programs, U.S. Senator Pat Roberts (R-Kans.) today introduced a bill to preserve state education autonomy by prohibiting the federal government from coercing states to adopt education standards like Common Core.Roberts, a member of the Senate Committee on Health, […]
NY Governor vetoes Common Core protections for failing teachers POSTED AT 8:01 AM ON DECEMBER 31, 2014 BY JAZZ SHAW Here’s a story which you didn’t expect to see coming out of the New York State government. There was a bill on the table which would have exempted New York teachers from being fired if […]
Education Analyst: Vigilance key to countering Common Core progressivism Bob Kellogg (OneNewsNow.com) Tuesday, December 30, 2014 Share on facebookShare on twitterShare on emailShare on printMore Sharing Services7 An education policy analyst says parents should remain on the lookout for Common Core-aligned lessons that reflect a “progressive” slant on topics, including some possibly promoting Islam. […]
By Perry Chiaramonte Published December 07, 2014 FoxNews.com (AP) A little-known aspect of Common Core should have students worried about what goes on the dreaded “permanent record,” say critics of the national education standard. Parents in Pennsylvania have written outgoing Gov. Tom Corbett to demand a moratorium on the collection of what they describe as […]
Independent organization wants schools to have more power, not the DOE Posted: Nov 28, 2014 5:20 PM HSTUpdated: Nov 28, 2014 5:35 PM HST By Tim Sakahara http://www.hawaiinewsnow.com/story/independent-organization-wants-schools-to-have-more-power HONOLULU (HawaiiNewsNow) –A public school shouldn’t have to wait four years to get an improvement made, yet in some cases that happens. That is one reason why […]
Part 1 of 5 Stop the Common Core
Lesson 1: The History of Common Core
Lesson 2: Who’s Involved in Common Core?
Lesson 3: Where Are We Today?
Lesson 4: Take Action Against Common Core
Faces of Common Core
Parents have primary rights because they bear the burden of responsibility for raising their children.Love is at the centre of the family’s educational enterprise, just as is teaching their children how to be good people. Education for the public good must remain consistent with that aim. Children don’t just need to learn facts for themselves, they need to apply them to social life.
Many parents hold their duties to be sacred. A society in which the government positions itself at odds with conscience is no longer free.
Every major religion and the greatest works of literature portray a happy family life at the centre of personal fulfilment. On the playground, they still sing “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage.” Reality does not always work out that way. But we educate for that ideal society.
However we might define social progress, it cannot begin by imposing a prejudice against love, marriage and the family. They aren’t mentioned in the curriculum.
Some seem surprised this is an election issue. But parents see serious harm in teaching their children the idea that sex, the most intimate of human relations, is morally neutral. It is not only a matter for a child’s whim and fancy.
Let’s conclude with a look at the matter of responsible choice a bit more closely.
Parents’ sense of moral responsibility toward their children lies deep in their awareness of human nature. Despite what some people say, we aren’t creatures of instinct, driven by sex like animals. If we were, we wouldn’t want to teach consent. And we would mock the outrage of the #metoo movement rather than sharing it.
“To listen to government supporters, parents unhappy with the sex-ed curriculum are ignorant of the dangers of sexting, the growth in human trafficking, and the early sexualization of children,” writes Scott Masson. “I have yet to meet such parents.”
Shame on UNICEF! Please sign the petition found at the link below and share.
UNICEF, along with other UN agencies, is sexualizing children through graphic comprehensive sexuality education programs in countries around the world. (See examples from Africa, Jamaica, Mexico, Thailand a link below
UNICEF and other UN agencies partner with Planned Parenthood through their Human Reproduction Programme (HRP). In their HRP publication, Sexual Health, Human Rights, and the Law, UNICEF and Planned Parenthood, along with their other partners are promoting abortion, sexual rights for children, the decriminalization of prostitution, the weakening of parental rights, health services for transgender sex changes, and much more.
We, as concerned citizens, are profoundly disturbed by UNICEF’s promotion of radical comprehensive sexuality education (CSE) for children, UNICEF’s support of abortion, and UNICEF’s violations of parental rights.
INDIANAPOLIS, Ind.-- A bill that would allow parents to review sex education curriculum and "opt out" their children from such classes has been approved by the Indiana Legislature. The Senate on Wednesday approved the measure on a 41-8 vote. The bill already passed the House and now goes to Gov. Eri...
"It's too much details talking about the sexuality, like intercourses," said Sunidhadevi Gopalan, whose 6th grader would be affected. She's a mother of two girls at Fremont schools. Her other daughter is only in 2nd grade.
Gopalen is among a group of parents who have signed a petition on Change.org, which had more than 4,000 signatures ahead of Wednesday nights's meeting. It calls the new curriculum "inappropriate."
Some parents also say 4th grade is too young to begin yearly sex education and oppose the opt-out system where parents must request their child not be included in classes."
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Yesterday was a wonderful day, because I finally found myself a comfortable, form-fitting leather jacket in a charity shop after literally four years of searching. I will wear that thing with pride all through the summer, even if it did mean I was sweltering all through this slightly warmish March afternoon whenever I nipped out for a smoke. So, it’s plenty time to ruin my week before it really gets a chance to get going with another chapter of Fifty Shades. If you missed it, Dakota Johnson declared those calling Ana and Christian’s relationship an abusive one were “uneducated”, a term that Fifty Shades apologists have been swarming over like a gleeful pack of wasps, and you can read my response to it here. Revel for a minute in the fact that I’m over halfway through this book, and let’s plough on with Chapter Fifteen. Oh, and as ever, read the rest of my Fifty Shades recraps (heh) at the blog directory.
We left off with Christian declaring that he was coming round to Ana’s house, and he arrives with a bottle of champers as Ana inwardly thinks of him as a “mountain lion” stalking around her property-
This agonising conversation happens after Ana tries to return the very expensive books that Christian gave her (by the way, I only realize now that he had no way to know her address when he sent these to her, and the thought of the high-level stalkathon he probably went on to find it has just made my soul crawl back up inside itself and refuse to come out).
“I bought these for you,” he says quietly, his gaze impassive. “I’ll go easier on you if you accept them.”
I swallow convulsively.
“Christian, I can’t accept them, they’re just too much.”
“You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me. I want you to have them, that’s the end of the discussion. It’s very simple. You don’t have to think about this. As a submissive you would be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so.”
“I wasn’t a submissive when you bought them for me,” I whisper.
“No…but you’ve agreed, Anastasia.”
Woah, woah, woah, where to start with this passage. Firstly and probably foremostly, when the buggering fuckery did Ana agree to be a submissive? I’ll admit that a lot goes on in between these recaps and occasionally I forget certain details of the chapter I read last, but I flicked back over the last few pages and nowhere did Ana agree to be his submissive. The contract hasn’t been signed, and in fact Christian said he was specifically coming over to discuss it further. Also, for once in her painful little life, Ana is right about something: she wasn’t his submissive when he got these extortiantely expensive presents for her. And since they make her uncomfortable, she has every right to not want them around because the submissive contract doesn’t pull any Back to the Future shit that retroacticely makes Ana Christian’s sub since the beginning of time, to the best of my knowledge. We’re not even one full page in and I’m already exhausted. It’s only afternoon where I am, and I’m already trying to tie a fiver round my cat’s neck and send her to the corner shop for some wine.
Ana tells Christian she wants to auction the books for charity, which is actually a pretty nice idea, but backs down once Christian starts pouting like the little git he is. He explains that it’s normal for her to have some reservations about their situation because “you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into”. Which is funny because A) I thought Ana already was his submissive and B) Man, I wouldn’t really want to be with someone who didn’t fully understand the extent of the possibly damaging sexual situation I was pressuring them to get into. The first is just bad writing (I feel like this book was editing and chopped and changed and chapters were shifted around, because there are wierd leaps in logic and such which flag that sort of thing up), the second is bad person-ing. One day, EL James is going to come out and announce that she deliberately wrote this book as a social experiment and denounces the abuse in it and we all have a great laugh and get smashed together and the fans of this series sit sadly masturbating in a corner over this abusive manchild and fruitlessly calling Jamie Dornan’s agent to see if he’s doing the next movie (mark my words, he’s not). Ah, back from the world of dreams.
They drink champagne, and Ana wonders if Christian’s deliberately trying to get her tipsy, the answer to which is yes, yes he almost certainly is. They discuss what publishing house Ana hopes to work at after her move, and Ana rolls her eyes at Christian, whereupon he threatens to take her across his knee if she does that again. Again, no agreement has been made, no real discussion of hard boundaries has been established; this is just a dude, threatening to spank his not-quite-girlfriend for doing something he doesn’t approve of. There’s no hint that he’d be doing it for his or her pleasure, or with her consent; just that he’s going to do it if she displeases him. Hand on heart, I glanced round the room to see if there was anything I could make a noose out of close to hand (there wasn’t) when I realized once again that this is considered a romance book. “Romantic” is the first word on the blurb on the back cover, for fuck’s sake. To the publishers of this novel, and particualrly whoever greenlighted the back-cover blurb:
They go over some more limits while Ana moves on to what, by my count, is her third glass of champagne. Obviously Ana has a fucking sterling constitution (except when the plot requires her to be drunk so Grey can save her), but three champagnes in doesn’t seem like the best state of mind to be in when discussing the hard and soft limits of your first-ever BDSM relationship with a man who “hopes you never have to use” safewords. Yup, we deal with that doozy later in the chapter, because safewords certainly aren’t there to protect participants from potentially pushing their boundaries in a dangerous or uncomfortable way, or even just to avoid basic physical injury, but for pish-posh people who aren’t IN LOVE when they begin their BDSM fucking. Considering that Christian admitted he hurt someone while they were suspended, I would very much fucking want a safeword thanks very much. The thought of my shoulder popping out halfway through sex because my sexy billionaire fuckbuddy ignores my “red” doesn’t make me all squirty in the nether regions.
Christian demands sex from Ana, on the basis that she accept his graduation present to her. And I want you all to take a big deep breath and all hold hands in a circle, because what Christian Grey has done is sold Ana’s car and bought her a new one without checking if any of that was alright. Yup, he didn’t like her old Beetle, and decided to scrap it for a red hatchback. Ana is rightly furious, but somehow she ends up apologising to him and he drags her back inside the house to fuck her. As she follows him up the hall, she begs him not to be angry with her, and tells him that he scares her when he’s angry. That line genuinely makes my heart ache, because I’ve been near (thankfully finished) relationships were one partner was scared of the other’s anger, and it’s an awful thing to go through and it makes me physically fucking sick to think that a woman being frightened of her partner’s temper- especially when that temper is bought on by his ignoring her boundaries and wishes- is now a hashtag relationship goal.
They get dirty (well, barely dirty, and we take a step back from the glorious use of the word “clitoris” that only took two hundred pages to turn up and back into the infinitely less sexy “groin”. Anyone else think of Hans Moleman’s movie from The Simpsons whenever they hear the word “groin”?), Ana undresses him, Christian lets her touch him with clothes on, She goes on top, she comes “shouting incoherently”,
And the chapter’s over. This chapter has genuinely been a depressing trial, one where the leading man has ignored his partner’s boundaries, pushed her to get drunk while they discuss vitally important matters of consent, made her uncomfortable with his displays of material affection, and then become so angry he frightened her. BUT IT’S OKAY BECAUSE SEXY ORGASM TIMES. Urgh, see you all next week, I’m going to put my new leather jacket on and never leave the house again.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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OpenWebText2
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Introduction {#Sec1}
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Somatic cell nuclear transfer (SCNT) consists in injecting a donor somatic nucleus into a recipient oocyte to obtain a clone that carries the genome of the donor animal^[@CR1]--[@CR3]^. This technology allows the restoration of valuable genetic resources from somatic material when both sperm and oocytes, or embryos, are unavailable. This is the case in fish, where the most recognized support for the preservation of genetic resources is solely the cryopreserved sperm^[@CR4]^, and where neither oocytes nor embryos can be cryopreserved^[@CR5]^. In this context, cryopreserved fin cells, which carry the genome of both parents, are particularly beneficial for regenerating a breeder^[@CR6]^. Somatic diploid cells are easily collected from fins by non-invasive methods regardless the characteristics of the fish (age, maturity stage, sex, conservation status). Somatic cells are easy to culture *in vitro* and to cryopreserve even under difficult experimental conditions^[@CR7],[@CR8]^.
After SCNT, the production of offsprings based on the genome of the donor only requires that the contribution of the oocyte (maternal) genome is prevented. In mammals, this is achieved by enucleating the recipient oocyte before performing the SCNT. In a majority of fish, the oocyte structure makes enucleation very difficult: oocytes are large and opaque, they contain bulky nutritional reserves (the yolk), a dense cytoplasm (the ooplasm), and a thick protective envelope around the oocyte (the chorion)^[@CR9],[@CR10]^. These characteristics prevent the vizualization of maternal genome by transparency and its aspiration for enucleation. Most authors overcome these difficulties by activating oocytes and taking the second polar body as a guide for putative localization of maternal pronucleus^[@CR11]--[@CR13]^. However, these oocytes are less suitable for donor DNA reprogramming than non-activated oocytes^[@CR6]^, and aspiration of the female pronucleus is associated with loss of essential developmental factors such as maternal mRNAs, mitochondria and proteins. Thanks to highly focused laser irradiation of the non-activated oocyte, the Cibelli group^[@CR14],[@CR15]^ succeeded in inactivating the maternal metaphase at a more appropriate recipient stage, but adaptation of this method to species other than zebrafish was never reported, likely because of the difficult tuning of the laser on different egg types. Overall, in addition to be time consuming, oocyte enucleation in fish is a very problematic issue for the success of nuclear transfer and embryonic development of the clone. For this reason, several authors have attempted to carry out nuclear transfer without any inactivation or elimination of maternal DNA. It is interesting that in goldfish, zebrafish, weatherfish and medaka, such a protocol avoiding the enucleation step still allows the development of clones carrying only the genome of the donor^[@CR16]--[@CR21]^.
Understanding the mechanisms responsible for the spontaneous loss of oocyte DNA and/or the possible interference induced by retained maternal DNA during early development would help to promote the development of clones from donor origin only. However, this issue is hampered in fish by the lack of knowledge about cellular events that occur after SCNT. It is not known for example whether meiosis resumes normally, and how the clone ploidy is established. Ovulated oocytes bear a condensed maternal DNA maintained in a metaphase plate (MII stage) up to fertilization, when oocyte activation triggers the second polar body extrusion and maternal genome haploidization^[@CR10]^. Polar body extrusion has never been studied in fish after SCNT, and although few studies explored clone ploidy^[@CR17]--[@CR19],[@CR22]^, remodelling of the maternal and somatic chromatins in the clones during the first cell cycle are not known.
In this context, the objective of our study was to understand the fate of maternal DNA and the mechanism of spontaneous enucleation in clones, and to characterize the interplay between somatic and maternal DNA. First, we explored the organization and location of maternal and somatic DNA after donor cell injection into the MII stage oocyte. After oocyte activation, we analyzed the extrusion pattern of the polar body to identify how DNAs were handled by the oocyte environment. Then, we characterized the organization of the blastomere during the first cell division and identified the fate of DNA from both origins at this stage. Finally, we discussed how these mitotic figures can explain the spontaneous neutralization of maternal DNA as well as the many embryonic defects observed in clones.
Results {#Sec2}
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Maternal and somatic DNA fate after injection into the MII oocyte {#Sec3}
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Characterization of the various compartments in control oocytes was necessary in order to identify and localize the maternal and somatic DNA in the clones. In goldfish, the opacity of the chorion and light refraction of the oocytes prevented any live analysis of the whole oocytes. Instead, all samples had to be fixed and analyzed on histological sections. Oocyte structure (Fig. [1A,B](#Fig1){ref-type="fig"}) was very consistent: the chorion was observed as a thick membrane with a crenellated shape. We hypothesize that this shape would permit expansion of the chorion upon activation, to allow the formation of the perivitelline space. The micropyle (sperm entry point) was always found as a canal-like invagination of the chorion. By observing the successive oocyte sections, it is possible to identify the beginning of membrane invagination, then the side of the canal (micropylar canal) and finally its bottom. The micropyle depth depended on the section angle, but it always penetrated a homogeneous area that was assigned to the ooplasm of the animal pole. Under the chorion and all around the oocyte, the cortical granules were embedded in a thin cytoplasmic layer. They were distinguished from yolk droplets by their transparency under UV light, while yolk droplets appeared as transparent globules under visible light (Fig. [1A,C](#Fig1){ref-type="fig"}). The density of oocyte yolk droplets increased as the sections deepened towards the vegetative pole. Interestingly, in 100% of control oocytes (n = 18), maternal DNA was not found at the bottom of the micropyle, but against the side of the micropylar canal, in the ooplasm, and it was always organized in a metaphase plate (Fig. [1C](#Fig1){ref-type="fig"}).Figure 1Structure of a non-activated control oocyte and location of the maternal DNA. Control oocytes were fixed, cut into 7 µm sections and DNA was stained with Hoechst 33342. (**A**) Image of an upper section of a non-activated oocyte observed under visible light. (**B**) Schematic representation of the oocyte compartments, validated by the observation of successive sections from 18 oocytes. (**C**) Image of the oocyte observed under UV-light, arrowhead shows the maternal DNA condensed in a metaphase plate (MII). The MII was located against the micropylar canal. Inset represents the MII observed in confocal microscopy.
In the clones, maternal DNA was present in every oocytes (100%, n = 28 clones), and it was located against the micropylar canal (Fig. [2A,E](#Fig2){ref-type="fig"}), like in the control oocytes. This DNA was always condensed in a metaphase plate (MII stage) that was not different from the one of non-activated control oocytes. In addition, even if the oocyte membrane was perforated during injection through the micropylar canal, the entire structure of the oocyte was similar to the one of the non-activated control oocytes.Figure 2Maternal and Somatic DNA location into non-activated clones. Non-activated clones after somatic DNA injection were fixed, cut into 7 µm sections and DNA was stained with Hoechst 33342. Images of a section of a clone (Clone A) observed (**A**) under UV- and (E) visible light. The arrow shows the maternal DNA in a metaphase plate (MII), located against the micropylar canal, as in control oocytes. This example (Clone A) is representative of 28 clones. Images of sections of 3 different clones (Clones B to D) observed under (**B**--**D**) UV-light or (**F**--**H**) visible light, showing the various locations of the somatic DNA: (**B**,**F**) into the ooplasm, (**C**,**G**) at the yolk border, and (**D**,**H**) into the yolk reserve. Those three clones are representative of the 16 clones in which the somatic DNA was observed. Arrowheads show the somatic DNA. Insets represent the maternal or somatic DNA observed by confocal microscopy.
Such a consistency in location and shape of the maternal DNA allowed us to precisely distinguish it from the somatic DNA. Somatic DNA was observed in 57% of non-activated clones (n = 16/28). Although care was taken to inject the somatic cell just under the plasma membrane at the bottom of the micropylar canal, its DNA was found in different compartments within the oocytes (Fig. [2](#Fig2){ref-type="fig"}): most of the somatic DNA was found in the ooplasm (37.5%) (Fig. [2B,F](#Fig2){ref-type="fig"}), or at the boundary between the ooplasm and the yolk (43.8%) (Fig. [2C,G](#Fig2){ref-type="fig"}). Almost a fifth of them were found deeper in the oocyte (18.8%), among the yolk droplets (Fig. [2D,H](#Fig2){ref-type="fig"}). For the clones whose somatic DNA was not found (n = 12/28), we suspect that it was located deeper in the yolk, beyond the first 8 to 10 sections analyzed in our study, from the animal pole downward. Unlike maternal DNA, the injected somatic DNA exhibited different configurations (Fig. [3](#Fig3){ref-type="fig"}). In 62% of the clones, it was organized in metaphasic chromosomes (Fig. [3B](#Fig3){ref-type="fig"}). In 13% of the clones, a pycnotic pattern was observed (Fig. [3C](#Fig3){ref-type="fig"}). Uncondensed DNA was also present in 25% of the clones (Fig. [3D](#Fig3){ref-type="fig"}). Interestingly, no clear relationship could be established between the DNA structure and its sub-cellular location in the oocyte (Fig. [3](#Fig3){ref-type="fig"}). For example, very well organized metaphasic DNA was unexpectedly observed in the deepest part of the oocyte yolk droplets area, where it should have been less exposed to the MPF-rich ooplasm (Fig. [2D](#Fig2){ref-type="fig"}).Figure 3Maternal and somatic DNA structure in non-activated clones, and their respective location within the oocyte. Clones were fixed, cut into 7 µm sections and DNA was stained with Hoechst 33342. Confocal images and localization of (**A**) maternal DNA condensed into a metaphase plate (MII), (**B**) somatic DNA condensed into a metaphase plate, (**C**) pycnotic somatic DNA, and (**D**) decondensed somatic DNA (interphasic). Those images are representative of 28 clones. Below each image is given the corresponding percentage of DNA found in the ooplasm, at the boundary between the ooplasm and the yolk, and in the yolk.
Analysis of polar body extrusion pattern after oocyte activation in clones {#Sec4}
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In control activated oocytes labeled with Hoechst 33342, we observed 3 DNA dots that could be ascribed to the maternal pronucleus, the second polar body and the first polar body (Fig. [4A](#Fig4){ref-type="fig"}). However, neither the shape nor the size of the DNA dots could help us to determine the origin or ploidy of each dot. Therefore removal of the chorion was found to be an efficient way to remove the first polar body as it was no longer attached to the oocyte membrane. Observation of dechorionated samples indeed reduced the DNA dot number to two: the maternal pronucleus and the second polar body. We were able to discriminate between the two dots thanks to the Vybrant Green dye which labeled the second polar body only, while the maternal pronucleus was still labeled with Hoechst (Fig. [4B,C](#Fig4){ref-type="fig"}).Figure 4Maternal pronucleus and polar body differential staining in control oocytes after activation. (**A**) Top view image of a non-dechorionated oocyte: Hoechst 33342 staining did not allow discriminating the maternal pronucleus from the first and second polar body. (**B**) Top view image of a dechorionated oocyte: the first polar body was eliminated during dechorionation. Vybrant Green dye stained only one of the two DNA dots. (**C**) Side view image of a dechorionated oocyte: this orientation shows that the second polar body is stained by both dyes, Hoechst 33342 and Vybrant Green, while the maternal pronucleus is only stained by Hoechst 33342. Arrowheads show the second polar body. Arrows show the maternal pronucleus.
After activation, most of the dechorionated control oocytes exhibited only one second polar body, which indicates normal DNA fate in untreated oocytes (Fig. [5A](#Fig5){ref-type="fig"}). A similar trend was observed in injected control oocytes, which received the carrier medium but no donor cell. This indicates that perforation of the membrane through the micropyle and injection of the carrier medium did not adversely affect oocyte activation and polar body extrusion. On the contrary, the rate of extrusion of a single polar body was significantly lower in clones (p = 0.001 and p = 0.013 in comparison to control and injected control oocytes, respectively), although it still involved up to 67% of the clones. This result in clones was not correlated with the initial spawn quality estimated from the 24 hours development rate of fertilized controls (Fig. [5B](#Fig5){ref-type="fig"}). Surprisingly, although we have shown that all clones had a normal maternal DNA organized into a regular metaphase plate before activation (see above), almost 20% of them did not extrude any polar body (Fig. [5A](#Fig5){ref-type="fig"}). While all clones underwent a cortical reaction and chorion expansion similar to that of the controls (not shown), such polar body retention means that SCNT induced a disruption of this specific step of oocyte activation. Last, we observed expulsion of two polar bodies in some clones, recognizable by the visualization of two green DNA dots. Surprisingly, this was observed in the control groups as well (control and injected control oocytes), despite the absence of injected DNA. In clones, the proportion of two extruded polar bodies was significantly higher than in control oocytes (p = 0.002).Figure 5Polar body extrusion after somatic cell nuclear transfer. (**A**) Graph showing the percentage of activated oocytes which expelled 0, 1 or 2 polar bodies (PB) in control oocytes (from 9 females), injected control oocytes (from 7 females) and clones (from 8 females). Injected control oocytes correspond to oocytes injected with the carrier medium, but without the donor cell. Per female, at least 17 oocytes or clones have been analyzed. NS = Not significant; \*p \< 0.05; \*\*p \< 0.01. Inset pictures represent one or two polar bodies stained by Vybrant green and observed in clones (bar = 20 µm). (**B**) Graph showing the relation between the rate of one polar body extrusion in clones and spawn quality assessed from development rate at 24 h post-fertilization. No correlation was observed (r^2^ = 0.06, n = 8 spawns, p \> 0.05).
Characterization of DNA fate and blastomeres morphology during the first cell division in clones {#Sec5}
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The blastomeres morphology during this first cell cycle was characterized in 3 experiments involving a total of 120 developing clones. Two symmetric blastomeres similar to those of fertilized embryos (Fig. [6A](#Fig6){ref-type="fig"}) were observed in 41% of clones, while 11% had 2 cells of asymmetric size (Fig. [6B](#Fig6){ref-type="fig"}). Up to 8% exhibited 3 or more cell-like structures containing DNA (data not shown) without having gone through an initial 2-cells stage (Fig. [6C,D](#Fig6){ref-type="fig"}). The 3-cell clones always had two symmetric cells and a much smaller one (Fig. [6C](#Fig6){ref-type="fig"}). Up to 40% of the clones remained in a unicellular state during the observation period (Fig. [6E](#Fig6){ref-type="fig"}). They were not different from the controls that were either activated in water without spermatozoa, or activated in water after injection with the carrier medium without donor cell. However, although the controls collapsed within 2 hours, all the apparently arrested clones resumed cell division and reached the mid-blastula stage (5 hours post-fertilization, hpf). At the hatching stage (5 days post-fertilization, dpf), 21% of the clones were still alive. It is interesting to note that almost all these pre-hatched embryos (81%) derived from clones that had shown symmetric blastomeres after the first cleavage.Figure 6Blastomeres morphology of the clones at the 2 cells stage. Clones were observed 1 h post activation. Images of (**A**) a non-dechorionated clone with two symmetric blastomeres, (**B**) a non-dechorionated clone with two asymmetric blastomeres, (**C**,**D**) two dechorionated clones with a multicellular configuration, and (**E**) a non-dechorionated clone which presents no cellular division although it will develop later on. Clones were observed under visible light. Morphologies were established on a set of 120 clones.
This better survival of the symmetric clones led us to focus on how the DNA was organized in their blastomeres at the 2 cells stage. We observed in clones and in controls (fertilized oocytes) that when the first 2 cells were being formed, the mitosis of the second cell cycle had already begun. As summarized Fig. [7A](#Fig7){ref-type="fig"}, despite their correct morphology and cell number, only half the clones with two symmetric blastomeres presented 2 normal mitotic spindles, i.e. a symmetric microtubule spindle bearing DNA in each cell (Fig. [7B,a,b](#Fig7){ref-type="fig"}). Almost a quarter of the symmetric clones presented only one normal spindle in one of the two blastomeres and the remaining clones had only abnormal spindles in their blastomeres. The pattern of these abnormal mitotic spindles was variable: multipolar spindle (Fig. [7B,c](#Fig7){ref-type="fig"}), chromosomal misalignments on the metaphase plate (Fig. [7B,d](#Fig7){ref-type="fig"}), spindle with random DNA location (Fig. [7B,e](#Fig7){ref-type="fig"}), bent spindles (Fig. [7B,f](#Fig7){ref-type="fig"}), and lagging chromosomes resulting from a defect during the first mitosis (Fig. [7B,g,h](#Fig7){ref-type="fig"}). None of these figures were observed in the control embryos.Figure 7Spindle and DNA structures in symmetric blastomeres of 2 cells stage clones. (**A**) Graph showing the percentage of clones exhibiting a normal mitotic spindle in both blastomeres (2 normal spindles), only one normal spindle in one of the two cells (1 normal spindle), or only abnormal spindles (0 normal spindle) (n = 7 control embryos from fertilized oocytes, n = 14 symmetric clones). (**B**) Confocal images of normal and abnormal spindles in clones. Embryos were fixed, and cut into 7 µm sections. Microtubules were immunolabeled with an anti-α-tubulin antibody (green) and DNA was stained with Hoechst 33342 (magenta). Images of (a) a normal figure with duplicated centrosome at each side of the prometaphasic DNA, (b) a normal spindle with condensed metaphasic DNA, (c) an abnormal tripolar spindle with anaphasic DNA, (d) an abnormal multipolar spindle with metaphasic DNA, (e) an abnormal spindle with unidentified DNA stage and localization, (f) an abnormally bent spindle with metaphasic DNA, (g--h) lagging chromosomes (arrow heads) spanning accross the cleavage furrow of the first cell division.
Strikingly, almost two-thirds of the symmetric clones (11/14; 78%) showed fragmented DNA under the cleavage furrow separating the first two blastomeres (Fig. [8](#Fig8){ref-type="fig"}), while no such figure was observed in control embryos (0/7). This fragmented DNA presented no clear condensed chromosomes, nor centrosomes or a microtubules network.Figure 8Identification of fragmented DNA on the cleavage furrow of the clones. Embryos were fixed, and cut into 7 µm sections. Microtubules were immunolabeled with an anti-α-tubulin antibody (green) and DNA was stained with Hoechst 33342 (blue or magenta). Reconstitution of several section images of two clones at 2-cells stage (Clone A and B). White circles: fragmented DNA (blue) located on the cleavage furrow. Insets and clone C: images of the fragmented DNA (magenta) observed in by confocal microscopy, dotted lines show the cleavage furrow. Those images are representative of 11 clones.
Discussion {#Sec6}
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The question of chromatin fate after SCNT has always been a matter of acute concern in all studied species, although the complexity of most fish eggs hindered the access to such knowledge to date. In our study, we provide the first information on the behavior of the maternal and somatic chromatins in a system where the oocyte (maternal) DNA was not removed prior to SCNT.
Fate of the maternal DNA after SCNT {#Sec7}
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This study showed that prior to activation of embryonic development, the maternal DNA at MII stage remained undisturbed by the injection procedure of SCNT. Its location against the micropylar canal probably protected the maternal DNA from the injection needle and its integrity was not compromised by nuclear transfer. Finding this chromatin against the canal and not at its bottom, at the sperm entry site, may also explain why successful enucleation by aspiration at this oocyte stage has never been reported in fish. This sheltered position also rules out the hypothesis that the maternal DNA could be stripped off or damaged during the somatic cell injection through the micropyle. Our results indeed demonstrated that maternal DNA loss did not occur at this step of the process. Moreover, this homogeneity of maternal DNA structure and location in clones cannot account for the variability in the embryo fate observed later on during development.
Our finding that the maternal DNA metaphase was undisturbed by SCNT was making it likely that extrusion of a second polar body of maternal origin would be maintained in our system. As thoroughly studied in mouse, polar body extrusion requires several conditions including chromosome condensation in a metaphasic plate and its location close to the plasma membrane where interaction with the cortical cytoskeleton will trigger asymmetric cleavage^[@CR23],[@CR24]^. And indeed, polar body extrusion was maintained in most clones, so we infer that the maternal DNA was always involved. Therefore, the microcapillary penetration or the TCF carrier medium injection did not alter substantially the integrity of the cortical cytoskeleton that is necessary for the maternal polar body formation. The extrusion of an additional polar body (two extruded polar bodies) that was observed in some cases can be ascribed to the somatic DNA, as will be discussed later. It was surprising however that a small part of the control oocytes would also extrude two polar bodies, although no somatic DNA was present. This phenomenon could be explained by an incorrect positioning of the meiotic spindle at the plasma membrane upon oocyte activation, leading to the total expulsion of maternal DNA in two distinct globules, as already described in mouse after the microtubules network had been deliberately destabilized^[@CR23]^. If this defect was to occur in clones as well, it may be responsible for a small number of embryos undergoing spontaneous loss of maternal DNA upon oocyte activation. To date, we did not identify the genetic origin of the polar bodies to develop further this hypothesis. Last, the rate of clones with no polar body extrusion was higher than in control groups, although this was not statistically significant because of high variability between cloning series. It means that in some series, the somatic cell injection was deleterious and prevented the polar body extrusion process. The hypothesis of an intracellular signaling defect, such as a disturbance of the intracellular concentration of calcium, could be a reason for polar body extrusion failure in some cases as reported previously in mouse^[@CR25]^. Since we injected a whole somatic cell, its own cytoplasmic cargo was injected as well, which could have disrupted the activation signaling pathway, but we have no clue about why this alteration would occur in some cloning series and not in others, as this observation was not related to spawn quality.
Fate of the somatic DNA after SCNT {#Sec8}
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Contrarily to the stability demonstrated for maternal DNA before oocyte activation, the structure of somatic DNA was more variable, although it still adopted a metaphasic pattern in two third of the clones. It has been previously shown that even though the whole cell is injected, its plasma membrane is disrupted within the first few seconds following SCNT^[@CR21]^. Therefore, the somatic DNA is readily exposed to the high MPF levels of the oocyte. It was therefore expected that the chromatin would adopt a metaphasic stage, despite the fact that the injected nuclei in G0/G1 phase had not undergone its own S phase (DNA synthesis) and that the somatic DNA had not been duplicated. Such condensation pattern upon injection into a non-activated oocyte resembles the so called Premature Chromatin Condensation (PCC) phenomenon described in mammals, whose favorable or unfavorable somatic reprogramming efficiency and contribution to the success of embryonic development is still a matter of debate^[@CR26]--[@CR32]^. But the similarity ends up there, because in mammals, extrusion of a second polar body that would halve clone ploidy is prevented by cytochalasin B^[@CR33],[@CR34]^. This procedure has never been used in fish, as penetration and release of chemicals in the highly amphiphilic fish eggs is difficult to achieve^[@CR35]^, and cytochalasin B trapped in the egg is deleterious for ooplasmic segregation at the onset of embryonic development^[@CR36]^. At this point, two scenarios can be proposed in fish clones: for those clones whose condensed somatic DNA was close enough to the oocyte plasma membrane prior to activation, their chromosomes may have been able to interact with the cortical cytoskeleton, resulting in the extrusion of an additional polar body from somatic origin. We reported that 31% of the clones had a condensed somatic DNA localized into the ooplasm. Some of them could count among those which expelled two polar bodies, supposedly from both DNA origins. In this case, the clones would end up with a haploid somatic DNA and a haploid maternal DNA, resulting in a diploid hybrid. This was not assessed in the present study, but such diploid hybrids were reported in medaka^[@CR17]^ and in goldfish (Depincé *et al*., personal communication). The second scenario is when the somatic DNA was too far from the plasma membrane to be able to contribute to polar body extrusion. The odds for this scenario are favorable in fish when considering the huge size of the oocyte and the low surface/volume ratio at the animal pole. This hypothesis is strikingly supported by a study on mouse oocyte^[@CR27]^ in which injected DNA beads underwent ectopic polar body extrusion only when they were close enough to the cortex, showing a distance-dependent induction of polar body extrusion. At this point, the fate of the somatic DNA upon activation is difficult to ascertain from our data. Somatic chromosomes could undergo a pseudo-anaphase that would lead to the formation of two haploid nuclei in the clones, or the pseudo-mitosis would not operate on the somatic nucleus, despite the loss in MPF, and a single diploid nucleus would reform thereafter. We believe that these options are the roots for the high variability observed in mitotic figures during early development.
But we also reported that not all clones bore somatic DNA in a metaphase stage, as almost one fourth of them was found uncondensed in the oocyte. It means that this DNA did not sense the MPF signal. Therefore, we infer that these clones would escape the oocyte activation signaling which would have led to haploidization. We believe that this DNA may then catch up the embryonic cell cycle leading to regular somatic DNA replication and first mitosis. Those clones may account for the successful diploid clones reported in several studies^[@CR17]--[@CR19]^. However, we could wonder if the clones whose somatic DNA location is deeper in the oocyte will be able to develop. Indeed, the somatic DNA was sometimes observed among the yolk droplets. If this DNA was to contribute to the embryo development, it would have to migrate towards the animal pole, possibly within the powerful cytoplasmic streams observed^[@CR37]^ during the first cell formation. Although not precisely assessed here, this hypothesis may be one explanation for those clones showing one seemingly stalled blastodisc at the 2 cells stage but which developed later on and reached at least the mid-blastula stage. In these, the somatic DNA would be delayed at reaching the ooplasm where embryonic mitosis could finally resume.
Fate of the maternal DNA upon first cell cleavage {#Sec9}
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From the above discussion, several clones should still possess the entire diploid somatic DNA, either because it was uncondensed, or because it was condensed but far from the plasma membrane. And because of the successful maternal polar body extrusion, a high majority of the clones should still possess half the maternal DNA as well. This raises the question of how this maternal DNA behaved during clone development, especially during the first mitosis, and whether it interfered with the somatic DNA. It has been proposed in medaka that the presence of maternal DNA is beneficial for the cellular reprogramming of the somatic cell, by decreasing cleavage asynchronies and ploidy mosaicism in clones^[@CR18],[@CR38]^. However, no study provided any hint about how this would operate in the first embryonic cells.
One striking observation in the present study is that most symmetric clones displayed a fragmented DNA that was located under the cleavage furrow of the first cell division. It is known that the position of the cleavage furrow is determined by the positioning of the mitotic apparatus, the latter being accurately centered in the fish egg blastodisc by dynein-associated pulling forces^[@CR39],[@CR40]^. Polar body extrusion also takes place in a centered position, at the apex of the animal pole^[@CR39],[@CR41]^. It means that in our system, the cleavage furrow is a landmark of where half the maternal DNA was extruded and half remained in the embryo. The fact that some DNA was found at the bottom of the cleavage groove strongly suggests that it is of maternal origin and that it remained at its original location in the absence of any capture by some microtubular apparatus before the first embryonic cleavage. In mutant zebrafish where male centrosome was made unable to attach the maternal pronucleus, the later did not undergo any migration either, and it stayed at its original location close to the polar body^[@CR42]^. In other mutants, ectopic masses of DNA at early stage, that can be compared to the maternal DNA in our clones, subsequently became fragmented or got lost^[@CR43]^. Due to the meroblastic cleavage of embryonic fish cells, the fragmented DNA observed in our clones could be left in the yolk area, without affecting the integrity of the cellular cleavages. However, it cannot be excluded that this DNA may be sequestered into micronuclei. Some chromosomes or DNA fragments could be scattered in the cytoplasm or integrated into the genome of some blastomeres, leading to aneuploid cells that should be eliminated during embryonic apoptotic waves at mid-blastula stage. In all, this could explain how in some fish clones, the maternal DNA was sequestered and eliminated during subsequent mitosis.
Fate of the clones during embryonic development {#Sec10}
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Even if DNA of maternal origin was excluded during development in some clones, embryonic development still stayed vulnerable when considering the wide set of alterations reported here during the first cell cycle. Symmetry defects could be due to a miscentering of the first mitotic spindle, because of altered interactions of the somatic mitotic spindle with the microfilament network of the blastodisc in the clones. But even when clones successfully underwent a first symmetric cleavage, we report that spindle defects and chromosome lagging and misalignments persisted in many of them. Because an entire somatic cell was injected, its own centrosome (centrioles and pericentriolar material) and its own cytoplasmic cargo (proteins and RNA) were incorporated and could have induced a protein or RNA imbalance of the oocyte cargo. One nagging question remains about the interaction between the somatic centrosomal apparatus and maternal pericentriolar material. The broad time window (\>40 min) of this event that is taking place before the first cleavage impeded our ability to explore it in the present study. We believe nevertheless that the injected somatic centrosome may have contributed to successfully replace the missing spermatic one.
Conclusion {#Sec11}
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To summarize (Table [1](#Tab1){ref-type="table"}), we demonstrated that the maternal metaphasic DNA was undisturbed after SNCT and that microinjection of a somatic cell through the micropyle was not impeding the oocyte plasma membrane ability to support polar body extrusion. Moreover, we provide strong indications that during mitosis, the maternal DNA remained at its original location, resulting in its positioning under the first cleavage furrow of the clones and its likely dispersion later on at the interface between yolk and embryonic cells. We also reported a high variability in somatic DNA structure and location which may account for the high variability in clone ploidy and blastomeres morphology during development. We also proposed some hypothesis about how clone ploidy could be maintained in some cases in relation to the somatic DNA structure and location upon injection, and despite the fact that no cytochalasin B is used in fish SCNT. This is the first time that some information on the cellular events taking place after SCNT is provided in such a specific model that is fish oocyte and embryo.
Materials and Methods {#Sec12}
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Gametes collection {#Sec13}
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Two years old mature goldfish (*Carassius auratus*), originating from outdoor ponds at INRA U3E experimental facility (Rennes, France), were used as breeders. Male and female were kept in separated 1 m² tanks, at a constant temperature of 14 °C, under spring photoperiod (16 h light and 8 h dark cycle). They were transferred at 20 °C few days prior to hormonal induction by intra-peritoneal injection of 0.5 mL/kg Ovaprim^TM^ (Syndel Laboratories, Canada). Sixteen hours later, gametes were collected by stripping. Oocytes were maintained at 12 °C for up to 5 hours in their own coelomic fluid. Sperm was diluted in SFMM (NaCl 110 mM, KCl 28.3 mM, MgSO~4~ 2H~2~O 1.1 mM, CaCl~2~ 2H~2~O 1.8 mM, Bicine 10 mM, Na Hepes 10 mM, pH 7.8, 290 mOsm/kg) and stored on ice for up to 24 h. Fish handling and sampling was carried out in strict accordance with the welfare guiding principles of the French regulation on laboratory animals, under the French and European regulations on animal welfare (Authorization N° 005239 level 1; C. Labbé), and under the supervision of staff of the animal facilities possessing an agreement level (C35-238-6). The experimental protocol was approved by the welfare committee from the Fish Physiology and Genomics department at Institut National de la Recherche Agronomique (registration C-2018-01-CL-AD) in accordance with the French guidelines on broodstock handling, gamete collection and embryo rearing.
Nuclear transfer procedure {#Sec14}
--------------------------
Nuclear transfer was carried out as described previously^[@CR21]^. Donor somatic cells were obtained from caudal fin after explant culture and cell cryopreservation^[@CR6]^. After thawing, mesenchymal cells in G0/G1 stage were washed in the cell culture medium with antibiotics (2.5 µg/mL amphotericin B, 50 µg/mL gentamicin) and stored on ice for up to 2 hours. Nuclear transfer was performed at 20 °C with a Cell Tram Vario injector (Eppendorf) connected to a micromanipulator (Transferman NK2, Eppendorf) under a stereomicroscope (Olympus SZX 12). Recipient oocytes were placed into Trout Coelomic Fluid (TCF) to prevent oocyte activation^[@CR44]^. Donor cells were isolated in TCF as well. After localization of micropyle at the animal pole (sperm entry point), oocytes were held by gentle depression of the holding microcapillary (iD 100 µm). A single donor cell was aspirated in a glass microcapillary (iD 15 µm, custom Tip Type IV, Eppendorf) and injected with about 10 pL of TCF into the recipient oocyte through the micropyle, just under the oocyte plasma membrane.
After nuclear transfer, oocytes were incubated for 30 min in TCF to improve success rate of the nuclear transfer^[@CR21]^. They were then either fixed for analysis, or activated with tap water to trigger embryo development. Embryos were incubated at 20 °C in dechlorinated tap water. When specified, the chorion was enzymatically removed by incubation of the embryos with 4 mg/mL protease from *Streptomyces griseus* (SIGMA, P8811) diluted in Holfreter 2.2 (NaCl 60 mM, CaCl~2~ 2H~2~O 68 µM, KCl 67 µM, D-Glucose 12 mM, PVP 40 000 62.5 µM, Hepes 5 mM, pH 7.4, 140 mOsm/kg). Dechorionated embryos were incubated in Holfreter 2.2 at 20 °C up to fixation and analysis. In analyzes devoted to the clone fate, several development stages were specifically observed: the 2 cells stage (about 1 hpf), when a scission grove appeared on the top of the single blastodisc, the mid-blastula stage (5 hpf) when the control embryos reached the 1000 cells stage and began embryonic layers differentiation, and the hatching stage (4--5 days post fertilization, dpf), when the control embryos were released from the chorion.
At the end of each SCNT session, oocyte quality was checked by an *in vitro* fertilization test. About 100 oocytes from each of the spawns used for nuclear transfer were fertilized in dechlorinated tap water with 10 µL diluted sperm. The number of live embryos was assessed at 24 hpf (6--9 somite stage) and at hatching, and expressed as a percentage of the initial oocyte number. Oocytes were graded as good quality when the development rate was above 90% at 24 hpf. Nevertheless, all experiments whose control rates were below 60% were discarded.
Fixation and immunofluorescence analysis after nuclear transfer {#Sec15}
---------------------------------------------------------------
After nuclear transfer, non-activated oocytes and embryos (2 cells stage) had to be orientated with the animal pole up, to ensure identification of the DNA on sections during histological analysis. Oocytes were orientated prior to methanol fixation, when the micropyle used to identify the animal pole was still visible. To prevent activation, oocytes were held in 2% gelose (agar-agar, PROLABO 20768.235) cupules prepared in Goldfish Ringer medium (GFR: NaCl 125 mM, CaCl~2~ 2H~2~O 2.4 mM, KCl 2.4 mM, MgSO~4~ 7H~2~O 0.3 mM, MgCl~2~ 6H~2~O 0.9 mM, D-glucose 6 mM, Hepes 4 mM, pH 7.3, 256 mOsm/kg) supplemented with Soybean Trypsin Inhibitor Type II-S (SIGMA, P9128), and orientated under binocular with the micropyle up. They were then covered with melted 2% agar-agar gelose, cooled, and fixed with cold methanol overnight.
Dechorionated embryos at 2 cells stages were directly fixed with cold methanol overnight and all samples were stored at −20 °C until gelose embedding. Methanol prevented blastodisc and blastomeres deformation and was mandatory for immunofluorescence specificity. After fixation, early embryos were transferred in 70% ethanol to limit methanol toxicity, orientated with the embryonic cells up, and embedded in a 2% agar-agar gelose prepared in distilled water.
For paraffin embedding, oocytes and embryos in their agar cushion were transferred in 100% ethanol (at least 2 h), 96% ethanol (2 × 30 min), butanol-1 (3 × 3 h and 1 × 1 h) and melted paraffin (60 °C, 2 × 2 h). Samples were then embedded with the animal pole up in paraffin cassettes and cut into 7 µm sections. Only the first one fourth of the sample height was cut for histological analysis (approximatively 250 µm). This area corresponds to the ooplasm. Sections were then mounted on slides with ovalbumin 0.5% (PROLABO, 20771.236). Paraffin removal and rehydration of the slides was carried on in successive bath of toluene 100% (10 min), ethanol (100%, 96% and 70%, 5 min each), and stored in PBS (SIGMA, P4417).
For fluorescence immunolabeling, all slides were saturated in PBS with 2% bovine serum albumin (BSA, SIGMA, A2153) and 0.5% Triton X-100 (SIGMA, T8787)(1.5 h, 20 °C) and incubated with mouse anti-tubulin-α antibody (SIGMA, T9026)(1.5 h, 30 °C). After washing in PBS-BSA 0.2%, samples were incubated with the goat anti-mouse antibody coupled with Alexa-Fluor 488 (SIGMA, A11001) (1.5 h at 30 °C). After washing, samples were stained with Hoechst 33342 (SIGMA, B2261) (2.5 µg/mL, 15 min, 20 °C). Slides were mounted with PBS-Glycerol solution and stored at 4 °C until analysis. Fluorescence observation and images were taken under a fluorescent microscope (Nikon 90i) and a SP8 confocal microscope (Leica microsystems) to characterize the DNA structure and localization.
*In vivo* study of polar body extrusion {#Sec16}
---------------------------------------
In order to visualize the polar body extrusion, oocytes were stained with two live DNA markers: Hoechst 33342 labeled both the maternal pronucleus and the extruded polar body, while Vybrant Green dye (Invitrogen, V35004) labeled only the extruded polar body. We believe that the amphiphilic Vybrant dye penetrated the oocyte well, but the composition of the ooplasm prevented this dye from specifically binding the maternal DNA. Instead, the entire ooplasm displayed a very weakly non-specific green fluorescence. This bias was used for our purposes because only the DNA incorporated into the tiny cell that is the polar body could be labeled with Vybrant Green, while the maternal pronucleus was only labeled with Hoechst. Non-activated oocytes were incubated with 100 µg/mL of Hoechst 33342 in TCF for 30 min at 20 °C, and rinsed twice with TCF to prevent non-specific Hoechst signal. After oocyte activation in dechlorinated tap water for 1 min, chorions were removed as described above within 10 min to ensure polar body visualization. Dechorionated oocytes were incubated with 10 µM Vybrant green dye in Holfreter 2.2 medium, before and during the polar body extrusion (around 13 min post-activation at 20 °C). To prevent the loss of the polar body, oocytes were no longer manipulated from this time on. As a consequence, the oocytes had a random orientation. Only the oocytes spontaneously oriented with the animal pole upwards, identified thanks to oocyte DNA labelling with Hoechst, were included in the analysis. Multiplane observations of the oocytes were carried on under a stereomicroscope for up to 40 min post-activation, to observe all possible polar bodies extrusions.
Statistical analysis {#Sec17}
--------------------
Data were expressed as mean ± standard deviation. Kruskal-Wallis test (non-parametric test) was performed using IBM SPSS Statistics, Version 24.0. Armonk, NY:IBM Corps (Table [1](#Tab1){ref-type="table"}).Table 1Summary of the results regarding the fate of the maternal DNA prior oocyte activation, after oocyte activation and after the first mitosis (MII: oocyte metaphase 2). +++ : \> 90%; ++ : \> 50%; + : \> 10%; + /−: \> 0%; \*mostly (81%) from symmetric cleavage.ControlsClonesMaintenance of maternal MII+++ +++ **Oocyte activation**1 PB extrusion+++ ++ 2 PB extrusion+/−+ **Mitosis**Symmetric cleavage++++Survival at hatching++++\*
**Publisher's note:** Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.
The authors thank the staff from INRA U3E (Rennes) for providing goldfish breeders. F. Borel, A. Patinote, J.- M. Aubry, C. Duret and P.-L. Sudan took great care of the goldfish at the INRA LPGP experimental facility (Rennes). The members of the INRA LPGP histology service, A. Branthonne and B. Porcon are also acknowledged for training C.R. and for technical support. G. Halet, from the Institute of Genetics and Development (IGDR Rennes), contributed to the reflection and results deciphering thanks to his fundamental knowledge of the meiotic and mitotic divisions. N. Beaujean (INRA-INSERM SBRI, Lyon) also helped us to deepen our interpretations thanks to her knowledge on cellular events after nuclear transfer. The other members of the thesis committee are also thanked for their kind help and support. Audrey Laurent (INRA LPGP Rennes) provided valuable comments on the manuscript and interpretation of the data. This work has benefited from the Tefor Fish Phenotyping Platform at the INRA LPGP, Rennes (ANR-II-INBS-0014) for confocal analysis where the expertise of V. Thermes and M. Thomas is gratefully acknowledged. This work was funded by the French CRB Anim project, ANR-11-INBS-0003. C.R. was recipient of an INRA PHASE and Région Bretagne PhD fellowship.
C.R. organized and carried out the study, analyzed and interpreted the data and drafted the manuscript. A.D. performed the nuclear transfer experiments and contributed to the coordination of the study. N.C. provided the donor somatic cell culture, initiated the immunofluorescence protocols and participated to the clone fate experiment. P.Y.L.B. and C.L. conceived and designed the study. C.L. supervised the experiments and the manuscript writing. All authors read, improved and approved the final manuscript.
The authors declare no competing interests.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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PubMed Central
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Friday, 27 March 2015
Wherein I list some (mostly) recent happenings, ramble a bit, and provide links, in an order roughly determined by importance and relevance to particle physics. Views are my own. Content very definitely skewed by my own leanings and by papers getting coverage, and it may not even be correct. It is a blog after all...
The LHC did not see a circulating beam this week due to a short circuit in one of the magnets, likely due to debris in a diode box. Delay could be days or months. Read the CERN press release here, and there's some more information at Nature News. [Edit: more from CERN here.]
The ATLAS/CMS combined Higgs mass measurement is now up on the arXiv (~6000 authors!).
There has been a bit more talk on the LHCb $B\to K^*\mu\mu$ excess which was updated from 1/fb to 3/fb of data last week. The Conf Note is now up. There's a short blog post on interpretation from David Straub, and the Straub/Altmannshofer Proceedings paper has quite a nice summary. See also the Resonaances post and the previous-two posts also there.
Shown below is the old result (blue) and new result (black) against theory (orange) for the angular observable of interest.
The point is that the 4--8 GeV^2 bins each deviate from the theory prediction, and a naive combination suggests a 3.7σ tension. This happens to be the same tension seen in the analysis with 1/fb, which suggests that the new data have still fluctuated up, but not quite as much. The effect has not gone away. But I am with Tommaso... I would like to know what is the probability of seeing such a deviation or larger in any of the angular observables they looked at, assuming the null. Probably this is difficult to do; likely there are significant correlations between bins of different observables(?)... still, it would be nice to know a number for the global significance as well.
The question now is whether we are seeing new physics or underestimated theory uncertainty. The data are not suggesting any problem with form factors, but an unexpectedly large charm-loop contribution near $J/\psi$ is a possible explanation. If it is new physics, then the discrepancy can be explained by a single operator$$O_9=(\bar{s}\gamma_\mu P_L b)(\bar{l}\gamma^\mu l)$$quantified by a parameter $C_9^{NP}$. This could also go some way to explaining the 2.6σ deviation from lepton-flavour universality (quantified by $R_K$) also measured by LHCb. According to the Straub/Altmannshofer Proceedings there are sensible ways to proceed if we want to discover the culprit. Here are a few of them:
1. Keep looking at q^2 dependence of $C_9$; the new physics effect should be q^2 independent.
2. Measure $B\to K^*\mu\mu$ and $B\to K^*ee$ branching ratios and angular observables. If the same new physics is responsible for this and $R_K$ then you might see "spectacular" deviations.
3. Search for lepton flavour violations in $B\to K^*\mu e$.
Certainly these are all measurements to look forward to...
If you want more insight into what's going on at Moriond, their twitter stream is excellent.
There's another excess that you might see making the rounds soon. They're everywhere! This week it is >2σ in a search for WH resonances in $l\nu b\bar{b}$.
Of interest are the three events at ~1800 GeV. It is only seen in the electron channel, so if it is new physics, it is not probably not a WH resonance. It is almost not worth mentioning, but CMS also saw an excess in their right-handed W search in $lljj$. There they saw a >2σ discrepancy in the electron channel at around the same mass scale.
I have not had time to read about these in detail, but if they can be linked, they will be linked. Watch the arXiv...
Higgs gluon-fusion production cross-section has been computed at N3LO (and Moriond talk here [pdf]), "the first ever complete computation of a cross-section at N3LO at a hadron collider."
Hooper and Linden have weighed in on the Reticulum II gamma-ray excess (seen in one of the newly discovered DES dwarf satellites). From the conclusion: "In order for this excess to be compatible with the lack of significant gamma-ray detections from other dwarf galaxies (most importantly, Segue 1 and Ursa Major II), Reticulum II must contain a high density of dark matter... A measurement of Reticulum II’s J-factor that is much smaller than this value would place serious doubt as to any dark matter interpretation of its excess."
There was lot of hype relating to a lazy LHC article in the media this week. On the plus side, Backreaction has an excellent rebuke (on the article and the paper that spawned it), and there you can also learn a bit about rainbow gravity.
A paper published in Science used the Chandra and Hubble Space Telescopes to observe 72 galaxy cluster collisions and subsequently constrain dark matter self-interaction. This number now supersedes the constraint from the bullet cluster. You can read the press release or watch the astrophysicists involved (along with others) discussing it on YouTube [1 hour].
A paper appeared on the arXiv today, signed by a number of physicists from many different institutions, commenting that the Nature paper on inner galaxy dark matter appearing a month or so back was not even wrong: "Considerable confusion may stem from the use of the term ‘inner’. The Sun’s orbit encompasses roughly 90% of the stellar mass. By this standard, we live in the outskirts of the Galaxy. That some DM is needed interior to the Solar circle is neither surprising nor new."
In video/audio media:
I only discovered the Colliding Particles series of shorts today, following a team of physicists involved in the research at the LHC. You can watch them here.
Friday, 20 March 2015
Wherein I list some (mostly) recent happenings, ramble a bit, and provide links, in an order roughly determined by importance and relevance to particle physics. Views are my own. Content very definitely skewed by my own leanings and by papers getting coverage, and it may not even be correct. It is a blog after all...
Long Shutdown (LS1) is over, and we should have the first fully circulating beam next week!
CMS Technical Coordination: "LS1 is over. Thks to those who made it a success. CMS is ready for beam. We look forward to Run 2." #RestartLHC
— CMS Experiment CERN (@CMSexperiment) March 19, 2015
You can track LHC and CMS status here and even view live events. CMS are currently doing their cosmic run with the magnet only turned up a couple of days ago; I managed to catch a nice one bending in the B field:
The ATLAS/CMS preliminary Higgs mass combination was presented for the first time at Moriond (talk here [pdf]). The result is $$m_H=125.09\pm0.24\, [\pm0.21\text{ (stat.)}\pm0.11\text{ (syst.)] GeV}$$
ATLAS has submitted their results on $t\bar{t}H$ production with $H\to b\bar{b}$ and released a Conf Note on $H\to WW,\tau\tau,ZZ$. Both see a small excess over the SM (of some interest only because CMS has $\mu_{ttH}$ at $>2\sigma$ above SM). I assume that those results enter into the following plot also presented in the Moriond talk(?). At least it is something to keep half an eye on in Run 2, while it likely goes away...
There's a rumour (via Jester) that the LHCb $B\to K^*\mu\mu$ analysis for the full 3/fb of data is due out soon, and it confirms the anomaly already observed in the previous analysis. If it is today then that would line up with the heavy flavour day at Moriond. See these-two Resonaances posts for an easily digestible recap, or dig deeper with any of these...
NASA's Mars Atmosphere and Volatile Evolution (MAVEN) spacecraft has observed two unexpected phenomena in the Martian atmosphere: an unexplained high-altitude dust cloud and aurora that reaches deep into the Martian atmosphere. No mention in the NASA release or the Nature News, but I wonder if perhaps they are seeing again the plumes that hit the news a few weeks back?
Let's end on a shot from space of the aurora from the St. Patrick's Day Solar Storm. Next week I'm sure we'll have some equally impressive shots of the total solar eclipse happening today!
Friday, 13 March 2015
Wherein I list some (mostly) recent happenings, ramble a bit, and provide links, in an order roughly determined by importance and relevance to particle physics. Views are my own. Content very definitely skewed by my own leanings and by papers getting coverage, and it may not even be correct. It is a blog after all...
ATLAS released a preprint yesterday (submitted to EPJC), Search for supersymmetry in events containing a same-flavour opposite-sign dilepton pair, jets, and large missing transverse momentum..., that is interesting for two reasons.
2. They call CMS's excess, and then they raise, with a 3.0σ excess in a different signal region (SR). So let's talk about that...
The search is for an on-Z opposite-sign same-flavour (OSSF) lepton pair + jets + MET. They are motivated by a gravitino LSP SUSY scenario with pair-produced gluinos which decay via $\tilde g\to qq\tilde\chi_1^0, \tilde\chi_1^0\to Z\tilde G$ (though it seems to me like something as simple as a vector-like quark could also work). Anyway, after typical preselection and requiring two OSSF leptons (if more than two are present they take the leading leptons), they define the on-Z signal region as: $$81< m_{l^+l^-}/\text{GeV}<101, \\ n_{jets}\ge2, \\ E_T^{miss}>225\text{ GeV,} \\ H_T>600\text{ GeV,} \\ \Delta\phi(jet_{12},E_T^{miss}>0.4,$$where $H_T$ is the scalar sum of the jet and lepton $p_T$ in the event, and the $\Delta\phi$ cut is designed to reject background from mismeasured jets faking large $E_T^{miss}$. And backgrounds are tough... $Z/\gamma^*+jets$ with mismeasured jets producing difficult-to-model instrumental $E_T^{miss}$ is potentially worrisome, but it is made negligible by the $\Delta\phi$ cut. Flavour-symmetricbackgrounds (with a truth-level flavour ratio $ee:\mu\mu:e\mu$ of 1:1:2) from $t\bar{t}$, $WW$, single top, and $Z\to\tau\tau$ are dominant; they are estimated with a data-driven method using opposite-flavour data as a control region. Fake leptons are estimated from data. Diboson, $t\bar{t}V$, $t\bar{t}VV$, and $t+Z$ are estimated from MC, making sure not to double count the flavour-symmetric component.
The expected and observed number of events as a function of invariant mass in the dielectron and dimuon channels are shown below:
For the sum of both channels the expected background is 10.6±3.2 with 29 events observed, which ends up corresponding to a 3.0σ excess.
Now, CMS did a similar search in the on-Z SR in their paper and didn't see anything. So are the results consistent? It's possible. The CMS SR wasn't quite as tight as the one employed by ATLAS. After similar preselection, for an on-Z signal region defined as $$81< m_{l^+l^-}/\text{GeV}<101, \\ n_{jets}\ge2, \\ E_T^{miss}>200\text{ GeV,}$$CMS have an expected background of $\approx$ 87.3±12.1 with 72 events observed. So who knows, maybe if CMS demanded $H_T>600$ GeV they would see something too, or maybe not...
The biggest news of the week comes from Tuesday's astro-ph listings. This is not my area, so I can't comment intelligently, but anyone can read an abstract and look at Figures, so I will just sum up here for completeness and convenience (click the figures to make them larger)...
1. Fermi-LAT released their Pass 8 constraints on dark matter annihilation (already largely known from preliminary results). They rule out dark matter masses $\lesssim 100$ GeV for a thermal relic annihilating to $b\bar{b}$ or $\tau\tau$. Those results are cutting into the best fit regions for the galactic centre excess.
2. The Dark Energy Survey (DES) Collaboration has located eight new dwarf satellite galaxy candidates (of the Milky Way and/or Magellanic Clouds), and an independent Cambridge group has located nine using the publicly released DES deep photometry data. You can read the press release here.
3. The new satellite candidates are prime spots to look for dark matter annihilation... so Fermi-LAT went and did it already! Assuming that the new candidates are dwarf spheroidals, they set a limit on the annihilation cross-section that rivals their Pass 8 results with known dwarfs above.
4. But the story isn't over yet, because an independent group (which includes the Cambridge group that found nine candidates) has reported a gamma-ray excess, consistent with DM annihilation, in one of the new dwarf candidates. [Edit: The candidate is Reticulum II or DES J0335.6−5403, the green line in the above Fermi-LAT plot, which appears by eye to be the only line of all the candidates to have a weakened limit in the 10−few×100 GeV DM mass region, the region that would produce the excess.]
And the dark matter annihilation saga continues...
Protons bunches half-circled the LHC beam pipe last weekend for the first time since the long shutdown began! Injector tests sent bunches from the SPS into the LHC ring and through ALICE and LHCb on their way to beam dumps. Both ALICE and LHCb recorded splash events when the beam was made to collide with a target.
You can play with the LHCb event here. First fully circulating beam is expected at the end of the month.
PRL has published the Planck/BICEP2/Keck joint analysis, along with a Viewpoint article which tells some of the story -- we are reminded of the following: "... alternative models may be detectable with the next generation of experiments, some of which claim a sensitivity to r as small as 0.01. The competition is fierce, with at least six funded ground-based experiments underway (including the third version of BICEP), several balloon-borne experiments, and a number of proposed space missions."
There's a nice feature at ScienceNews about the AMS experiment, the positron excess, and Samuel Ting; on the (unreleased) preliminary antiproton data he remarks: "intriguing".
Published in Nature yesterday, the Cassini orbiter has detected tiny rock grains emitted from the plumes of the Saturnian moon Enceladus, hinting at a subsurface ocean. You can read the articles at NASA, ESA, or Scientific American. Meanwhile a team using Hubble have used observations of aurora to indirectly suggest that there is a subsurface ocean on Ganymede, Jupiter's largest moon. Nice to see that there are complementary ways to measure these things.
Today Rosetta is trying to listen for a signal from the Philae lander on Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko. ESA released a cartoon video about it a few days ago [3 minutes]. The Lander Project Manager says, "It will probably still be too cold for the lander to wake up, but it is worth trying."
Dawn went into orbit around Ceres successfully last Friday. Science begins in late April.
Friday, 6 March 2015
Wherein I list some (mostly) recent happenings, ramble a bit, and provide links, in an order roughly determined by importance and relevance to particle physics. Views are my own. Content very definitely skewed by my own leanings and by papers getting coverage, and it may not even be correct. It is a blog after all...
CMS has submitted their paper on the search for LFV Higgs decays. This analysis supersedes the PAS from July (which has 20 citations). They see an excess of 2.4σ, which I wouldn't make much of, but it is worth keeping track of these "hints" because they motivate papers you see popping up on hep-ph. The following is a quick summary...
They search in the $\mu\tau$ channel, which is experimentally the best channel in which you might hope to see something after taking into account bounds from LFV transitions. The best fit branching ratio for the excess corresponds to $Br(H\to \mu\tau)=0.84\%$, an order of magnitude below bounds from $\tau\to\mu\gamma$. The dominant backgrounds for the search are $Z\to\tau\tau$, $W+jets$, QCD multijets, and $t\bar{t}$. The latter three are certainlysome of the nastiest backgrounds around at the LHC. $W+jets$ in particular is responsible for a number of historical anomalies (see Tomasso's blog or his talk). Happily they can be estimated with the help of data in background-enriched regions, which is nice, but shape uncertainties must then be carefully considered as systematics. Anyway, let us move on to the results...
The left and right columns correspond to the leptonic and hadronic $\tau$ decay channels respectively, and each row corresponds to an increasing number of jets (the last row is enhanced with VBF events). The variable they plot against is the collinear mass $M_{col}$, an estimator for the Higgs mass (in the signal events) constructed by assuming the neutrino (coming from the $\tau$ decay) momentum is equal to the projection of the missing momentum vector onto the direction of the $\tau$ decay products. The distributions driving the excess are $\mu\tau_e\;0$-jet, $\mu\tau_e\;1$-jet, and $\mu\tau_h\;2$-jet. That can be seen by eye above and in the branching fits themselves:
One would assume (or hope?) that the ATLAS analysis is underway, and certainly it will be interesting to find out what they see.
ATLAS has bounded the Higgs width at < 22.7 MeV at 95% CL (SM is 4.1 MeV) using the off-shell $gg\to VV$ Higgs boson signal, with assumptions (see below)! This supersedes their Conf Note from July and adds the WW channel to the analysis. The idea of doing this measurement (as far as I know) is based on the paper from Caola/Melnikov (1307). CMS managed to do the analysis and present it as a prepublication within 6 months of that paper (a phenomenal effort), rushed out for Moriond [pdf], and later published (in September) a bound of < 22 MeV at 95% CL [it should be noted that in the present ATLAS analysis the CLs method has been used which weakens their upper bound in the presence of the observed downward fluctuation of the low-statistics background; CMS used the regular $-2\ln L<4$ method and if ATLAS had done the same, judging by their Figure 12, their bound would rather be < 16.4 MeV]. The CMS result was presented as having "mild model-dependence," but not long after the bound was shown to be invalid for general new physics scenarios without some specific assumptions (see e.g. Englert/Spannowsky 1405). ATLAS appear to have specified clearly the assumptions going into their analysis...
The ratio of the off-shell to on-shell g-g fusion signal strength is $$\frac{\mu_{\text{off-shell}}(\hat{s})}{\mu_{\text{on-shell}}}=\frac{\kappa^2_{g,\text{off-shell}}(\hat{s})\kappa^2_{V,\text{off-shell}}(\hat{s})}{\kappa^2_{g,\text{on-shell}}\kappa^2_{V,\text{on-shell}}}\frac{\Gamma_H}{\Gamma_H^{SM}},$$where the $\kappa$ are coupling scale factors of the Higgs to $gg$ and $VV$. The approximation CMS made was that the ratio of $\kappa$'s was equal to unity. ATLAS sets their limit under the assumption $$\kappa_{g,\text{on-shell}}^2\kappa_{V,\text{on-shell}}^2\le \kappa_{g,\text{off-shell}}^2\kappa_{V,\text{off-shell}}^2 .$$They also assume that none of any new physics which might alter the Higgs width changes substantially the background (of particular interest in this case since the off-shell signal and continuum background destructively interfere). The higher-order QCD corrections for the continuum background are not available, so in presenting their results they allow this K-factor to vary by a factor of 2 around that calculated for the SM Higgs.
I find this measurement interesting as an independent way to probe the Higgs width. In principle it is possible to increase the Higgs width to > 22 MeV and have it consistent with all measurements, but it involves scaling up SM couplings while adding a new decay mode to keep the production×decay rate fixed. The global Higgs fit means that the upper bound on the Higgs branching to unobserved (not necessarily invisible) decays is < 21% for an otherwise SM Higgs.
An arXiv preprint has shown that a one-parameter generic dissipative dark matter model with supernovae heat source can explain the 'wiggles' in rotation curve data. Assuming that DM cooling is balanced by this heating mechanism and the DM density is in a stable state, it is shown that the density of DM is related to the supernovae formation rate in the disk. If the SN rate is related to the gas density via a Kennicutt-Schmidt law, then the DM density is connected to the baryonic gas density in the disk: $$\rho(r,\theta)=\tilde\lambda \int d\tilde\phi \int d\tilde r \tilde r \frac{[\Sigma_{gas}(\tilde r)]^N}{4\pi[r^2+\tilde r^2-2 r \tilde r \sin\theta\cos\tilde\phi]},$$where $N\approx 2$, and $\tilde\lambda$ is an appropriately averaged quantity which depends on the cross section, supernovae dark photon energy spectrum etc.
You can now go out and apply this equation to gas density measurements and predict the rotation curve up to the constant $\tilde\lambda$. This was done for the spiral galaxy NGC1560 (below):
There are more examples in the paper, fitting to dwarf galaxies from the LITTLE THINGS survey released last month. Reasonably good fits are obtained, especially considering it is only a one-parameter model; the best fit values of $\tilde\lambda$ vary only within a factor of two.
The PICO-2L C3F8 Bubble Chamber in SNOLAB have reported the most sensitive direct detection constraints on WIMP-proton spin-dependent scattering to date. Below is a plot which compares various limits.
The limits which appear to "beat" PICO-2L come along with some assumptions: IceCube, ANTARES, and SuperK are neutrino telescopes looking for annihilating dark matter in the sun; CMS/ATLAS search for mono-X signatures and assume an effective field theory (valid if the mediator mass is $\gg\sqrt{\hat{s}}$). In the conclusion they claim "These limits represent... the first time supersymmetric parameter space has been probed by direct detection in the SD-proton channel." Can't help but doubt this...
The Neutrino Telescopes conference (NeuTel XVI) is well under way and is keeping a blog here which contains summaries of talks and posters. I really like this method for gathering in one place succinctly and accessibly the important information; of course one can still access the full talks to find out more.
Here is one interesting post from Francesco Iachello. He claims that quoted neutrinoless double beta decay bounds are too strong by a factor 2.5--6 due to the overestimate of a nuclear matrix element factor. This would mean that the inverted hierarchy region still allowed by Planck cannot be probed by $0\nu2\beta$ experiments in near future.
There is an interview with Jamie Bock of the BICEP2 experiment at Sean Carroll's blog. Here is an excerpt on the decision to release results when they did: The question really is, should we have waited until better data were available on galactic dust? Personally, I think we did the right thing. The field needed to be able to react to our data and test the results independently, as we did in our collaboration with Planck. This process hasn’t ended; it will continue with new data. Also, the searches for inflationary gravitational waves are influenced by these findings, and it is clear that all of the experiments in the field need to focus more resources on measuring the galaxy.
Twenty years ago on Tuesday was the discovery of the top quark at Tevatron. The papers of CDF and D0 were released together and can be read for free at PRL Milestones. Top at Twenty at Fermilab is celebrating this milestone from 9-10 April, in the traditional way of particle physicists: talks! Reviews of fundamental measurements of the top quark, measurements of top quark production and decay, theoretical talks on how the top quark fits into the Standard Model and its potential extensions, etc...
I don't know how significant this tweet from today is, but perhaps something to be aware of... [Edit: never mind, must have been minor (see second tweet)]
A paper published yesterday in Science has measured the D/H enrichment of atmospheric water on Mars. They found a D/H value enriched by a factor of about 7 relative to Earth’s ocean, which indicates that Mars has lost most of its water to space -- about six times the amount presently locked up in the Martian ice caps. This implies that Mars once had an ocean covering 20% of the planet's surface, up to one mile deep, and was wet for >1.5 billion years. Plenty of time for life! There's a 4 minute video about it from NASA Goddard, or an article at the guardian if you prefer.
Another paper in Science reports the observation of a gravitationally lensed supernova forming an Einstein cross. Because of the different travel times for light rays taking different paths around the lensing cluster, it is suspected that the supernova explosion would have appeared before (1964 and 1995) in another part of the sky, and will appear again elsewhere some time before 2020. There's an NY Times article here with a video.
Here is Rolf Heuer on the European Commission's decision to divert €2.7 billion (4%) of the EU’s science funding programme, Horizon 2020, to alternative investments.
Not sure what to think of the following tweet from Murdoch, but with The Australian's recent flip-flopping on Abbott who knows...
Ok, call it climate change. Can we have honest debate, and if true how bad and how much fault of humans?
— Rupert Murdoch (@rupertmurdoch) February 27, 2015
If you aren't already following Sabine Hossenfelder blogging at BackReaction, you should. Two more interesting pieces from her this week: 1) Are pop star scientists bad for science? 2) Can we prove the quantization of gravity with the Casimir effect? Probably not.
If you actually calculate it you find it to be $\approx 775$ GeV. Not so miraculous. Change the $\pi$ to a $\frac12$ and he does a lot better, but since we know that the Higgs mass is just a conspiracy of gravity, QCD, and the weak force, maybe he should have guessed $$ \approx \pi\left(\frac{m_p}{2m_W}\right)^8\sqrt{\frac{hc}{G}}, $$ at tree level of course.
About Me
Jackson Clarke, PhD candidate in phenomenological particle physics at CoEPP, University of Melbourne. Collider phenomenology, neutrino masses, and some naturalness. Science enthusiast, among many other things. Blogging accordingly.
Views are my own. Content very definitely skewed by my own leanings and by papers getting attention. So it goes.
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See earlier by Wayne Allensworth: "Built By Anglos, For Anglos"? A Texan Looks The Economist's Special Report On His State
Recently the Washington Post cooed of McAllen, Texas, ‘An all-American city that speaks Spanish’: Immigration isn’t a problem for this Texas town — it’s a way of life [By Kevin Sullivan, July 4, 2018] Steve Sailer responded savagely that while globalists cast the mass influx of Latinos as an “exciting social experiment with who knows what spicy, perhaps magical, outcomes in store for us,” the truth is that we already know what such an influx means for America.
In McAllen, located right on the Mexican border in the Rio Grande Valley, 84% of the population is “Hispanic,” and about 76% speak Spanish. It has lots of obese people [Wallet Hub study finds city of McAllen as one of the most obese cities in America, ValleyCentral.com, March 15, 2018] is the least educated city in America and is the worst city for residents feeling unsafe. [ 10 Cities Where Americans Are Pretty Much Terrified to Live, Time.com, April 20, 2014]
Add to that high poverty rates, low workforce participation, and high unemployment What’s more, the Rio Grande Valley is known for its spicy political corruption. [Professor Researches Valley Corruption Culture, by Angelo Vargas, KRGV, February 8, 2018]
Latin American-style police corruption is common as well. NPR, for instance, has reported on crooked cops in the Valley’s “celebrated anti-narcotics squad,” the Panama Unit [ With Corruption Rampant, Good Cops Go Bad In Texas' Rio Grande Valley , by John Burnett and Marisa Peñaloza, July 6, 2015]. The good-cops-gone-bad story started when Panama Unit officers “went rogue” by stealing cash found on drug traffickers, then graduated to trafficking themselves. According to the NPR report
People say Panama’s crimes went on so long—two years—because the unit was protected. One officer’s father was a city police chief. And [Panama Unit Commander] Jonathan Trevino’s father is Lupe Trevino, then the powerful, popular sheriff of Hidalgo County.
It was Sheriff Trevino who created the Panama unit and put his son in charge. But the elder Trevino, as reported by NPR, was sentenced to five years in prison for taking illegal campaign contributions from “The Rooster,” a drug trafficker connected to Mexico’s Gulf Cartel.
Following WaPo’s gushing article on the “All American city,” the McAllen-Mission-Edinburg, Texas tri-city area was back in the news with a couple of vibrant crime stories.
On August 1, Breitbart’s Bob Price reported on the Border Patrol apprehending four MS-13 gang members, one member of “the violent 18 th street gang,” and two previously deported sex offenders who had crossed into the Rio Grande Valley border sector from Mexico. [MS-13 Members, Criminal Child Sex Offenders Busted near Texas Border]
street gang,” and two previously deported sex offenders who had crossed into the Rio Grande Valley border sector from Mexico. [MS-13 Members, Criminal Child Sex Offenders Busted near Texas Border] At first, news stories of an “active shooter” at a McAllen shopping mall on the previous weekend seemed to point to yet another mass shooting. That was quickly corrected, however: no shots were fired, but seven gunmen were involved in an attempted robbery of a jewelry store at McAllen’s La Plaza mall. All seven had illegally crossed into Texas from Mexico. [Texas ‘Active Shooters’ ID’d As Illegal Mexican Nationals , By Molly Prince, Daily Caller, July 31, 2018]
Some of the suspects had been previously deported. The suspects had paid a coyote $4,500 each to be smuggled into Texas and had reportedly been in McAllen for weeks prior to the attempted hold up.
I’m sure all of them came to America seeking “a better life.” It’s doubtful, however, that they would have found it in Mexicanized McAllen (maybe “opportunity” is a better term)—or that we will keep our country if mass immigration continues.
Meanwhile, as our country is being inundated with vibrant, spicy folks seeking opportunity and a better life, their enablers are busy deconstructing American identity—their aim being to ideologically disarm and demoralize the “deplorables” they hate so passionately .
The Texas state capital, Austin, is a case in point. Austin is located deep in the heart of the Lone Star state’s Hill Country. But, beginning in the 1960s, the city was transformed into a Leftist’s blue heaven. It has declared itself a “freedom city,” directing police to avoid arresting petty thieves and others who have committed “non-violent crimes,” as such cases frequently involve blacks and Latinos. Austin City Councilman Gregorio Casar ( tweet him) a backer of the “freedom city” resolution, opined that “people of color” were “over incarcerated” and “over punished.” There was an immigration angle to the “freedom city” antics as well: Casar added that “if people are arrested less,” they can also avoid “the deportation pipeline”. ['Freedom city'? Going beyond 'sanctuary,' Austin, Texas, vows to curtail arrests By Jaweed Kaleem, Los Angeles Times, June 19, 2018]
While the city of Austin appears to compete with San Francisco for the crown of craziest city in America, the University of Texas, where the great folklorist J. Frank Dobie once taught, is often, accurately, portrayed as Berkeley in the Hill Country.
The university has been removing Confederate statutes from the campus for several years now [UT-Austin removes Confederate statues in the middle of the night, by Matthew Watkins, Texas Tribune, August 20, 2017].
The city, not to be bested, has established something called the “Equity Office,” which has recently suggested renaming streets and parks, removing Confederate markers—and even renaming the city itself. When Texas was a Mexican province, you see, the father of Texas, Stephen F. Austin, opposed the Mexican government banning slavery there.
Any name change would require an election and even the commissars of the Equity Office ask in a report [PDF] on proposed changes, “what’s next and where do we stop?” [City report on Confederate monuments raises idea of renaming Austin By Philip Jankowski, Austin American-Statesman, July 27, 2018]
Where, indeed?
The logical end of both a policy of Open Borders and the memory-holing of our historical and cultural heritage is the complete erasure of America in any recognizable form, reducing “America” to a “geographical expression,” not a real country with a unique history, a shared culture and language, and a dominate, defining ethnos.
The logical endpoint is the destruction of the nation itself.
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2002 United States House of Representatives election in North Dakota
The 2002 U.S. House of Representatives election for the state of North Dakota's At-large congressional district was held November 5, 2002. The incumbent, Democratic-NPL Congressman Earl Pomeroy was re-elected to his sixth term, defeating Republican candidate Rick Clayburgh.
Only Pomeroy filed as a Dem-NPLer, and the endorsed Republican candidate was Rick Clayburgh, who was serving as the North Dakota State Tax Commissioner. Pomeroy and Clayburgh won the primary elections for their respective parties.
The election was the closest for Pomeroy in all of his career as congressman until his defeat in 2010; he won by just over 11,000 votes. This was because Clayburgh ran an aggressive campaign, and was the most well-known candidate ever to face Pomeroy; he had held a statewide office for 8 years. United States Vice President Dick Cheney campaigned for Clayburgh in Fargo, North Dakota on July 29.
Election results
References
External links
2002 North Dakota U.S. House of Representatives Election results
See also
2002
North Dakota
Category:2002 North Dakota elections
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Is this normal? I'm particularly concerned about port 445-the microsoft-ds service. *Puts on tinfoil hat.* I don't have any reason that I'm aware of to have open ports. I'm not a gamer, I don't connect anywhere remotely, and I don't remember doing anything that would open any ports.
I'm starting to be a little...interested...now. Gufw is crashing every second time I launch it and does not show up in my menu (Cinnamon). By "crashing" I mean that the gufw window shuts down suddenly. When I launch it after that everything is turned off. When I enable it "in" and "out" have no values. And then when I set them correctly, close the window, and launch it again, it crashes. And so on...
"Once you can accept the universe as matter expanding into nothing that is something, wearing stripes with plaid comes easy."
- Albert Einstein
Fred I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but it looks to me as if the firewall will not allow any incoming on your ports. Also, I run LMDE2 64 bit also and have had the same trouble with gufw.
I've never seen so many warnings from rkhunter in my life! I don't know what you guys think, but I'm getting outta here until I hear more! At least I have triple-boot. Back soon!
EDIT: I also can't log out. Hmmm....
EDIT2: I just booted into Kali and had a similar (though not identical) result. After running "rkhunter --propupd" the warnings were gone. I still don't trust it right now, though. Fortunately, my install of Betsy reconfigured to use Devuan is reporting clean.
"Once you can accept the universe as matter expanding into nothing that is something, wearing stripes with plaid comes easy."
- Albert Einstein
Thanks Habitual. The only trouble is I'm afraid to boot back into that installation until I figure out what those warnings were about! I'd dismiss 'em as false positives if it weren't for:
(a). I run rkhunter a good bit and I've never seen anything like this before. I've definitely run it multiple times on this installation and it's always come back clean.
(b). My not being able to log out was also slightly suspicious.
I'm a tad worried now I've got a "friend" in my system.
"Once you can accept the universe as matter expanding into nothing that is something, wearing stripes with plaid comes easy."
- Albert Einstein
Fred Barclay wrote:Thanks Habitual. The only trouble is I'm afraid to boot back into that installation until I figure out what those warnings were about! I'd dismiss 'em as false positives if it weren't for:
(a). I run rkhunter a good bit and I've never seen anything like this before. I've definitely run it multiple times on this installation and it's always come back clean.
(b). My not being able to log out was also slightly suspicious.
I'm a tad worried now I've got a "friend" in my system.
Yeah, sorry, I started a new thread a few hours ago about this. I was just letting you know that the link you sent did not show any open ports.
But as far as rkhunter itself goes, I do believe that the trouble was my not running the --propupd just as you mentioned. If you want to look at that thread, it's http://forums.linuxmint.com/viewtopic.p ... 2&t=207441 I'll post there in a moment with /var/log/rkhunter.log
EDIT: Wait...what??? I was responding to a post by you that doesn't seem to be there.
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Minato, Tokyo
is a special ward in Tokyo, Japan. It is also called Minato City in English.
It was formed in 1947 as a merger of Akasaka, Azabu and Shiba wards following Tokyo City's transformation into Tokyo Metropolis. The modern Minato ward exhibits the contrasting Shitamachi and Yamanote geographical and cultural division. The Shinbashi neighborhood in the ward's northeastern corner is attached to the core of Shitamachi, the original commercial center of Edo-Tokyo. On the other hand, the Azabu and Akasaka areas are typically representative Yamanote districts.
, it had an official population of 243,094, and a population density of 10,850 persons per km2. The total area is 20.37 km2.
Minato hosts many embassies. It is also home to various domestic companies, including Honda, Mitsubishi Heavy Industries, Mitsubishi Motors Corporation, NEC, Sony, Fujitsu, and Toshiba, as well as the Japanese headquarters of a number of multi-national firms, including Google, Apple and Goldman Sachs.
Geography
Minato is located southwest of the Imperial Palace and has boundaries with the special wards of Chiyoda, Chūō, Kōtō (in Odaiba), Shinagawa, Shibuya, and Shinjuku.
History
The ward was founded on 15 March 1947, with the merger of Akasaka, Azabu, and Shiba Wards. The name Minato means "harbor".
Politics and government
Minato is governed by Mayor Masaaki Takei, an Independent supported by all major parties except the Japanese Communist Party. The city legislative assembly has 51 members and is dominated by the Liberal Democratic Party.
Elections
2008 Minato mayoral election
Districts and neighborhoods
Akasaka Area
Akasaka
Kitaaoyama
Minamiaoyama
Motoakasaka
Azabu Area
Azabudai
Azabu-Jūban
Azabu-Mamianachō
Azabu-Nagasakachō
Higashiazabu
Minamiazabu
Motoazabu
Nishiazabu
Roppongi
Shiba Area
Atago
Hamamatsuchō
Higashishinbashi
Kaigana
Mitab
Nishishinbashi
Shiba
Shibadaimon
Shibakōen
Shinbashi
Shiodome
Toranomon
Shibaura-Kōnan Area
Daiba*
Kaiganc, *
Kōnan*
Shibaura*
Takanawa Area
Mitad, *
Shirokane*
Shirokanedai*
Takanawa*
Notes:
* - formerly part of Shiba Area
a - 1-chōme
b - 1, 2, 3-chōme
c - 2, 3-chōme
d - 4, 5-chōme
Education
Colleges and universities
Jikei University School of Medicine Nishi Shinbashi campus
Kanazawa Institute of Technology Graduate school; Toranomon campus
Keio University
Kitasato University Shirokane campus
Meiji Gakuin University Shirokane campus
National Graduate Institute for Policy Studies (GRIPS)
Shibaura Institute of Technology
Temple University Japan Campus
Tokyo Institute of Technology Tamachi Campus
Tokyo University of Marine Science and Technology Shinagawa campus
University of Tokyo Institute of Medical Science
Primary and secondary schools
The city's public elementary and junior high schools are operated by the Minato City Board of Education.
opened in 2001 after the merger of Minato Junior High School and Shibahama Junior High School.
The local public high schools are operated by the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Board of Education.
(since merged with another school)
Roppongi High School
There are also a variety of private schools, including:
Keio Girls Senior High School
Keiō Chutobu Junior High School
Shiba Junior and Senior High School
Azabu Junior and Senior High School
Friends School, a Quaker school established in 1887.
Meiji Gakuin Senior High School in Shirokane
Russian Embassy School in Tokyo in Azabudai
Public libraries
The city operates the Minato Library, the Mita Library, the Azabu Library, the Akasaka Library, the Takanawa Library, and the Konan Library.
The metropolis operates the Tokyo Metropolitan Library Central Library in Minato. The library opened in 1973.
Economy
Companies with headquarters in Minato include Air Nippon, All Nippon Airways (ANA), ANA & JP Express, All Nippon Airways Trading, Animax, Asmik Ace Entertainment, Brainlab, Cosmo Oil Company, Daicel,
Dentsu, Euglena (company), Fujifilm, Fuji Xerox, Fujitsu, Haseko, Hazama Ando, Japan Tobacco, Kajima, Kaneka Corporation, Konami, KYB Corporation, Kyodo News, Mitsubishi Motors, Mitsui Chemicals, Mitsui O.S.K. Lines, Mitsui Oil Exploration Company, NEC, Nippon Sheet Glass, NYK Line, Obayashi Corporation, Oki Electric Industry, Pizza-La, The Pokémon Company, THK, Toagosei, Toraya Confectionery, Sato Pharmaceutical, Sega Sammy Holdings, Sigma Seven, Sony, SUMCO, Toraya Confectionery, Toyo Suisan (owns the branch Maruchan), TV Tokyo, WOWOW, and Yazaki. In addition ANA subsidiary Air Japan has some offices in Minato.
Foreign companies
The Japanese division of CB&I, the Japanese division of Aramark and Aim Services, Google Japan, Yahoo! Japan, and the main Japanese offices of Hanjin and Korean Air are located there. Air France operates an office and ticketing counter in the New Aoyama Building in Minato. The Japanese division of Deutsche Post, DHL. Air France's Minato office handles Aircalin-related inquiries. Air China has operations in the Air China Building in Minato. Asiana Airlines operates a sales office on the sixth floor of the ATT New Tower Building. Hawaiian Airlines has its Japan offices in the in Minato. Iran Air has its Tokyo office in Akasaka.
Former economic operations
Japanese companies that formerly had headquarters in Minato include Air Next, Airtransse, Asatsu, Jaleco Holding, Ricoh, Toa Domestic Airlines (later Japan Air System and later Japan Air Lines),
On 22 December 2008 operations of Seiko Epson's Tokyo sales office began at Seiko Epson's Hino Office in Hino, Tokyo. Previously operations were at the World Trade Centre in Minato.
Diplomatic missions
Several countries operate their embassies in Minato.
Embassies
(Taiwan)
Consulates
Places
Akasaka is a large residential and commercial area in northern Minato which includes the Akasaka Palace and surrounding gardens, TBS radio and television studios, Ark Hills complex, Tokyo Midtown, and the embassy of the United States.
Aoyama is home to Aoyama Cemetery, one of Tokyo's largest graveyards, and the Chichibunomiya Rugby Stadium.
Atago Shrine is the highest point in all 23 wards of Tokyo.
Azabu is one of Tokyo's more upscale residential areas, home to many embassies.
Fushimi Sanpō Inari Jinja is a Shinto shrine in Shiba 3-chōme.
Hamamatsuchō is the location of Hamamatsucho Station is the terminal for the Tokyo Monorail to Haneda Airport.
Mita is home to Keio University and several small Buddhist temples.
The National Art Center, Tokyo is a museum that opened in 2007.
Odaiba is one of Tokyo's most popular entertainment areas, featuring the Fuji TV studios, Palette Town shopping complex, Dream Bridge, Tokyo Big Sight, and more. Located on an artificial island in Tokyo Bay, it is connected to central Tokyo by the Yurikamome transit line over the Rainbow Bridge.
Roppongi is Tokyo's best-known nightlife district, especially popular among foreigners; home to National Art Center, also home to the Roppongi Hills complex, which houses the studios of TV Asahi, the J-Wave radio station, the Tokyo Grand Hyatt Hotel, and a shopping complex.
Shiba Park houses the Zojoji temple. Tokyo Tower is located one block away.
Shinbashi Station, in Shinbashi, is the northern terminal of Japan's first railway line. Also home to the Shiosite office and entertainment complex, which houses Nippon Television studios.
Shirokanedai is home to Meiji Gakuin University.
Takanawa is home to the Sōtō Temple of Sengaku-ji. Shinagawa Station, one of Tokyo's largest train stations, is located in Takanawa, although it is associated with Shinagawa to the south. It is an area of many 1980s hotels including the Grand Prince Hotel Takanawa, Grand Prince Hotel New Takanawa, and Pacific Meridien Hotel.
Toranomon houses the National Printing Bureau, TV Tokyo studios and the Toranomon Station underground complex.
Transportation
Rail
Keikyu Main Line (Shinagawa Station)
Toei Subway:
Toei Asakusa Line (Shimbashi Station, Daimon Station, Mita Station, Sengakuji Station, Takanawadai Station)
Toei Oedo Line (Shiodome Station, Daimon Station, Akabanebashi Station, Azabu-juban Station, Roppongi Station, Aoyama-itchome Station)
Toei Mita Line (Uchisaiwaicho Station, Onarimon Station, Shiba-koen Station, Mita Station, Shirokane-Takanawa Station, Shirokanedai Station)
Tokyo Metro:
Tokyo Metro Chiyoda Line (Akasaka Station, Nogizaka Station, Omotesando Station)
Tokyo Metro Ginza Line (Shimbashi Station, Toranomon Station, Tameike-sanno Station, Akasaka-mitsuke Station, Aoyama-itchome Station, Gaienmae Station, Omotesando Station)
Tokyo Metro Hanzomon Line (Aoyama-itchome Station, Omotesando Station)
Tokyo Metro Hibiya Line (Kamiyacho Station, Roppongi Station, Hiroo Station)
Tokyo Metro Marunouchi Line (Akasaka-mitsuke Station)
Tokyo Metro Namboku Line (Tameike-sanno Station, Roppongi-itchome Station, Azabu-juban Station, Shirokane-Takanawa Station, Shirokanedai Station)
East Japan Railway Company (JR East)
Keihin-Tohoku Line/Yamanote Line (Shimbashi Station, Hamamatsucho Station, Tamachi Station, Shinagawa Station)
Tōkaidō Main Line (Shimbashi Station, Shinagawa Station)
Yokosuka Line (Shimbashi Station, Shinagawa Station)
Central Japan Railway Company (JR Central)
Tōkaidō Shinkansen (Shinagawa Station)
Tokyo Monorail (Hamamatsucho Station)
Yurikamome (Shimbashi Station, Shiodome Station, Takeshiba Station, Hinode Station, Shibaura-futō Station, Odaiba-kaihinkōen Station, Daiba Station)
Road
Shuto Expressway:
No. 1 Haneda Route (Edobashi JCT – Iriya)
No. 2 Meguro Route (Ichinohashi JCT – Togoshi)
No.11 Daiba Route (Shibaura JCT – Ariake JCT)
B Bayshore Route (Namiki – Kawasaki-ukishima JCT)
C1 Inner Loop (Edobashi – Takaracho – Kyobashi – Ginza – Shiodome – Hamazakibashi – Shiba Park – Tanimachi – Kasumigaseki – Daikanmachi – Edobashi)
National roads:
Route 1 (Sakurada-dori)
Route 15 (Dai-Ichi Keihin)
Route 246 (Aoyama-dori)
Other major roads:
Atago-dori
Kaigan-dori
Kyu-kaigan-dori
Gaien-higashi-dori
Gaien-nishi-dori
Hibiya-dori
Roppongi-dori
Ferry
Tokyo's main ferry terminal is located adjacent to Takeshiba Station on the Yurikamome, due east of JR Hamamatsucho Station.
Notable people from Minato
Hirohito, the 124th Emperor of Japan
Takeichi Nishi, an Imperial Japanese Army officer, equestrian show jumper, and Olympic Gold Medalist at the 1932 Los Angeles Olympics
Kanoko Okamoto (1889–1939), poet, born in Akasaka Ward (present-day Minato)
Sho Sakurai, actor and singer, affiliated with Arashi
Haruomi Hosono, experimental electronic pop musician, noted for the commissioned Muji background music
Fishmans, a pop and dub band composed primarily of Shinji Sato, Yuzuru Kashiwabara, Kin-ichi Motegi, Hakase-Sun and Kensuke Ojima
References
External links
Minato City Official Website
Category:Diplomatic districts
Category:Wards of Tokyo
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Introduction {#s1}
============
From a historical and actual point of view, the idea of person-centered medicine is not only a question of our basic attitude towards the patient, but also closely connected with any particular concept of illness. WPA drew attention to this central topic already in its founding years and, together with other international medical societies, emphasized it again recently \[[@r1]\].
In general, the term 'person-centered medicine' can bear different, though strongly interrelated, meanings:
- Medicine *of* the person: this is the *theoretical* aspect, especially the notion of person itself.
- Medicine *for* the person: this is the *therapeutical* aspect.
- Medicine *by* the person: this is the aspect of the *medical professionals\' role and self-understanding*.
- Medicine *with* the person: this is the *interpersonal* aspect, especially the relationship between patient and doctor.
More specifically, different concepts of illness do have a significant impact on the way person-centered thinking *is* accepted and integrated into medical practice---*or is not*. Three examples shall elucidate this. They are taken from the history of ideas in psychiatry, but the arguments involved will be easily applicable to general medicine, as well.
Psychiatry as *pars pro toto* {#s2}
=============================
The diagnostic process in psychiatry has always been a controversial issue. This has to do with particular features of this field: from all medical specialties, psychiatry and psychotherapy are most intensively connected with political, historical and social developments. Psychiatry, as we know and recognize it today, i.e. as a medical discipline closely linked with neurobiological, psychological, sociological and philosophical issues, may with good reasons be regarded a product of the era of enlightenment in the second half of the 18th century \[[@r2]\]. From this time on, the view of mentally ill people as *persons* gained influence, albeit slowly, as persons with indispensable human rights and with a personal autonomy that may be diminished, but not eradicated by whatever illness they might be affected by. Psychiatry began to emerge as a medical discipline, rooted in scientific research and dedicated to the treatment of individual persons.
Since then, three major approaches to the phenomenon of mental illness were developed and adopted in psychiatry: (1) the *realistic*[1](#fn1){ref-type="fn"} *neurobiological* approach from the middle of the 19th century until now, (2) the *biographical-hermeneutic* approach from the beginning of the 19th century until now and (3) the *nominalistic descriptive-operational* approach practised since the end of the 20th century by ICD 10 and DSM IV \[[@r3]\]. I will now discuss chances and limitations of these three concepts with regard to person-centered medicine.
- The *realistic neurobiological* approach regards mental illness similar to, if not identical with, somatic illness: Schizophrenia, for example, will here be regarded an external object, a quantitatively detectable neurobiological disorder, existing independently from the researcher or diagnostician and his or her mental activities. In this case, the process of diagnosing mental illness comes close to taking a photographic picture, because the aim is to objectively depict what is 'real' without interpretation or other subjective influences.
- The second option is the *biographical-hermeneutic* approach. In this case, the focus is not so much on the objective nature of mental illness or on the process of constructing diagnostic terms, but on the understanding and interpreting behaviour and utterances of the patient, given his or her specific biographical and personal background.
- The third option is the *nominalistic descriptive-operational* approach to mental illness. This is what our present operationalized diagnostic manuals as ICD-10 and DSM-IV do. They do not provide us with a definition of what, for example, schizophrenia 'really is', but with practical guidelines how to use the term schizophrenia in a proper scientific way, taking the actual empirical knowledge about this *disorder* (not: disease!) into account. In this case, diagnosis is a theoretical construction and an expert-opinion based convention; it is not, contrary to the realistic definition mentioned above, an objective picture of something completely independent from the person taking this picture.
These considerations are by no means 'only' theoretical, but they do have a significant practical impact on diagnosis, on therapy and on psychiatry\'s self-understanding. In forensic psychiatry which directly linkes the notions of mental illness and personal responsibility, the debate became especially controversial and attracted much public interest recently, although the arguments are not fundamentally different from those in the areas of clinical psychiatry and research \[[@r4], [@r5]\].
The risk of dogmatization {#s3}
=========================
There are often underestimated risks for *any* of the three concepts mentioned above to be used in a reductionistic, not to say dogmatic way, especially with regard to person-centeredness:
- If the realistic definition of mental illness is understood in a extremely narrow sense, as for example eliminative materialism does \[[@r6]\], we will end up with a *naturalistic reductionism* which straightforwardly identifies mental illness with dysfunctional neurobiological processes. This, of course, leaves no space to deal with the issue of subjectivity within a scientific framework. Recently, there are a number of decisive, sometimes even polemical positions in this discussion, e.g. John Bickle\'s (2003) book on philosophy and neuroscience, subtitled 'A Ruthlessly Reductive Account' \[[@r7]\]. But within the psychiatric and neuroscientific research community itself, many authors nowadays will agree that we need a concept beyond single methodological perspectives which also includes the notion of person. For example, there is a philosophically substantial *and* widely recognized debate on the relationship between evidence- and value-based decision-making in psychiatry. These topics in themselves are, of course, not new for the field, but they attracted remarkable interest and generated fruitful discussions especially since Fulford\'s (1989) book on 'Moral Theory and Medical Practice' \[[@r8]\].
- Nominalistic definitions as in ICD-10 and DSM-IV bear the risk of becoming dogmatic in the sense of a *formalistic reductionism.* This happens, for example, if the users of operationalized diagnostic algorithms presume that the entire phenomenon of psychosis is covered by or even identical with these operationalized procedures. Special problems will arise in the forensic situation if direct conclusions are drawn from DSM IV- or ICD 10-based diagnoses to such complex issues as criminal responsibility or other legal capacities.
- It must not be forgotten, however, that also the biographical definition may run into dogmatism: if one believes, that the etiology, pathogenesis and clinical symptomatology of a given mental illness may completely be understood, even explained by the process of understanding and interpreting, this will constitute a *heuristical reductionism*. This can become a relevant problem in long-term psychotherapeutic processes by overestimating the explanatory power of a single interpretation, thus underestimating other options. Of course, it is difficult to define where the area of hermeneutical methods ends, and this boundary may vary from one therapeutical situation to the other. Karl Jaspers tackled with that problem in some detail in his famous paper on the differentiation between psychological development and process ('Entwicklung und Prozess') and in his discussion of several types of scientific prejudices in his 'General Psychopathology' \[[@r9]--[@r11]\].
In recent years, there has been a tendency to combine classical scientific areas with the suffix 'neuro-' in order to demonstrate the implementation of modern neuroscientific methods and results, e.g. in terms as neuroethics \[[@r12]\] or, more generally, neurophilosophy \[[@r13], [@r14]\]. In our present context the question arises if and how person-centered psychiatry could profit by this development. There are two arguments to consider: on the one hand, it is a promising new approach to combine neurobiological techniques like functional brain-imaging or neurophysiological data (e.g. evoked potentials) with more person-oriented areas as social cognition, decision-making or the relationship between affective and cognitive processes. On the other hand, just to combine different techniques or data will not solve the problems of the limitation of each method and the need of a leading principle 'behind' these single approaches. For example, the status of subjectivity or personal autonomy remains a tackling issue no matter which empirical procedure will be chosen.
Psychopathology and personhood {#s4}
==============================
The reason for this is of a principal nature: the basic questions mentioned above cannot be answered by empirical research only, be it biological, psychological or sociological in nature. We do need a basic conceptual framework addressing the notions of personhood and mental illness in general, and diagnosis and therapy in particular. At this crucial point, psychopathology---once named 'basic science of psychiatry' ('Grundlagenwissenschaft der Psychiatrie') by Werner Janzarik (1979) \[[@r15]\]---might again become a relevant point of reference, but only under the following specific circumstances \[[@r16]\].
On the *practical* side, psychopathological notions will have to be continously developed further (e.g. by not taking any definition of delusion for granted, but to continuously link new empirical data with theoretical considerations). This shall include operational descriptions of psychopathological phenomena (e.g. within the ongoing development of ICD 11 and DSM V) \[[@r17]\] as well as 'open descriptions' (e.g. by scientifically respecting qualitative phenomena like personality traits, interpersonal traits or biographical aspects that are not easily detectable by highly formalized rating scales). And a close linkage, albeit not a merging (!), with neurosciences and social sciences will be essential (e.g. by further developing research designs for the interface between social cognition, empathy or altruism on the one side and brain function on the other side without accepting any naive reductionism or materialism).
On the *theoretical* side, psychopathology will have to acknowledge the chances and limitations of empirical methods (e.g. by the constant awareness of methodological fallacies, be they naturalistic or hermeneutic). It will need to accept subjectivity as a scientific topic of its own and not only as a temporary fill-in, which at some point of time in the future will be replaced by strictly neurobiological data and concepts. And, finally, it will have to actively implement historical knowledge about psychiatric concepts into the actual debate on psychiatry\'s identity (e.g. by reflecting upon the basic questions that link all the heterogeneous concepts of mental illness at least since the era of enlightenment, especially mind-body-relationship, nosological status of mental illness, status of psychiatric diagnoses, scientific relevance of objective vs. subjective data). But this will also mean for psychopathology to be self-confident enough to leave fundamental issues open (i.e. not to accept premature definitions of mental phenomena in general and of personhood, autonomy and subjectivity in particular, however, practical they may seem to be).
In a broader perspective it is obvious that, on the one hand, the notions of person or personhood are *central issues in practical psychiatry*, but, on the other hand, they necessarily lead us into the center of *philosophical* debate. And not too few psychiatrists, in history and nowadays, were and are decisively sceptical with regard to the benefits of such philosophical arguments for their field. However, if we do not want to reduce the notion of person to just one, usually the prevailing, scientific perspective, we will have to enter the debate on what is or what we call a person and in which way personhood can or cannot be affected by mental illness. One of the radical positions on this issue was developed by transcendental philosophers like Immanuel Kant and Johann Gottlieb Fichte for whom the concept of an irreducibly autonomous and responsible subject within his or her interpersonal relations was not (only) a matter of empirical science, but the prerequisite of any scientific approach to the *conditio humana*. These complex philosophical theories---and many others from the 18th and 19th centuries---have been criticized in recent decades, especially following the linguistic turn in philosophy in the 20th century and its usually underestimated consequences for psychiatry. But nonetheless the issue of personhood and its relationship to diagnosis and treatment of mental illness is far from being settled. So, if person-centeredness shall become *the* essential framework for psychiatry, the philosophical debate needs to be specifically reflected upon and integrated into psychiatry \[[@r18], [@r19]\].
Conclusion {#s5}
==========
In conclusion, these brief considerations on the history and present status of person-centeredness and on the future role of psychopathology can be summarized in three theses:
- The debate on the concepts of mental illness may serve as *pars pro toto* for any medical concept since the notion of person is central to psychiatry, but, of course, also relevant for any other medical field.
- The idea of person-centered medicine must be actively supported and worked out separately from single nosological models. These models provide too narrow a framework, thus creating a high-risk of dogmatization.
- Subjectivity and, in general, the nature of the individual person are central topics in psychopathology. They cannot be reduced to a single perspective, not to the neurobiological and not to the hermeneutical one. They create an interface between psychiatry and philosophy that is nothing less than 'mere theory' or 'l\'art pour l\'art'. It is of utmost importance for psychiatry as a practical medical field and as a research discipline.
'Realistic' in an epistemological sense; i.e. the assumption that the real world is existing fully independently from our conceptualization or our mental acts; Emil Kraepelin\'s concept of 'natural disease entities in psychiatry' is *the* example for such a realistic approach to psychiatric nosology \[[@r2]\].
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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PubMed Central
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1. Field of the Invention
The present invention relates to a power supply apparatus which includes a fuel cell.
2. Description of the Background Art
At the recent time, in portable electronic equipment such as a personal computer or an electric machine such as an electrically-driven tool, a secondary battery such as a lithium-ion battery and a nickel-hydrogen battery has been widely used as a power source. However, when such equipment is operated using a secondary battery, the equipment cannot be continuously operated long enough because of its limited battery capacity. For example, if a portable-type personal computer is operated using a secondary battery, its electric power can only be continuously supplied for four hours or so.
On the other hand, in recent years, attention has been drawn to a fuel cell which is capable of continuing to supply the power for a long time. For example, in supplying the power to a personal computer, a fuel cell is under consideration which can supply the power for twenty to forty hours without a break.
A fuel cell is configured by building in layers a single cell formed by sandwiching an electrolyte layer between an anode (−) and a cathode (+). Fuel and air are supplied to the anode and the cathode, respectively. Then, an electrochemical reaction is produced, so that electric power is generated. As such fuel, for example, hydrogen, methanol, or the like is used. As the load current rises, the output voltage of the fuel cell drops. Besides, even if the fuel supply is varied according to changes in the load current, the generated energy remains unchanged for a while after the fuel supply is varied. This time lag makes it difficult to change the generated power promptly, thus causing the output voltage to change as the load current fluctuates sharply. This raises a disadvantage in that if the power is supplied using a fuel cell to equipment subjected to large fluctuations in its load current, such fluctuations in the load current bring about changes in the output voltage so that the output voltage becomes unstable.
Therefore, a hybrid-type power supply apparatus is known which is formed by combining a power storage device responsive to a fluctuation in a load current, for example, a secondary battery, and a fuel cell (e.g., refer to Japanese Patent Laid-Open No. 2005-56764 specification). FIG. 8 is a block diagram, showing the configuration of such a hybrid-type power supply apparatus. A power supply apparatus 101 shown in FIG. 8 is configured by; a fuel cell 102; a DC-DC converter 103 which converts the electric power outputted from the fuel cell 102 into a power-supply voltage for operating a load apparatus 105 and outputs it; and a secondary battery 104 which is charged with the power-supply voltage outputted from the DC-DC converter 103.
The power supply apparatus 101 stores the power outputted from the fuel cell 102 temporarily in the secondary battery 104. Then, it supplied this power from the secondary battery 104 to the load apparatus 105. The secondary battery 104 responsive to fluctuations in the load current absorbs load-current changes, thereby helping stabilize the power supply apparatus 101's output voltage. Therefore, in the power supply apparatus 101, the fuel cell 102 is designed to supply the power continuously for a long time, and this fuel cell 102 charges the secondary battery 104. As a result, the power can be supplied for more hours, and at the same time, the output voltage becomes more stable.
Nevertheless, in the power supply apparatus 101 having the above described configuration, the secondary battery 104's output voltage as it is becomes an output voltage VL to the load apparatus 105. In terms of the secondary battery 104's output voltage, each kind of secondary battery has an intrinsic voltage. For example, in the case of a nickel-hydrogen secondary battery, it is approximately 1.2 volts per cell, while in the case of a lithium-ion secondary battery, it is approximately 4.2 volts per cell when it is fully charged by the fuel cell 102.
If the power-supply voltage necessary for the load apparatus 105 to operate is different from the intrinsic voltage of each such secondary battery 104, a plurality of such secondary batteries 104 need connecting in series so that the output voltage VL is set to a desirable voltage.
However, the output voltage per cell of a secondary battery is equivalent, as described above, to the intrinsic voltage of each kind of secondary battery. Hence, the output voltage VL can be set only to multiples of the output voltage intrinsic to a secondary battery. Therefore, if the operation power-supply voltage necessary for the load apparatus 105 is a voltage value different from the multiples of the output voltage intrinsic to a secondary battery, a disadvantage arises in that such a hybrid-type power supply apparatus as the power supply apparatus 101 cannot be used as a power source for the load apparatus 105.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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USPTO Backgrounds
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Q:
Magento: Decimal Price in spanish language display Dot instead comma
i have multilanguage store. default language is english. there are few products have decimal price.
when i switch languge to spanish the comma appears instead dot in decimal price.
for example: price: 1.35$ in english when i switch language to spanish the price will look like Price: 1,35$
i really wanna remove this , need . how to do that.?
A:
You could try to change the local settings. So go to your magento directory and open the file lib/Zend/Locale/Data/en.xml (replace en.xml by the language file for which you would like to perform your changes).
Search for
<numbers>
<symbols>
<decimal>.</decimal>
<group>,</group>
Clear the cache, also for safer side please try to do this first on your test installation to avoid issues.
A:
You can change your locale setting
here is example for English. For that you have to do Minor changes in your Language File. >Following is the Directory Structure of File.
=> root/lib/Zend/Locale/Data/en.xml (For English Language)
=> around line 2611 you can see following code.
> <currencyFormat>
> <pattern>¤#,##0.00;(¤#,##0.00)</pattern>
> </currencyFormat>
=> Now Change above code with Following code.
> <currencyFormat>
> <pattern>#,##0.00 ¤;(#,##0.00 ¤)</pattern>
> </currencyFormat>
you can set it to for Dutch.
To fix the comma form 1.000 to 1,000
add to the past post the following :
go to: => root/lib/Zend/Locale/Data/XX.xml (XX.xml For your Language)
for example : => root/lib/Zend/Locale/Data/en.xml (For English Language)
around line 2286 you can see following code :
<numbers>
<defaultNumberingSystem> xxx your Language xxx </defaultNumberingSystem>
<symbols>
<decimal>,</decimal>
<group>.</group>
to :
<numbers>
<defaultNumberingSystem> xxx your Language xxx </defaultNumberingSystem>
<symbols>
<decimal>.</decimal>
<group>,</group>
this wil change the comma form 1.000 to 1,000
thanks & regards
Bahattab
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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StackExchange
|
Hey all, I don't post here much but I've been lurking for quite a while. I found out about blue light treatments from Tria ads awhile ago and since then I've found some better looking companies. Tria forces you to have to buy a cartridge every month or so, so it ends up costing a lot. I guess my acne would be considered mild but it used to be a lot worse so I have some scars and would like to buy a product that also allows the use of red light to help with that. I seem to respond well to the sun and since these things are both light I'm very hopeful that it'll do me some good, I read the faq and think these ones looked the best.
edit: I can't get the links to show for some reason but they are,LumiportAcne lampTanda
Sorry just paste them into google they're the first ones that come up.
The lumiport is the same price as the acnelamp handheld models but smaller. On the other hand it is able to switch into blue, red or both at the same time where as the acnelamp can only do both at the same time as far as I know. Using both at the same time seems a little gimmicky to me, I'd prefer using blue and red separately. The acnelamp does seem better built though, does anybody know if the led heads are interchangeable?
And then there's Tanda, I was looking at the professional model although I'm unsure of the differences between it and the prestige besides what I'm about the mention. The Tanda does not use a cartridge like the Tria does but it says the led heads last for 10,000 3 minute sessions for the professional and 6,000 for the prestige. I did the math for the professional and it would last about 500 hours, this translates into almost 21 days of being on 24/7. At first I thought this was just a way to suck more money from a customer like the Tria cartridge system but I noticed Acnelamp also offers replacement heads, so is it reasonable for the leds to lose their effectiveness after being used this long? These things are 75-100 dollars each so I want to know if it's just a money making scheme.
I'm leaning towards the Tanda even though it is the most expensive by far since I would have to buy the actual package and then also buy the other color head. I'm pretty sure it doesn't come with both. I'd like to hear what people think and any personal experience with any of these or others would be appreciated. Also I want to know about combining blue and red lights, it just seems like a gimmick and like it would have a different effect on the skin since it is an entirely different color?
I just ordered two bulbs from Light-therapy-LED.com, one blue and one red and blue. Thankfully I don't suffer from full on acne but have always had problems with spotty skin, tired of all the overpriced skin creams and scrubs, like the idea of killing the bacteria at source before it causes problems.
I just ordered two bulbs from Light-therapy-LED.com, one blue and one red and blue. Thankfully I don't suffer from full on acne but have always had problems with spotty skin, tired of all the overpriced skin creams and scrubs, like the idea of killing the bacteria at source before it causes problems.
£22 each and free postage, bargain.
I wonder if they work as well as the more expensive products, what are you planning to use the bulb in? I can't tell exactly how big they are from the pictures. They look like a good option too though, certainly cheaper than the rest.I still want to learn more about combining the red/blue lights if anyone has any experience with them.
I just ordered two bulbs from Light-therapy-LED.com, one blue and one red and blue. Thankfully I don't suffer from full on acne but have always had problems with spotty skin, tired of all the overpriced skin creams and scrubs, like the idea of killing the bacteria at source before it causes problems.
£22 each and free postage, bargain.
I wonder if they work as well as the more expensive products, what are you planning to use the bulb in? I can't tell exactly how big they are from the pictures. They look like a good option too though, certainly cheaper than the rest.I still want to learn more about combining the red/blue lights if anyone has any experience with them.
I'll put them in an ordinary desktop lamp, one with a flexible stem so I can adjust it towards my face. There are a few more affordable blue light devices on Ebay appearing now, but these ones have the right 415nm 660nm wavelengths - if they work great if not I am not out of pocket for more than a few Clearasil facial scrubs I would of been buying anyhow.
I'll put them in an ordinary desktop lamp, one with a flexible stem so I can adjust it towards my face. There are a few more affordable blue light devices on Ebay appearing now, but these ones have the right 415nm 660nm wavelengths - if they work great if not I am not out of pocket for more than a few Clearasil facial scrubs I would of been buying anyhow.
http://www.homephoto...ish-journal.pdfNot sure if you're interested in learning differences between using blue, blue/red separately or blue/red combined but I found that article which sheds some light on it, and you're the only one really responding XD. They don't specifically say if they used a separate or combined blue/red light but they did conclude that using both instead of just blue was more efficient.
I hope the bulbs are as bright as they say they are on the site, I'm pretty certain I'm going to go ahead and get one of them, I'd rather a handheld type thing because it is more convenient but screw paying an extra 200+ for convenience. Now I just have to decide on a lamp and whether to get a separate blue/red or a combined one. Maybe the one they link on the site, I checked some other lamps out on the same site they linked and;http://www.lampsplus...ght__63413.htmlDo you think something like that would work? Wtf powers those, I'm probably just not thinking because it's late but does it run on batteries?I'm not sure how to find out what it would fit in.
You can get twin bulbed lamps, so I might get one of those and have both going at once as that seems to be the best method. Until they arrive I won't know how bright they are or what type of area they cover. The spotlight idea looks good to increase the brightness, want the light to go deep not just bounce off the surface.
My BLUE BULB has arrived and I am very happy with it, has a purple tint to it. I can certainly see a difference in skin tone - after using every scrub and cream for God knows how many years light therapy really does give instant results. I also find shaving with a razor isn't so awful either - usually I would be covered with scrapes and get lumpy spots from ingrown hairs, the light really does heal things faster. Waiting for the RED bulb to arrive.
The bulb is small but well made and for £20 and free postage is good value for money by comparison to every other device I have seen.
Woops I thought I answered to your last post, I think I mightve closed the browser before hitting add reply on accident.I'm glad it's working for you and I can def relate with the razor thing except for the ingrown hairs, I've only ever had one of those but it did leave the biggest scar I have and it was pretty horrible.
I'm puzzled on how it'll fit into most lamps since it looks shaped like a saucer compared to the pear shape of a normal bulb, how does that work?
I was going to get the dual colored bulb but after noticing that only 11 of the leds on it are blue, I decided to go for the full blue one instead. I'll have to wait until a friend of mine pays me back for some $ I lent him though and then I can get the red one next time I get paid and I'll be good to go.
Woops I thought I answered to your last post, I think I mightve closed the browser before hitting add reply on accident.I'm glad it's working for you and I can def relate with the razor thing except for the ingrown hairs, I've only ever had one of those but it did leave the biggest scar I have and it was pretty horrible.
I'm puzzled on how it'll fit into most lamps since it looks shaped like a saucer compared to the pear shape of a normal bulb, how does that work?
I was going to get the dual colored bulb but after noticing that only 11 of the leds on it are blue, I decided to go for the full blue one instead. I'll have to wait until a friend of mine pays me back for some $ I lent him though and then I can get the red one next time I get paid and I'll be good to go.
It's an easy fit, it looks huge on the website but it's actually quite small in reality. Gives good coverage though, depends on how close you have the bulb to your face - I like it very very close so the light gets right through the skin and kills that scummy bacteria.
My BLUE BULB has arrived and I am very happy with it, has a purple tint to it. I can certainly see a difference in skin tone - after using every scrub and cream for God knows how many years light therapy really does give instant results. I also find shaving with a razor isn't so awful either - usually I would be covered with scrapes and get lumpy spots from ingrown hairs, the light really does heal things faster. Waiting for the RED bulb to arrive.
The bulb is small but well made and for £20 and free postage is good value for money by comparison to every other device I have seen.
My question is on how to use this bulb. For how long do I need to expose myself to the light and how often? Also, how do you get the light bulb that close to your skin? Do you use one of those desk lamps that is sold at Walmart for $10? My bathroom is pretty small. Can I replace the regular bulb that I use there with this blue light bulb? Please give a little more information. Thank you.
My BLUE BULB has arrived and I am very happy with it, has a purple tint to it. I can certainly see a difference in skin tone - after using every scrub and cream for God knows how many years light therapy really does give instant results. I also find shaving with a razor isn't so awful either - usually I would be covered with scrapes and get lumpy spots from ingrown hairs, the light really does heal things faster. Waiting for the RED bulb to arrive.
The bulb is small but well made and for £20 and free postage is good value for money by comparison to every other device I have seen.
My question is on how to use this bulb. For how long do I need to expose myself to the light and how often? Also, how do you get the light bulb that close to your skin? Do you use one of those desk lamps that is sold at Walmart for $10? My bathroom is pretty small. Can I replace the regular bulb that I use there with this blue light bulb? Please give a little more information. Thank you.
It depends how much time you have, I saw one advert for a blue light pen gadget that said 70 seconds which sounds a little on the short side. I would say a minimum of ten minutes. Sometimes I will do half an hour if I have nothing better to do. The bulb is an American screw type - I used an adaptor so it will fit, they are cheap and available everywhere if your lamp doesn't have the right socket. At the moment I have a clip lamp - a lamp with a clamp at one end that you clip to a shelf and I just hold the lamp next to my face to get as deep a penetration as possible.
I have the Evis MD platinum blue light. It runs $200 on amazon, around $100 on ebay and I found mine at TJ maxx for $100. Don't need to buy replacement cartridges, just plug it in and go. I haven't been diligent enough to notice remarkable results though but most people that have give it good reviews Blue light is for treating acne, red light is for anti-aging, supposed to help with wrinkles.
I have the Evis MD platinum blue light. It runs $200 on amazon, around $100 on ebay and I found mine at TJ maxx for $100. Don't need to buy replacement cartridges, just plug it in and go. I haven't been diligent enough to notice remarkable results though but most people that have give it good reviews Blue light is for treating acne, red light is for anti-aging, supposed to help with wrinkles.
i've been looking into buying one, not sure whether i want to take the chance in buying the such expensive product. do you know if its possible for it to cause an even worse breakout? if so, i'll look for similar products...
I have the Evis MD platinum blue light. It runs $200 on amazon, around $100 on ebay and I found mine at TJ maxx for $100. Don't need to buy replacement cartridges, just plug it in and go. I haven't been diligent enough to notice remarkable results though but most people that have give it good reviews Blue light is for treating acne, red light is for anti-aging, supposed to help with wrinkles.
i've been looking into buying one, not sure whether i want to take the chance in buying the such expensive product. do you know if its possible for it to cause an even worse breakout? if so, i'll look for similar products...
It definitely won't make your acne worse, if anything it just won't help at all. A better way of controlling bacteria causing acne is taking a probiotic, one with 30 billion organisms, pretty much cured my acne. I got my blue light at a big discount but it's not worth paying full price for.
|
tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
|
Pile-CC
|
What to Know Newly released body camera video shows Glassboro police officers pointing guns at two Rowan University students and placing them in cuffs.
The 2-plus hours of police footage shows one student questioning why he was arrested and the person who made the report explaining himself.
The officers were responding to a report of a gunman. They later determined the students were unarmed and released them, the school said.
More than two hours of police body camera footage has been released that shows the moments officers pointed their weapons at two unarmed Rowan University students and handcuffed them after responding to a report of a gunman. The footage also includes an interview with the person who called in the initial report that sparked the encounter, which has roiled the campus community.
"You all are about to find out that you stopped me for no reason," Altif Hassan, a senior from Trenton, New Jersey, says in the video as he sits cuffed in the back of a police vehicle.
Glassboro police released the video, parts of it blurred, in four parts, captured on 13 separate cameras, on the department's Facebook page late Tuesday night.
The videos show the arrest of Hassan and another student on the afternoon of Oct. 1.
Glassboro officers were investigating a shoplifting incident at a store in the Collegetown Shopping Center on North Delsea Drive that afternoon. During the investigation, a man approached the officers and claimed he had spotted a black male with "puffy hair" pointing a black handgun at a vehicle, police said. He told the officers the man then went into the driver's seat of a black Dodge Charger.
"Officer, you see that Charger right there? He just came out of the store with a gun in his hand," the man tells the officers in earlier body cam footage released by police.
Late Tuesday, police release blurred video of the same man explaining why he made the complaint.
"I'm not prejudice but when it fits, it fits," says the unidentified man, whose face is blurred in the newly released footage. "Black guy, racing cars sitting in front, coming out of a store with a gun laughing his head off."
"I thought he was gonna shoot at me," he said.
Police say they stopped the Dodge Charger in the area of North Campus Drive in the parking lot of Mimosa Hall at Rowan University around 5 p.m.
Hassan and Giovanna Roberson, a freshman from Cherry Hill, New Jersey, were inside the vehicle at the time.
“Being that it was believed that one of the occupants of the vehicle had a gun, police followed procedures and drew their weapons until all the occupants exited the vehicle and were searched,” a spokesperson for Rowan University wrote to students following the incident.
Previously released cellphone video of the incident shows at least three officers pointing their weapons at Hassan and Roberson.
The newly released footage shows the officers pointing their guns at the students and putting cuffs on each of them.
"I don't even want to speak, bro," Hassan says in the video. "You just had a gun out on me... you could have just took my life."
When asked to consent to a vehicle search, Hassan emphatically said "hell (expletive) yeah." He then mentioned that police won't find any weapon.
"You all are supposed to pulling over a Charger with a gun in it, you all just pulled over a Charger without a gun in it," an upset Hassan said while in police custody. "I don't understand, how are you doing your job?"
"I thought it was over," Hassan told NBC10 last week. "And they were about to shoot me in front of everybody on camera. Everybody was just gonna be replaying my death over and over again."
A viral video of Glassboro Police officers pointing weapons at two Rowan University students is sparking controversy. Now the students are speaking out. Meanwhile, police have released a statement on the incident as well as body cam footage showing what led to the incident.
In the video, Hassan first steps out of the vehicle, raises his hands and walks backwards toward the police cruiser as the officers point their weapons at him. The officers then place him in handcuffs.
The officers then order Roberson to do the same and then place her in handcuffs as well. Roberson is also seen on the video in cuffs in the back of the police vehicle before police release her.
"It was really traumatizing and frightening," Roberson said last week. "The whole time I was scared for Tif. I was watching him back up and scared for myself as well."
The officers searched both students as well as their vehicle but did not find a weapon. Police say they then informed the students why the action was taken and they were let go.
"Officers have an obligation to investigate when this type of information is provided regarding a serious threat of an alleged armed subject in our community for the safety of all involved including the people that are subject of the investigation," Glassboro Police Chief Franklin S. Brown, Jr. wrote in a statement."
Hassan later posted the video of the incident on his Facebook page.
“I can’t keep quiet like my voice doesn’t matter,” Hassan wrote. “I’m pressing hard. If you believe in the cause, share it for the culture. Everyone gotta know this kind of harassment needs to stop.”
Hassan’s video went viral and sparked controversy online as critics questioned why police held the students at gunpoint. Hassan told NBC10 he wants police to change their procedure in light of the incident.
"We just want to be treated equally," Hassan said. "Just equal. Nothing more. Nothing less."
"The videos are being offered in the spirit of complete transparency and to demonstrate the Police Department’s compliance with appropriate protocols and training for dealing with this type of incident," Glassboro police said on its Facebook post.
Rowan University held a student forum last week to discuss the incident. Glassboro police are in the process of forming a committee with Rowan officials to bridge the divide between police and students, the department said.
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Eleanor of Alburquerque
Eleanor, 3rd Countess of Alburquerque (1374 – 16 December 1435) became Queen consort of Aragon by her marriage to Ferdinand I of Aragon. In Spanish, she is known as Leonor Urraca de Castilla, condesa de Alburquerque.
Family
Her father was Sancho Alfonso, 1st Count of Alburquerque, who was an illegitimate son of King Alfonso XI of Castile and his mistress Eleanor of Guzman, and a brother of King Henry II of Castile. Her mother was Infanta Beatrice, Countess of Alburquerque, who was daughter of Peter I of Portugal and Ines de Castro. Eleanor was born in Aldeadavila de la Ribera, now in National Park since 2002 of Arribes del Duero Natural Park, province of Salamanca.
Eleanor's brother was Ferdinand, 2nd Count of Alburquerque.
Marriage
Eleanor was originally betrothed to Frederick, illegitimate son of Henry II of Castile, however this engagement was broken off.
Upon the death of the sickly John I of Castile on October 9 of 1390 the Regency Council addressed the issue of the heir presumptive, Infante Henry at the time eleven years of age and his brother Infante Ferdinand, who was then ten years. It was agreed that Ferdinand could not marry before his brother Henry reached the age of fourteen. Then he would be granted the privileges and social policies majority.
Peter I of Castile was murdered in March 1369 by his bastard brother Henry. The representatives of the clergy, the nobility, the state of the gentry and merchants, as well as the authorized legal representatives of some Castillian cities agreed that Henry's grandson Infante Henry should marry the granddaughter of the murdered Peter, the English princess Catherine of Lancaster, daughter of John of Gaunt. As the elder brother, Henry, fulfilled these requirements then so should his brother Infante Ferdinand, with a good wife who was honorable and rich.
It was then heard that Eleanor of Alburquerque was sixteen and old enough to marry. She expressed her agreement in marriage but could not take place as Ferdinand was not yet ten years old. She owned the towns of Haro, Briones, Vilforado, Ledesma with the five towns, Albuquerque, the Codesera, Azagala, Alconchel, Medellin, Alconétar and Villalon, a gift from John I of Castile. This made Eleanor a very attractive offer to Ferdinand.
In 1394, Eleanor and Ferdinand were married. They had seven children:
Alfonso V of Aragon (1394–1458), also king of Sicily and Naples
Maria of Aragon, first wife of John II of Castile, (1396–1445)
John II of Aragon (1397–1479)
Henry of Aragon, Duke of Villena, Count of Alburquerque, Count of Empuries and Grand Master of the Order of Santiago (1400–1445)
Eleanor of Aragon (Queen of Portugal), who married Edward I of Portugal, (1402–1445)
Pedro of Aragon, Count of Alburquerque and Duke of Noto (1406–1438)
Sancho of Aragon (1410–March 1416). Created Grand Master of the Orders of Calatrava and Alcántara after 1412.
Later life
In 1412, Ferdinand and Eleanor became King and Queen of Aragon after the Compromise of Caspe. However they reigned for only four years, when Ferdinand died in 1416, aged 36 years. Eleanor, who was then 42 years old, retired to Medina del Campo. In 1435 her sons, the princes of Aragon were taken prisoners of the Genoese after the naval battle of Ponza.
The Royal Palace of Medina del Campo, birthplace of her husband and her children, was transformed into the Convent of Santa María la Real. There, Eleanor witnessed her children fighting against the royalist party led by Álvaro de Luna. Eleonor lost some of her possessions as a benefit for the latter.
Eleanor died in Medina del Campo, province of Valladolid, in 1435. Her grave is in the Convent of Santa María la Real, in a simple grave on the floor. It has a tablet that is stone Toledo dark, with the Royal Arms carved on it.
Ancestors
References
Sources
Further reading
https://web.archive.org/web/20110707104223/http://www.aldeadavila.com/historia/la-historia-de-leonor-de-alburquerque-y-ledesma/
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Category:1374 births
Category:1435 deaths
Category:House of Trastámara
Category:Aragonese queen consorts
Category:Countesses of Barcelona
Category:Majorcan queens consort
Category:Royal consorts of Sicily
Category:Burials at the Poblet Monastery
Category:14th-century Castilians
Category:14th-century Spanish women
Category:14th-century Italian people
Category:14th-century Italian women
Category:15th-century people from the Kingdom of Aragon
Category:15th-century Spanish women
Category:15th-century Italian people
Category:15th-century Italian women
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Wikipedia (en)
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... /lobster65/lob65-canadian-spy-agency.pdf>. in an interview.'. . .if you look at the United States and the kinds of actions that John F. Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson could carry out in Vietnam, they were possible because of almost complete lack of public attention. ' 14 Chomsky merges LBJ and JFK as if they had the same intentions and policies. When I read this I thought, 'I'll bet Jim DiEugenio has a go at this. ' And he has; oh boy, has he ever. His 'Noam Chomsky Needs an Intervention' begins: 'Does Noam Chomsky have permanent foot-in-mouth disease? It ...
... agent. The assassination conspiracy was leaky. And this suggests very strongly that we are dealing with something other than a professional job by the intelligence services or the Pentagon. It is hard to imagine the pros holding anything more closely than the assassination of a president. ' In the beginning I now can't remember how I first came across the LBJ-dunit thesis. Perhaps it was the reference to it in Michael Milan's The Squad: the US Government's Secret Alliance with Organized Crime.7 The pseudonymous author of that book 5I discount James Files' story. That, as Garrick Alder has shown, is an invention. See <https://www.lobster-magazine ...
... cleaned out. ' What was in the safe at the Brookings Institute that made the President of the USA demand burglaries, over and over again, to his senior aides? That aspect of the Watergate story didn't appear to interest Washington Post reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein as they pressed ahead with their investigation of the Watergate burglary itself. LBJ knew In office between 1963 and 1968, Lyndon Baines Johnson was the first US president who routinely tape-recorded his meetings and telephone conversations. One tape from the last days of the Johnson administration is far more incriminating than the so-called 'smoking gun' tape that led to Nixon's resignation in 1974. At 9.18 pm ...
... to have thought that editing and proof-reading was necessary. 9 He suspected that he and the two other 'tramps' – Harrelson and the other man he knew as Montoya – were in position to act as back-up fall-guys in the event that the framing of Oswald went wrong. 10 See note 7. Hunt named LBJ, David Morales, Frank Sturgis, David Attlee Phillips, William Harvey and Antonio Veciana, all of whom have cropped up in the research. The new name was Cord Meyer who had never, to my knowledge, been linked to the assassination before. 11 Though precisely how senior isn't quite clear. Accounts vary and there is nothing ...
... and New York: Bloomsbury; 2016, h/b , £18.99 P rofessor Mellen spoke about 'Mac' Wallace, who is one of the two subjects of this book, a couple of years ago in a lecture,1 and it was clear when this book was announced that it was going to try and debunk the LBJ-dunnit thesis in the JFK assassination. In Mellen's view, that thesis has just two planks: the fingerprint of Malcolm 'Mac' Wallace apparently found on the 6th floor of the Texas School Book Depository (TSBD hereafter) just after the assassination and the allegations of the late Billie Sol Estes. The fingerprint issue is dealt with by ...
... , elsewhere in the world his employers were acting as the global enforcer for American capital and the piles of peasant bodies were growing. There are only two things which raised my eyebrows. The first is the author's claim that in the summer of 1962 JFK approved the plan to run the coup in Brazil which actually happened in 1964, under LBJ. Whitney cites Tim Weiner's Legacy of Ashes (Doubleday, 2007) which shows that JFK was discussing discussing the possibility of allowing a military coup in Brazil and approved spending millions of dollars there to undermine the Brazilian president, Joao Goulart. JFK may indeed have approved the coup plan but the evidence of that final step is not there ...
... >. 26 No doubt Friedman's 1976 Nobel Prize helped his credibility but that was awarded for technical work in economics, not for his simple- minded views on macroeconomics. See <http://www.nobelprize.org/ nobel_prizes/economic-sciences/laureates/1976/friedman-facts.html>. The LBJ-dunnit thesis The late Billie Sol Estes is at the heart of the LBJ's-people- dunnit theory of the Kennedy assassination. That most of the Kennedy assassination researchers do not take this theory seriously is due, in large part, to their not taking Estes seriously, because he was a convicted fraudster. Precisely what his fraud ...
... opinions, albeit those of a highly placed insider. Other possibilities exist: for example that the real assassination conspiracy was piggy-backed on the CIA stunt, a fake assassination attempt to be blamed on apparent Castro-sympathiser Oswald, implicit in Holt's tale of the smooth-bore rifle firing Mannlicher-Carcano rounds.3 4 If the LBJ-dunnit thesis is correct, this means either that, at some level CIA personnel co-operated with the Johnson people, or that the Johnson gang heard of the planned CIA operation and exploited it. The latter seems more likely 32 There is a long discussion of 'Was it Lansdale? ' at <http://educationforum ...
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We now have corporate sponsorship. Sort of.
Thursday night I was sitting down at my computer prepping my microphone to join the cast of one of the Alt-Right’s most successful podcasts, The Daily Shoah, when I messaged Mike Enoch, one of the show’s co-hosts, to ask about what we would be discussing. He immediately messaged me back and asked me if I had not heard the news about the advertising agency they had contracted with who was now asking them to remove the live reads they had read into the last two podcasts of their show. Knowing the guys over at The Right Stuff to be high agency pranksters who love to have a good laugh at the foolishness of our contemporary society’s cultural taboos, the fact they had landed a contract with an advertisement agency delighted my own mischievousness nature, and I could not wait to discover more. I would not be disappointed.
As I joined the call for the pre-show preparations, Sven, also known as Seventh Son, was debating how to respond to the advertising company who was now in full panic mode after he refused to remove the live reads, citing the contract they had signed and how doing so would also affect the shows artistic credibility. Sven had worked hard to ensure that the topics of the show would include stories that could seamlessly weave advertisements into the show’s narrative. Removing them would damage the show’s credibility and the point of the stories they told.
The representative from the company, Ad Results Media, claimed that a junior sales rep had mistaken The Daily Shoah for a sports podcast called TRS Radio. After Sven refused to remove the content as asked, the representative offered to buy out their entire contract. Sven, who had worked out the deal with the company after Ad Results Media had solicited The Daily Shoah for advertising slots, said that he went as far as to send the sales rep links to previous shows as he had with other advertising agencies, figuring that would be the end of the inquiry. However, to his surprise, he received an email back from the representative saying that they knew all about the show and wanted to know how much they would charge for time slots. A little surprised but not one to allow a good opportunity to waste, Sven followed through with contract negotiations and struck a deal.
I sat there as Sven was asking Enoch and others what to do, saying that he felt bad about taking the type of cash they had been offered. I, as well as others, pointed out that his gut reaction was obviously part of his European sensibilities, and that he needed to ignore them. We all knew that a company such as Ad Results Media would fire anyone in their company who was caught sharing our views or advocating for the interests of European people and that taking the offer was not only justified given their breach of contract, but a moral imperative for someone who represented a voiceless people.
Being that The Right Stuff had intended to advertise as well on Fash The Nation, the network’s number one podcast that made a comeback last week, a counter offer of double what the representative had offered was made. We were still discussing the whole debacle within minutes of the counter offer when I heard Enoch shout out “Holy shit!” The company had accepted the counter of a whopping $17,600. We postponed the recording so that Sven could deal with the transaction and fulfill their side of the agreement.
When Sven came back an hour later Alex McNabb, Mike Enoch, and I couldn’t stop laughing about the whole situation. It was amazing to see how after a number of set backs that included the DOXing and subsequent loss of employment for Mike Enoch just several months ago, that Karma had shined her light of cosmic justice upon the network. The struggle for those who speak truth to power is not an easy one, as I and others can attest to. One infamous truth speaker knew by the nom de guerre, ‘Ghoul,’ had his life turned upside down by his real name and personal information being discovered. Ghoul was a regular guest on The Daily Shoah and had started a Facebook page that put out brilliant artistic content satirizing the contradictory beliefs of Cultural Marxists. Before the page, Counter-Signal Memes For Fashy Goys, was shut down in an attempt to end the harassment of his family, Ghoul had gained over 100k followers.
The seventeen thousand dollar settlement is a drop in the bucket for most major corporations, but something to be celebrated amongst us on the Alt-Right. These institutions are currently hell bent on replacing us, as they brag about how “diverse” they are, a euphemistic way of saying they have intentionally hired less White people. Any legal or subversive blow that can be dealt to these corporations, whether economically, socially, and so on, should be ruthlessly pursued if we are to succeed as a movement. A message must be sent to the corporate world; the existence of our people is not negotiable, and those institutions who attempt to promote policies that threaten our existence will be ruthlessly undermined at every turn.
Perhaps the most absurd thing about this entire clusterfuck is the sheer panic and overreaction that occurred as a result of this innocent but lazy “mistake” by a junior sales representative. In the age of the internet, nothing that finds its way on the web is ever truly removed and no amount of signaling will keep Ad Results Media from whatever economic repercussions that may result from other businesses who hear of the mistake and decide to contract with another advertising company. Those involved are obviously normies with no understanding of how the game works and managed to turn a simple mistake that wouldn’t have caused the company anywhere near the damage they themselves imagined it would in their feeble, panicked minds, into a huge victory for us. In fact, within days the whole incident would be forgotten by the general public and people would have moved on to whatever the next “outrage” was.
Nevertheless, we are winning. The alt-right is expanding rapidly across the country, making vast gains on the cultural front. The seeds we have planted now blossom into grassroots networks that are seriously impacting what happens on the ground at political events. The intelligence and confidence of our people are intensely alluring to participants, many of which have been consuming our content in the comfort of their own home, but not taking it too seriously believing that it would never manifest into a real movement. Our own emerging presence, however, is extraordinarily white-pilling to them. They are seeing real, long sought after leadership from men with true conviction, and instantly seeing that their future in their hands.
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(W)righting women: constructions of gender, sexuality and race in the psychiatric chart.
This paper examines the interpretative nature of psychiatry in relation to gender, sexuality and race within the particular time and place of one urban, Canadian, clinical psychiatric setting. We bring women's psychiatric inpatient charts and a critical feminist perspective into dialogue in an effort to focus on gender, sexuality and race in psychiatric narratives on women's madness. The research used a qualitative, retrospective research design to examine the psychiatric narrative as a technique of power as it operates on women. This paper focuses on the overarching theme of 'medicalisation', identified from the analysis of women's psychiatric inpatient charts, including two subthemes: (1) language and composition and (2) decontextualisation. Our analysis suggests that psychiatric chart documentation practices that reproduce gendered, sexualised, and racialised biases and assumptions and decontextualise the social and structural context of women's experiences of madness serve to create the paradox of women's visibility/erasure in psychiatric charts. The paper concludes with an exploration of the significance of women's authorship legitimacy in psychiatric chart documentation.
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PubMed Abstracts
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Semen collection and evaluation in the ram. The effect of method of stimulation on response to electroejaculation.
Nine different methods of electrical stimulation with a bi-polar rectal probe, were used on 5 rams. The quantity and quality of semen collected, the time taken to produce ejaculation and the maximum voltage required were compared. Semen of good quality was collected by applying a stimulus every 7 seconds for a period of 3 seconds commencing at 1 volt and increasing by 1 volt at a time. A mean maximum voltage of 5.1 volts produced ejaculation. Electrical stimulation, using a voltage rise of 2 volts applied at 5 sec intervals frequently produced smaller volumes of semen, a greater number of collection failures, and severe physical stress to the rams.
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PubMed Abstracts
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IN THE COURT OF APPEALS OF NORTH CAROLINA
No. COA15-371 and 15-374
Filed: 20 October 2015
New Hanover County, No. 12 CVS 4482 and 13 CVS 1254
POINT SOUTH PROPERTIES, LLC, and SANCO BUILDERS CORPORATION,
Plaintiffs,
v.
CAPE FEAR PUBLIC UTILITY AUTHORITY and NEW HANOVER COUNTY,
Defendants.
and
CB WINDSWEPT, LLC, SELLAR’S COVE, LLC, TELFAIR SUMMIT, LLC, and CB
SNOWS CUT LANDING, LLC, Plaintiffs,
v.
CAPE FEAR PUBLIC UTILITY AUTHORITY and NEW HANOVER COUNTY,
Defendants.
Appeal by defendants from orders entered 23 September 2014 by Judge W.
Douglas Parsons in New Hanover County Superior Court. Heard in the Court of
Appeals 23 September 2015.
Shipman & Wright, LLP, by William G. Wright and Gary K. Shipman for
plaintiffs-appellees.
Ward and Smith, P.A., by Jeremy M. Wilson and Ryal W. Tayloe for defendants-
appellants.
ZACHARY, Judge.
POINT S. PROPS., LLC V CAPE FEAR PUB. UTIL. AUTH. AND
CB WINDSWEPT, LLC V CAPE FEAR PUB. UTIL. AUTH.
Opinion of the Court
In Court of Appeals Case COA 15-371, Cape Fear Public Utility Authority
(CFPUA) and New Hanover County (collectively referred to as defendants) appeal
from an order granting summary judgment in favor of Point South Properties, LLC
and Sanco Builders Corporation (Point South plaintiffs), on plaintiffs’ claims arising
from the payment of impact fees assessed by defendants. Similarly, in Court of
Appeals Case COA 15-374, the same defendants appeal from summary judgment
entered in favor of CB Windswept, LLC; Sellar's Cove, LLC; Telfair Summit, LLC;
and CB Snows Cut Landing, LLC (Windswept plaintiffs), on claims arising from
plaintiffs’ payment of impact fees. Pursuant to the provisions of N.C.R. App. P. 40,
the cases were consolidated for oral argument by this Court. Moreover, in that “both
appeals involve common questions of law, as evidenced by defendants’ decision to
submit virtually identical appellate briefs in each case,” the Court has consolidated
“these appeals for the purpose of rendering a single opinion on all issues properly
before the Court.” Putman v. Alexander, 194 N.C. App. 578, 580, 670 S.E.2d 610, 613
(2009).
On appeal defendants argue that plaintiffs’ claims were barred by the statute
of limitations and the doctrine of laches, that defendants were entitled to charge
water and sewer impact fees to plaintiffs, and that plaintiffs’ constitutional claims
lack merit. We conclude that plaintiffs’ claims were not barred by the statute of
limitations or the doctrine of laches, that the trial court properly entered summary
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Opinion of the Court
judgment for plaintiffs on their claim that defendants’ imposition of impact fees was
ultra vires, and that it is not necessary to reach the merits of plaintiffs’ constitutional
claims.
I. Factual and Procedural Background
In 1983 New Hanover County created the New Hanover County Water and
Sewer District (NHCWSD), which provided water and sewer service in the
unincorporated areas of the county. In 1987 NHCWSD established an impact fee
policy, pursuant to the terms of which the payment of a water and sewer impact fee
was a precondition for a developer to receive a building permit. The rationale for this
policy was that “the Water and Sewer District was working to expand out its
infrastructure with the goal of providing water and sewer services to everybody
throughout the county.” In 2007 New Hanover County and the City of Wilmington
entered into an interlocal agreement and created CFPUA, a water and sewer
authority. Pursuant to the agreement creating CFPUA, all assets and liabilities of
NHCWSD were transferred to CFPUA. In 2008 CFPUA replaced the previous
ordinances of NHCWSD and of the City of Wilmington with a single CFPUA
ordinance that did not assess impact fees for developments prior to the time that
service was provided.
Plaintiffs are companies engaged in residential development in southern New
Hanover County. Between 2003 and 2006, plaintiffs developed certain properties in
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Opinion of the Court
New Hanover County (the subject properties). In order to obtain the necessary
building permits, plaintiffs were required to pay NHCWSD impact fees associated
with the provision of water and sewer service. The fees totaled approximately
$238,000 paid by the Point South plaintiffs, and approximately $220,000 paid by the
Windswept plaintiffs.
Aqua North Carolina, Inc., (Aqua) is a private utility company providing water
and sewer service in various locations throughout North Carolina. At all times since
their construction, Aqua has provided water and sewer service for the subject
properties. When plaintiffs were first assessed impact fees, they informed defendants
that water and sewer service was provided by Aqua and argued that they should not
have to pay the fees because plaintiffs’ properties were already served by Aqua and
therefore the subject properties would not have any impact on the water or sewer
facilities operated by NHCWSD. Defendants would not capitulate and ultimately
plaintiffs paid the required fees in order to obtain building permits.
As early as 1976, defendants identified the unincorporated areas in the
southern part of New Hanover County as a potential location for expansion of water
and sewer service. Accordingly, defendants have included this area, which includes
the subject properties, in their long range estimates of possible future demand for
water and sewer service. It is undisputed, however, that defendants have never made
an official decision to extend water and sewer service to any of the subject properties
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Opinion of the Court
or taken any steps towards extending water and sewer service in these specific
developments.
On 21 November 2012 the Point South plaintiffs filed suit against defendants,
seeking the refund of the impact fees plaintiffs had paid, together with interest and
attorney’s fees. The Point South plaintiffs alleged that defendants’ actions in
assessing impact fees were ultra vires and violated plaintiffs’ rights to due process
and equal protection under the United States and North Carolina Constitutions. On
27 December 2012, defendants filed an answer and a motion to remove the Point
South plaintiffs’ action to the United States District Court for the Eastern District of
North Carolina, on the basis of the Point South plaintiffs’ inclusion in their complaint
of claims arising under the U.S. Constitution. The parties each filed an amended
complaint and answer in federal court. Thereafter, the Point South plaintiffs
dismissed their federal constitutional claims and moved for remand to state court.
On 26 March 2013 the case was remanded to the Superior Court of New Hanover
County. On 5 November 2013 the Point South plaintiffs filed their second amended
complaint. On 3 January 2014 defendants filed their answer, raising various
defenses, including allegations that the Point South plaintiffs’ claims were barred by
the applicable statute of limitations and the doctrine of laches, and that the impact
fees were authorized by statute. The Point South plaintiffs and defendants moved
for summary judgment on 21 August 2014 and 27 August 2014, respectively.
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Opinion of the Court
On 27 March 2013 the Windswept plaintiffs filed a complaint seeking damages
arising from their payment of impact fees, including refund of the payments with
interest and attorneys’ fees. The Windswept plaintiffs’ complaint similarly alleged
that defendants’ imposition of impact fees was ultra vires and violated plaintiffs’
rights to due process and equal protection under the North Carolina Constitution. As
the Windswept plaintiffs did not assert any claims arising under the federal
constitution, the issue of removal to federal court did not arise in connection with
their lawsuit. On 5 February 2014 Judge William G. Wright granted the Windswept
plaintiffs’ motion to amend their complaint. On the same date, the Windswept
plaintiffs filed an amended class action complaint on behalf of themselves and others
similarly situated. On 6 March 2014 defendants filed an answer denying the material
allegations of the Windswept plaintiffs’ complaint and asserting various defenses,
including the statute of limitations and the doctrine of laches. The Windswept
plaintiffs filed a motion for class action certification on 28 March 2014, which was
denied by Judge W. Allen Cobb, Jr., on 18 July 2014. The Windswept plaintiffs filed
a motion for summary judgment on 21 August 2014 and defendants filed a motion for
summary judgment on 27 August 2014.
As discussed above, the procedural histories of the claims filed by the Point
South plaintiffs and the Windswept plaintiffs are slightly different, given that the
Point South plaintiffs initially brought claims under the federal constitution and the
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Opinion of the Court
Windswept plaintiffs initially sought class certification. Nevertheless, because the
Point South plaintiffs voluntarily dismissed their federal claims, and the Windswept
plaintiffs did not appeal the denial of their motion for class certification, the parties’
summary judgment motions raised the same issues in both cases. Accordingly, on 4
September 2014 the trial court conducted a single hearing on the summary judgment
motions of the parties in both cases, at which all plaintiffs were represented by the
same law firm. On 23 September 2014 the trial court entered identical orders in both
cases granting summary judgment for the plaintiffs in each case. Defendants timely
entered notices of appeal from both summary judgment orders. As defendants have
raised the same appellate issues in both cases and the plaintiffs have presented the
same defenses, in the remainder of this opinion the term “plaintiffs” shall refer to
both the Point South plaintiffs and the Windswept plaintiffs.
II. Standard of Review
The standard of review of a trial court’s summary judgment order is well-
established. Under N.C. Gen. Stat. § 1A-1, Rule 56(c), summary judgment is properly
entered “if the pleadings, depositions, answers to interrogatories, and admissions on
file, together with the affidavits, if any, show that there is no genuine issue as to any
material fact and that any party is entitled to a judgment as a matter of law.” “ ‘ In
a motion for summary judgment, the evidence presented to the trial court must be
admissible at trial, N.C.G.S. § 1A-1, Rule 56(e) [(2013)], and must be viewed in a light
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Opinion of the Court
most favorable to the non-moving party.’ ” Patmore v. Town of Chapel Hill, N.C., __
N.C. App. __ , __ , 757 S.E.2d 302, 304 (quoting Howerton v. Arai Helmet, Ltd., 358
N.C. 440, 467, 597 S.E.2d 674, 692 (2004) (internal citation omitted)), disc. review
denied, 367 N.C. 519, 758 S.E.2d 874 (2014). “If the trial court grants summary
judgment, the decision should be affirmed on appeal if there is any ground to support
the decision.” Nifong v. C.C. Mangum, Inc., 121 N.C. App. 767, 768, 468 S.E.2d 463,
465 (1996) (citing Shore v. Brown, 324 N.C. 427, 428, 378 S.E.2d 778, 779 (1989)).
“We review trial court orders granting or denying a summary judgment motion
utilizing a de novo standard of review.” Davis v. Woodlake Partners, LLC, __ N.C.
App. __, __, 748 S.E.2d 762, 766 (2013) (citing In re Will of Jones, 362 N.C. 569, 573,
669 S.E.2d 572, 576 (2008)).
III. Statute of Limitations
Defendants argue initially that plaintiffs’ claims are barred by the applicable
statute of limitations. We disagree.
We first clarify the nature of the parties’ dispute as it relates to the statute of
limitations. Defendants assert that plaintiffs’ claims are based on N.C. Gen. Stat. §
162A-88, which grants defendants the authority to levy fees for water and sewer
“services furnished or to be furnished.” Based on their contention that plaintiffs’
claims arise from this statute, defendants assert that plaintiffs’ claims were subject
to the three year statute of limitations set out in N.C. Gen. Stat. § 1-52(2) for claims
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Opinion of the Court
based upon a “liability created by statute.” We conclude, however, that defendants’
position is based upon a misapprehension both of plaintiffs’ complaint and of the
provisions of N.C. Gen. Stat. § 162A-88.
Defendants contend that the parties have no disagreement over defendants’
authority to impose the impact fees at issue and that plaintiffs “simply allege that
the manner in which Defendants have exercised this statutory authority has resulted
in liability.” In addition, defendants maintain that plaintiffs have claimed that
defendants “acted improperly under these statutes by not actually providing sewer
service to the Properties.” Defendants do not cite a basis in the record evidence for
this contention. Our own review of plaintiffs’ complaint reveals that plaintiffs assert
that defendants lacked the authority to impose impact fees under N.C. Gen. Stat. §
162A-88, and that in their complaint plaintiffs do not ask defendants to provide water
or sewer service, or complain of defendants’ failure to provide service. Moreover, at
the hearing on the parties’ summary judgment motions, plaintiffs’ counsel stated
that:
[Defense counsel] says that we are alleging that there is
some implied obligation to provide services within a
designated period of time. Hear me again loud and clear,
we’re not alleging that at all. We’re alleging that they
levied these fees without authority, period. We don’t want
them to provide service. We don’t need them to provide
service. So, we’re not alleging that there’s some obligation
to provide service, we’re saying they had no authority to
extract the fees.
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We conclude that plaintiffs neither conceded defendants’ authority to levy the impact
fees at issue nor based their claims on defendants’ failure to provide water and sewer
service for the subject properties, and that plaintiffs do not contend that defendants
breached a duty owed under N.C. Gen. Stat. § 162A-88. Instead, it is defendants who
raise the statute as a defense to plaintiffs’ claims, by arguing that the impact fees
were authorized under N.C. Gen. Stat. § 162A-88.
In support of their position that the three year statute of limitations in N.C.
Gen. Stat. § 1-52(2) applies to the instant case, defendants cite several cases in which
the plaintiff sought to recover damages based on a statute that established the
defendant’s alleged liability. For example, defendants cite Wilson v. McLeod Oil Co.,
327 N.C. 491, 506, 398 S.E.2d 586, 593 (1990), rehearing denied, 328 N.C. 336, 402
S.E.2d 844 (1991), in which the plaintiffs sought damages under N.C. Gen. Stat. §
143-215.93, which provides in part that “[a]ny person having control over oil or other
hazardous substances which enters the waters of the State . . . shall be strictly liable,
without regard to fault, for damages to persons or property, public or private, caused
by such entry[.]” In Wilson, our Supreme Court held that the plaintiffs’ “statutory
claim based on N.C.G.S. § 143-215.93 is barred by the statute of limitations found in
N.C.G.S. § 1-52(2)[.]” Defendants contend that because plaintiffs’ claims are based
on N.C. Gen. Stat. § 162A-88, plaintiffs are therefore seeking recompense based on a
“liability created by statute.” Although N.C. Gen. Stat. § 162A-88 grants defendants
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the authority to levy fees for water and sewer “services furnished or to be furnished,”
the statute does not impose any duty on defendants, or expose them to liability.
Accordingly, the cases cited by defendants are clearly distinguishable from the
instant case.
We conclude that plaintiffs’ claims are not based upon defendants’ alleged
breach of a duty or liability established by N.C. Gen. Stat. § 162A-88, and that the
statute itself does not expose defendants to liability. Therefore, we hold that
plaintiffs’ claims are not subject to the three year statute of limitations for a claim
based on a liability created by statute.
Defendants also assert, in the alternative, that plaintiffs’ claims are barred by
the two year statute of limitations set out in N.C. Gen. Stat. § 1-53(1) for an “action
against a local unit of government upon a contract, obligation or liability arising out
of a contract, express or implied.” Defendants allege that plaintiffs are seeking
damages based on an “implied” contract, and assert that “[p]laintiffs apparently
attempt to argue that NHCWSD was obligated to immediately provide them with
sewer services.” Defendants do not cite to any allegations of plaintiffs’ complaint for
their position, and we conclude that plaintiffs do not maintain that defendants were
obligated to provide them with water and sewer service either “immediately” or
within some other time limit, but that defendants lacked authority to impose the
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impact fees at issue. Defendants’ argument that plaintiffs’ claims are subject to the
two year statute of limitations for an action arising under a contract is without merit.
Plaintiffs contend that the ten year statute of limitations set out in N.C. Gen.
Stat. § 1-56 applies to their claims. N.C. Gen. Stat. § 1-56 provides that “[a]n action
for relief not otherwise limited by this subchapter may not be commenced more than
10 years after the cause of action has accrued.” Plaintiffs argue that, because no other
statute establishes the statute of limitations for their claim, the residual or “catch
all” period of ten years set out in N.C. Gen. Stat. § 1-56 applies. We agree.
Plaintiffs cite Amward Homes, Inc. v. Town of Cary, 206 N.C. App. 38, 698
S.E.2d 404 (2010), which applied the ten year statute of limitations in N.C. Gen. Stat.
§ 1-56 to the plaintiffs’ claim for damages arising from payments of allegedly ultra
vires impact fees, with Judge Jackson dissenting on the basis that plaintiffs’ appeal
was interlocutory. Upon appeal of Amward Homes to our Supreme Court, during
which time Justice Jackson was seated on the Supreme Court and did not take part
in the consideration of this case, in Amward Homes, Inc. v. Town of Cary, 365 N.C.
305, 716 S.E.2d 849 (2011), the Supreme Court stated that the remaining members
of the Court were equally divided and that “[a]ccordingly, the decision of the Court of
Appeals is left undisturbed and stands without precedential value.” Amward, 365
N.C. at 306, 716 S.E.2d at 850. As a result, this Court’s holding in Amward does not
constitute binding precedent.
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Plaintiffs also direct our attention to Tommy Davis Constr., Inc. v. Cape Fear
Pub. Utility Authority, 2014 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 92449 (E.D.N.C. July 7, 2014), in which
the federal district court for the Eastern District of North Carolina granted summary
judgment in favor of the plaintiff. In Tommy Davis, which is very similar to the case
at hand, the plaintiff real estate developer sued the current defendants for damages
based on plaintiff’s payment of impact fees. In the opinion, which discusses the same
issues raised in the present appeal, the court held that the statute of limitations for
the plaintiff’s claims was ten years. Although neither Amward nor Tommy Davis
constitutes binding precedent, we agree with the holdings of these cases that the
proper statute of limitations is ten years. It is undisputed in the case at bar that
plaintiffs filed suit within ten years of their payment of the challenged impact fees,
and we conclude that plaintiffs’ claims are not barred by the statute of limitations.
IV. Laches
Defendants also argue that plaintiffs’ claims are barred by the doctrine of
laches. “We [have] previously held, ‘laches is an equitable defense and is not available
in an action at law.’ When a ‘[p]laintiff’s claims are legal in nature, not equitable[,]’
laches cannot support judgment for the defendant.” Cater v. Barker, 172 N.C. App.
441, 448, 617 S.E.2d 113, 118 (2005) (quoting City-Wide Asphalt Paving, Inc. v.
Alamance County, 132 N.C. App. 533, 537, 513 S.E.2d 335, 338, disc. rev. denied and
appeal dismissed, 350 N.C. 826, 537 S.E.2d 815 (1999) (internal citations omitted)),
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aff'd, 360 N.C. 357, 625 S.E.2d 778 (2006). In the cases cited by defendants, the
plaintiffs sought injunctive or other equitable relief, while in this case plaintiffs’
claims are legal rather than equitable. Therefore, the doctrine of laches is not
applicable to this case.
Moreover, defendants have failed to produce evidence that they were
prejudiced by plaintiffs’ delay in bringing suit. Defendants assert that they invested
the impact fees “into expansion of wastewater service capacity in order to, in part,
eventually provide services to communities in southern New Hanover County.” It is
undisputed, however, that defendants’ proposed expansion of wastewater service
capacity remains at the planning stage, and that expansion is required without
regard to whether or not the subject properties are ever serviced by defendants.
Defendants contend that their calculation of projected needs included reference to the
subject properties, but have failed to articulate any prejudice arising from inclusion
in planning documents of a figure representing the subject properties. Defendants
do not contend that they undertook any expenditures that would not have been
otherwise necessary, or that their legal position has been negatively impacted by the
passage of time. We conclude that plaintiffs’ claims are not barred by the doctrine of
laches.
V. Authority to Impose Impact Fees
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Defendants argue that the trial court erred by granting summary judgment for
plaintiffs, on the grounds that defendants’ imposition of impact fees was authorized
by N.C. Gen. Stat. § 162A-88, which provides in relevant part that:
The inhabitants of a county water and sewer district
created pursuant to this Article are a body corporate and
politic . . . [and] may establish, revise and collect rates, fees
or other charges and penalties for the use of or [for] the
services furnished or to be furnished by any sanitary sewer
system, water system or sanitary sewer and water system
of the district[.] . . .
Defendants contend that the impact fees were for services “to be furnished.” We
disagree, and conclude that plaintiffs produced uncontradicted evidence establishing
that defendants could not present a prima facie case that defendants have ever
decided or planned for water and sewer service “to be furnished” to the subject
properties. Defendants have not responded to plaintiffs’ evidence with any evidence
demonstrating a genuine issue of material fact, making entry of summary judgment
for plaintiffs proper in this case.
As a preliminary matter, we again spell out the nature of the parties’ dispute,
this time as it relates to defendants’ authority to assess the impact fees at issue. At
the hearing on this matter and in their appellate brief, defendants characterize their
dispute with plaintiffs as an issue of whether defendants have been sufficiently
prompt in arranging to extend water and sewer service to the subject properties. For
example, defendants state in their appellate brief that “Plaintiffs contend that
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NHCWSD's actions were ultra vires because NHCWSD charged impact fees for
properties that would not immediately be connected to its wastewater system.”
Plaintiffs’ complaint, however, does not fault defendants for failing to “immediately”
extend water and sewer service to the subject properties, or allege that it is the
timeline of defendants’ actions that renders the impact fees ultra vires. Rather,
plaintiffs assert in their complaint that imposition of the impact fees was “beyond the
statutory authority of the Defendants and any of their predecessors in interest,” and
assert in their appellate brief that the “Impact Fees were ultra vires as the fees
assessed to Plaintiffs were neither for services that were furnished nor to be
furnished.” We conclude that the issue before us is not, as defendants have urged,
whether defendants were required to “immediately” extend water and sewer service
to plaintiffs after assessment of impact fees. Rather, we must decide whether there
is evidence from which it might reasonably be found that defendants have ever
evidenced a commitment to extending water and sewer service to the subject
properties, regardless of the timeline.
The record demonstrates that defendants previously have stated their
intention to extend service to specific locations and have set out a target timeline for
doing so. For example, the 9 June 2010 CFPUA minutes includes the following:
Mr. Fletchner provided an overview of [CFPUA’s]
anticipated CIP [Capital Improvement Program] through
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FY [Fiscal Year] 2018. Water CIP was summarized as
follows:
In Fiscal Year 2011, Porters Neck customers will be added
and plans for the extension of a water line down 23rd Street
to Castle Hayne Road will begin.
In Fiscal Year 2012, extensions are planned for Bald Eagle
Lane, and bulk sales should be underway with Pender
County and Figure 8 Island. The distribution system along
Kerr Avenue will be continued. FY2012 includes plans to
extend water service down Carolina Beach Road to the
South. . . .
In Fiscal Year 2013, . . . [the] Authority plans to expand
into the Middle Sound area[.] . . . Extensions will continue
in the Southern part of the County and along River Road.
In Fiscal Year 2014, the Sweeny plant expansion will be
completed . . . [and the] Authority plans to extend service
into the Bayshore area.
No new growth is anticipated for Fiscal Years 2015 and
2016. In Fiscal Year 2017, additional growth is expected
in the Porters Neck area and along Castle Hayne road. In
Fiscal Year 2018, the Authority expects to continue
building the system in the Northern part of the County.
The wastewater CIP was summarized as follows:
In Fiscal Year 2011 . . .[through] 2013, the Authority will
address pump station upgrades[.] . . .
In Fiscal Year 2014, the Authority expects to work closely
with the New Hanover County Health Department to
address failing septic systems in the Southern part of the
County. No new expansion is anticipated for Fiscal Years
2015 and 2016.
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In Fiscal Year 2017, . . . [the Authority will] continue to
increase pump station capacity.
In Fiscal Year 2018, the Authority expects to extend
wastewater services in the Heritage Park, Wrightsboro and
Prince George Estates areas.
Defendants do not allege that their capital improvement plan includes any specific
commitment to extend water and sewer service to any of the developments that
comprise the subject properties. Given that these plans extend through Fiscal Year
2018, it appears that the CFPUA has no plans in the foreseeable future to extend
service to the subject properties.
Moreover, at all times since their construction, water and sewer service for the
subject properties has been provided by Aqua, and the defendants do not have the
authority to condemn Aqua’s property. N.C. Gen. Stat. § 40A-5, entitled
“Condemnation of property owned by other condemnors,” provides that a public
condemnor, as defined in N.C. Gen. Stat. § 40A-3, “may condemn the property of a
private condemnor if such property is not in actual public use or not necessary to the
operation of the business of the owner.” N.C. Gen. Stat. § 40A-5(b). Under N.C. Gen.
Stat. § 40A-42(c), if a public condemnor such as CFPUA attempts to condemn
property [that] is owned by a private condemnor, the
vesting of title in the condemnor and the right to
immediate possession of the property shall not become
effective until the superior court has rendered final
judgment (after any appeals) that the property is not in
actual public use or is not necessary to the operation of the
business of the owner, as set forth in G.S. 40A-5(b).
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In this case, it is undisputed that Aqua has continuously provided water and sewer
service and, as a result, that the property owned by Aqua is both in actual use and
“necessary to the operation of the business of the owner.” Therefore, defendants do
not have the authority to exercise the right of eminent domain in order to condemn
Aqua’s property for their own use. In addition, the uncontroverted affidavit of
Thomas J. Roberts, the president and Chief Operating Officer of Aqua, avers in
relevant part that, as regards the Point South plaintiffs:
4. In 2005, Aqua North Carolina, Inc. was granted a
Certificate of Public Convenience and Necessity for several
subdivisions in southern New Hanover County, including
Willow Glen at Beau Rivage subdivision and Point South
Apartment complexes.
...
6. Aqua North Carolina, Inc. has entered into sewer and
water agreements with the developers of Willow Glen at
Beau Rivage subdivision and Point South Apartment
complexes and provides sewer and water service to the
subdivision and apartment complexes.
7. To the best of my knowledge and belief no other entity,
including the New Hanover County Water & Sewer
District or the Cape Fear Public Utility Authority
furnished any water or sewer services to Willow Glen at
Beau Rivage subdivision and Point South Apartment
complexes since their creation and construction.
8. To the best of my knowledge and belief no other entity,
including the New Hanover County Water & Sewer
District or the Cape Fear Public Utility Authority currently
furnishes any water or sewer services to Willow Glen at
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Beau Rivage subdivision and Point South Apartment
complexes.
9. Aqua North Carolina, Inc.’s intent and plan is to
continue to provide water and sewer services to Willow
Glen at Beau Rivage subdivision and Point South
Apartment complexes and other subdivisions in southern
New Hanover County, north of Snow's Cut in accordance
with the terms and provisions of its tariff. Aqua North
Carolina, Inc. has no current intent or plans to abandon or
sell those services and infrastructure and would not
anticipate taking any such action for the foreseeable
future.
10. I have informed the Cape Fear Public Utility Authority
of Aqua North Carolina, Inc.’s intent and plan as stated
above.
11. Aqua North Carolina, Inc. has never been presented
with any offer from the Cape Fear Public Utility Authority
to purchase Aqua North Carolina, Inc.’s services or
infrastructure in southern New Hanover County.
Mr. Roberts also executed an affidavit in regards to the Windswept plaintiffs, which
was essentially identical except for the names of the relevant subdivisions. Thus, the
uncontradicted record evidence establishes that Aqua has always provided water and
sewer service to the subject properties, intends to continue providing water and sewer
service, and that defendants have never contacted Aqua about purchasing the right
to extend service to the subject properties.
To summarize, the uncontradicted record evidence shows that at the time that
defendants required plaintiffs to pay impact fees and at all times since then, the
following circumstances have existed:
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1. Since 1976 defendants have represented that they have
a generalized long range plan to expand water and sewer
service to the southern part of New Hanover County, where
the subject properties are located.
2. Although defendants have stated their intention to
extend water and sewer service to other specific locations
within a projected timeframe, defendants have never
expressed any decision or official commitment to expand
service to any of the subject properties.
3. At all times, the water and sewer service for the subject
properties have been provided by Aqua, and defendants
have never announced an official decision to take concrete
steps towards replacing Aqua as the water and sewer
service provider for these properties.
5. Defendants have not contacted Aqua about purchasing
Aqua’s infrastructure or entered into negotiations or
communications with Aqua about this possibility.
6. Defendants have never stated a timeline, or even an
aspirational target year, for provision of service to any of
the subject properties.
We conclude that there is no evidence in the record that defendants have ever
planned for water and sewer service “to be furnished” to the subject properties. We
hold that under these factual circumstances defendants have failed to show any
evidentiary basis for their contention that the fees were for service “to be furnished.”
If we were to accept defendants’ contention that the documents indicating a
generalized goal of extending water and sewer service to unspecified parts of New
Hanover County at an unspecified time in the indefinite future are sufficient to
authorize imposition of impact fees for services “to be furnished,” then fees could be
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imposed whenever a water and sewer board expressed even the vaguest intention to
possibly extend service at some unspecified time in the future. This would be an
absurd result, and it is well established that:
“The Court will not adopt an interpretation which resulted
in injustice when the statute may reasonably be otherwise
consistently construed with the intent of the act.
Obviously, the Court will, whenever possible, interpret a
statute so as to avoid absurd consequences.”
Sutton v. Aetna Casualty & Surety Co., 325 N.C. 259, 265, 382 S.E.2d 759, 763 (1989)
(quoting Insurance Co. v. Chantos, 293 N.C. 431, 440, 238 S.E.2d 597, 603 (1977)).
This Court’s holding that defendants have failed to show that impact fees were
assessed for water and sewer service “to be furnished” is based solely upon the specific
facts of this case, in which defendants produced no evidence that they had ever made
a decision to furnish water and sewer service to the subject properties, and had taken
no steps towards extending service to these locations. Accordingly, this Court
expressly declines to state any criteria, guidelines, or standards for determination of
whether the evidence in a particular case is adequate to support assessment of impact
fees for services “to be furnished.”
Moreover, it is noted that in McNeill v. Harnett County, 327 N.C. 552, 570, 398
S.E.2d 475, 485 (1990), our Supreme Court held “that the provisions of N.C.G.S. §
162A-88 authorizing user fees for services ‘to be furnished’ [are] not limited to the
financing of maintenance and improvements of existing customers.” In McNeill,
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however, there was no question that sewer service would be provided to the plaintiffs.
On the facts of this case, we agree with the analysis in Tommy Davis, which
distinguished McNeill and stated that:
[D]efendants in the instant matter have been developing
“plans” to provide water and sewer services to the southern
portion of New Hanover County, which includes [the
subject properties], since 1976. As plaintiff points out,
these plans are at best vague, and some plans even indicate
that water and sewer services will not need to be provided
by the government because service is already available
through Aqua NC. Defendants have not taken concrete
steps to actually provide water and sewer services to [the
subject properties]. As of the time of filing the instant
motions, Aqua NC continued to provide services to [the
properties], eight years after plaintiff paid the impact fees,
and Aqua NC intends to continue to provide those services.
Aqua NC is unaware of any plan by any other entity,
including defendants, to ever provide water and sewer
services to [the subject properties] or any other areas in
southern New Hanover County that are serviced by Aqua
NC. Because no clear steps have been taken over the past
decade since [the properties were] first permitted for
defendants to provide water and sewer services, the
assessment of impact fees was not a reasonable exercise of
defendants' powers, but an ultra vires act beyond their
statutory authority.
Tommy Davis, 2014 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 92449 at *9. We conclude that plaintiffs
produced evidence showing that defendants could not make a prima facie case that
the impact fees were properly imposed for water and sewer service “to be furnished,”
and that defendants failed to produce evidence to rebut plaintiffs’ showing. As a
result, the trial court did not err by granting summary judgment in favor of plaintiffs.
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In reaching this conclusion, we have rejected defendants’ arguments urging us
to reach a contrary result. Defendants direct our attention to N.C. Gen. Stat. § 153A-
4, which states that:
It is the policy of the General Assembly that the counties
of this State should have adequate authority to exercise the
powers, rights, duties, functions, privileges, and
immunities conferred upon them by law. To this end, the
provisions of this Chapter and of local acts shall be broadly
construed and grants of power shall be construed to include
any powers that are reasonably expedient to the exercise of
the power.
Nonetheless, “[w]hen the language of a statute is clear and unambiguous, there is no
room for judicial construction, and the courts must give it its plain and definite
meaning.” Lemons v. Old Hickory Council, 322 N.C. 271, 276, 367 S.E.2d 655, 658
(1988) (citations omitted). The language of N.C. Gen. Stat. § 162A-88 is clear and
unambiguous:
Section 153A-4 does state that any legislative act affecting
counties should be “broadly construed and grants of power
shall be construed to include any powers that are
reasonably expedient to the exercise of the power.” N.C.
Gen. Stat. § 153A-4 [(2013)]. . . . But, in conjunction with
our general rules of statutory construction, only if there is
an ambiguity in a statute found in chapter 153A should
section 153A-4 be part of the courts' interpretative process.
If, however, the statute is clear on its face, the plain
language of the statute controls and section 153A-4
remains idle.
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Durham Land Owners Ass’n v. County of Durham, 177 N.C. App. 629, 633-34, 630
S.E.2d 200, 203, disc review denied, 360 N.C. 532, 633 S.E.2d 678 (2006). We conclude
that N.C. Gen. Stat. § 153A-4 is not applicable to the present case.
Defendants also contend that their assessment of impact fees was authorized
under local ordinances. Assuming, without deciding, that the local ordinances cited
by defendants might grant a broader right to impose impact fees than is allowed
under N.C. Gen. Stat. § 162A-88, N.C. Gen. Stat. § 162A-19 provides that “[a]ll
general, special or local laws, or parts thereof, inconsistent herewith are hereby
declared to be inapplicable to the provisions of this Article.” We conclude that
defendants cannot rely upon a local ordinance to extend the right to assess impact
fees beyond what is allowed under N.C. Gen. Stat. § 162A-88.
Defendants have also filed a Memorandum of Additional Authority citing this
Court’s unpublished opinion in Quality Built Homes Inc. v. Town of Carthage, 2015
N.C. App. LEXIS 656 (N.C. Ct. App. Aug. 4, 2015). “An unpublished opinion
‘establishe[s] no precedent and is not binding authority[.]’ ” Long v. Harris, 137 N.C.
App. 461, 470, 528 S.E.2d 633, 639 (2000) (quoting United Services Automobile Assn.
v. Simpson, 126 N.C. App. 393, 396, 485 S.E.2d 337, 339, disc. review denied, 347 N.C.
141, 492 S.E.2d 37 (1997)). Furthermore, the primary issue in Quality Built Homes
was whether the Town of Carthage was authorized to impose fees for service “to be
furnished,” and the case did not address the question of whether the assessment of
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impact fees was a reasonable exercise of governmental authority under circumstances
similar to those presented in this appeal to this Court. We conclude that Quality
Built Homes does not indicate that we should reach a different result in the present
case.
Finally, defendants argue in their appellate brief that “genuine issues of
material fact remain regarding the amount of damages to which plaintiffs may be
entitled.” This argument is without merit.
Plaintiffs produced records in discovery detailing the impact fees that were
assessed against them, and defendants do not dispute the accuracy of the amounts
stated in these records. Defendants’ designee, Mr. Frank Styers, CFPUA’s Chief
Operating Officer, acknowledged in his deposition that these documents were
defendants’ business records and accurately set out the impact fees at issue. (Styers
depo 72-78) Thus, defendants do not challenge plaintiffs’ contentions regarding the
amounts that were paid. Instead, defendants argue that a genuine issue of material
fact arises from the fact that in some instances plaintiffs paid the fees directly, while
in other instances the fees were initially paid by a builder or other third party who
was then reimbursed by plaintiffs. “An issue is ‘genuine’ if it can be proven by
substantial evidence and a fact is ‘material’ if it would constitute or irrevocably
establish any material element of a claim or a defense.” Lowe v. Bradford, 305 N.C.
366, 369, 289 S.E.2d 363, 366 (1982) (citation omitted). Defendants do not articulate
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a defense to plaintiffs’ claims that would be established by evidence that plaintiffs
paid some of the impact fees directly and others as reimbursement to a builder.
Defendants also assert, without citation to any evidence, that plaintiffs may have
increased the sale price of the subject properties or “passed on” the impact fees to
purchasers of homes. Defendants’ contention in this regard is mere speculation. In
addition, defendants do not argue that the legal relationship of the parties would be
affected if, as defendants allege, plaintiffs included their expenses, including impact
fees, in their calculation of the price at which properties were sold. We conclude that
defendants have failed to demonstrate that a genuine issue of material fact exists
that made it improper for the trial court to award summary judgment in favor of
plaintiffs.
We have held that the trial court did not err by granting summary judgment
for plaintiffs on their claim that, on the facts of this case, defendants’ imposition of
impact fees was ultra vires and beyond their authority, and for recovery of plaintiffs’
damages resulting therefrom. Having reached this conclusion, we have no need to
address the parties’ arguments regarding plaintiffs’ claims under the North Carolina
Constitution. We hold that the trial court did not err and that its order should be
AFFIRMED.
Judges STEPHENS and McCULLOUGH concur.
- 27 -
|
tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
|
FreeLaw
|
In the second part of this two-part blog Onespacemedia's Creative Director James Dellar offers his expertise and advice to young designers moving into their first commercial role. While the first article focuses on the steps from University to getting your foot in the door with an agency, this article is aimed at giving you advice about the ins and outs of agency culture.
The first day of school
Congratulations, you’ve got your first job in a design agency. This is where the real work begins. A big part of a junior designer role is learning the foundations of commercial design. This is everything that they don't tell you at University. The first few years are crucial so here are a few tips that might just give you the edge.
Don’t get ahead of yourself
Every design agency will have a hierarchy and you’ll need to understand it quickly. It may not be obvious from job titles but all of your colleagues will have worked hard to achieve their positions in the company so make sure that you give them the respect they deserve. Their experience and expertise can help you become the designer you want to be. Listen, learn, and know your place. You’re up in the premier league now.
Open, crop, save, repeat
Sometimes your creative director or senior designer will give you a task that seems so boring and mundane that you can lose the will to live. It may be to resize 2,000 images to make them ready for the web, or path out 500 product shots and position them on white backgrounds. Believe me, I’ve done both in the past. At the time it seems horrendous and feels like you’ll be working on it forever. Now, before you moan or roll your eyes, this type of work is character building and here’s why – firstly, every designer should want to help their team members deliver a professionally crafted end product. Secondly, you should approach every piece of work, no matter how small, mundane or stressful, with the same work ethic and attention to detail and quality. Make sure you have a ‘can do’ attitude in everything that you do. You will become a better designer in the long run and these characteristics will stay with you throughout your career.
Don’t become a 'John Doe'
Agency life can be a daunting experience. There will be internal politics and lots of rules, policies and processes. Sometimes work can be stressful - creative people are usually opinionated and disagreements can create tension in the workplace. Designers are passionate people and when tension is riding high it's easy to hide away at your desk and stay out of the way. Remember that you were hired for your skills and personality. This includes your ability to think for yourself and solve problems so if you have an idea about how to solve the creative challenge that two team members are disagreeing over, then speak up. It's far too easy to be a shrinking violet and you'll be the first on the exit list if the company needs to downsize.
Rocking the boat
You may be the only designer or a member of a larger design team; either way you’re there to support the entire company for its creative needs. It's hard to summon creativity on demand but you need to be self-motivated, consistently deliver your best work, and stand by it. Sometimes your boss or peers won't agree with your approach but before you lose the plot, remember that companies have a lot of personalities to manage and the world is bigger than the problems you have on your desk. It's easy to misinterpret your passion for frustration so it's vital that when you do have to defend your work you ensure that your responses are clear and that you have a solid rationale behind any design decisions you have made.
If there is something on your mind about a job, client or colleague make sure that you exercise professional sensitivity and address it with the right person at the right time. For example it's probably not the best idea to bring up your grievances with Dave from accounts when the year-end accounts are due. Low morale effects everyone so if you are going to rock the boat, do it carefully.
Finger on the pulse
Knowledge is power - a phrase especially true in the creative industries. Do you want to be on the cutting edge of design? Then you need to stay up to speed with the latest news, trends, and styles in the industry. Share links though your social channels and with your team. If you don’t have an internal system of sharing inspiration within the agency, be proactive and create one. This not only shows your peers that you’re thinking for yourself but also that you want to help evolve the creative think tank.
Your first live client project
Lets be honest, you’re scared. It’s like a dream where you’re naked at school, and everyone is watching you. And that’s not a bad thing. Suck it up and get on with it.
Go old school
A pen and pad are your best friend. Use either lined paper or off white rough paper, even unused print outs. This means that you’re less precious about how things look. Draw fast and large. Stay clear of details, it’s rough after all.
It’s good to talk
Before you open your software, see if you can grab the attention of another designer. Hit them up when they've come up for air from their work - the kitchen or other communal areas are always good places to strike up a conversation. Talk them through your ideas (they’ll probably already know the brief) and see what their thoughts are. They will give you feedback on your ideas and possibly unlock something that you hadn’t considered.
Gather the essentials
Make sure you've got everything organised to start the project - typefaces, images, branding, colour schemes. Getting prepped means that you don’t waste time sourcing all this stuff down the line and interrupting someone who may be busy. Organise your files and write paths/locations down on your pad so it’s right in front of you rather than hidden away in an epic email chain.
It's time to put that first pixel down. Go for it, don’t be scared of a blank canvas, this is your time. You know you've got the skills and everything you need to do the job so get all the elements onto the canvas. All designers work in different ways but I prefer to design fast and I don’t usually worry about organising layers and folders until later in the process. Edit, share, discuss, repeat. By the end of the process you'll have something you and your team are proud of.
Know which battles are worth fighting
Critique sessions, both internal and external can be draining. These meetings are there to ensure that everything is designed for a purpose. If there is no purpose or rationale behind a visual element or piece of functionality then it shouldn’t be there. Common sense is your friend when you’re in these meetings. Know when to listen, and when to fight for something. A strong rationale that is grounded in common sense will help you move forward.
The results are in
So there’s a couple of things the client didn’t like; that’s all part of the industry that we’re in. There can be numerous reasons given, or none at all. They may just not like the colour blue! You have to remember that this is an iterative process. Just because you, your peers, and your Mum and Dad like it doesn’t mean that the client will too. Sometimes you will have to compromise and adapt to client ‘must haves’.
Chin up
Every designer’s heart is firmly affixed to their sleeve when it comes to their own work. Rejected ideas aren’t the end of the world, they make you evolve as a designer. Believe in yourself. This belief will get stronger over time as you tackle increasingly challenging briefs.
My wife makes great wallpaper choices
Now of course this doesn’t mean that she can design. By the same token, you're not a surgeon just because you've played the game 'Operation'. The client will likely hold the views and opinions of those who normally make the creative decisions in high regard. Be prepared for anything, this is where good rationale for design decisions will be crucial. Sometimes a client can find it difficult to understand why your idea will work as it may be a new approach and bucks tradition or accepted norms. This is where your research will help you to provide examples of why your ideas will work.
A slice of humble pie
Hurrah! The design has been signed off. Now remember, being humble should be at the heart of your job. Creating a successful, and well-delivered final design that everyone is happy with is your day to day job.
'OK kid, don't get cocky'
You’ve finished the project and everyone is stoked. Don’t down tools, you can celebrate later. If you’re on a roll keep that momentum going — a positive attitude can spread like wildfire and galvanise a team into delivering better and better work. Don't expect your success to make you a hero but rest assured that your efforts will have been noticed. Congratulations, you have become a designer.
Follow us on twitter.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
|
OpenWebText2
|
Nebraska Supreme Court Online Library
www.nebraska.gov/apps-courts-epub/
07/31/2020 08:10 AM CDT
- 124 -
Nebraska Supreme Court Advance Sheets
306 Nebraska Reports
LANHAM v. BNSF RAILWAY CO.
Cite as 306 Neb. 124
Alexander Lanham, appellant and
cross-appellee, v. BNSF Railway
Company, appellee and
cross-appellant.
___ N.W.2d ___
Filed June 12, 2020. No. S-19-114.
supplemental opinion
Appeal from the District Court for Lancaster County:
Robert R. Otte, Judge. Former opinion modified. Motion for
rehearing overruled.
Corey L. Stull and Jeanette Stull, of Atwood, Holsten,
Brown, Deaver & Spier, P.C., L.L.O., and Christopher H.
Leach, of Hubbell Law Firm, L.L.C., for appellant.
Nichole S. Bogen, of Lamson, Dugan & Murray, L.L.P.,
Wayne L. Robbins, Jr., of Robbins Travis, P.L.L.C., and
Andrew S. Tulumello, of Gibson, Dunn & Crutcher, L.L.P.,
for appellee.
Heavican, C.J., Miller-Lerman, Cassel, Stacy, Funke,
Papik, and Freudenberg, JJ.
Per Curiam.
This case is before us on a motion for rehearing filed by
the appellant and cross-appellee, Alexander Lanham, con-
cerning our opinion in Lanham v. BNSF Railway Co. 1 While
1
Lanham v. BNSF Railway Co., 305 Neb. 124, 939 N.W.2d 363 (2020).
- 125 -
Nebraska Supreme Court Advance Sheets
306 Nebraska Reports
LANHAM v. BNSF RAILWAY CO.
Cite as 306 Neb. 124
there is no substantive merit to the motion, Lanham correctly
points out that a statutory citation, also used by the district
court, addressed nonprofit corporations rather than for-profit
corporations such as BNSF Railway Company. This had no
effect upon the outcome of the appeal, as the two statutes
are substantially identical. We overrule the motion, but we
modify the original opinion to substitute the correct citation
as follows:
In syllabus point 11, 2 we withdraw the reference to “Neb.
Rev. Stat. § 21-19,152 (Reissue 2012)” and substitute “Neb.
Rev. Stat. § 21-2,209 (Cum. Supp. 2018).”
We make two changes in the background section. We with-
draw the phrase “Pursuant to Neb. Rev. Stat. § 21-19,152
(Reissue 2012),” in the fourth sentence of the third paragraph. 3
In the first sentence of the fifth paragraph, we add “Neb.
Rev. Stat.” before “§ 21-19,152” and “(Reissue 2012)” after
the statute. 4
We also modify the analysis section in five respects
under the subheading “Consent by Registration.” In the
eighth paragraph, 5 after the first sentence, we add “Because
§ 21-19,152 applies to nonprofit corporations, the district court
should have cited to Neb. Rev. Stat. § 21-2,209 (Cum. Supp.
2018), a nearly identical statute applicable to for-profit cor-
porations like BNSF.” We withdraw the ninth paragraph 6 and
substitute:
Section 21-2,209 provides:
. . . Each foreign corporation authorized to trans-
act business in this state must continuously maintain in
this state:
2
Id. at 125, 939 N.W.2d at 363.
3
Id. at 126, 939 N.W.2d at 366.
4
Id. at 127, 939 N.W.2d at 366.
5
Id. at 133, 939 N.W.2d at 370.
6
Id. at 133-34, 939 N.W.2d at 370.
- 126 -
Nebraska Supreme Court Advance Sheets
306 Nebraska Reports
LANHAM v. BNSF RAILWAY CO.
Cite as 306 Neb. 124
(1) A registered office that may be the same as any of
its places of business; and
(2) A registered agent, who may be:
(i) An individual who resides in this state and whose
business office is identical with the registered office;
(ii) A domestic corporation or not-for-profit domestic
corporation whose business office is identical with the
registered office; or
(iii) A foreign corporation or foreign not-for-profit cor-
poration authorized to transact business in this state whose
business office is identical with the registered office.
In the 10th paragraph, 7 we substitute “21-2,209” for “21-19,152”
in the first and third sentences. Finally, in the second sen-
tence of the last paragraph of the subsection, 8 we substitute
“21-2,209” for “21-19,152.”
The remainder of the opinion shall remain unmodified.
Former opinion modified.
Motion for rehearing overruled.
7
Id. at 134, 939 N.W.2d at 370.
8
Id. at 135, 939 N.W.2d at 371.
|
tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
|
FreeLaw
|
Parents gone wild
On the way back from a biz trip to Miami last week, I picked up a copy of Details, enticed by the “Ultimate Guide to Office Etiquette” coverline. Leaving aside for the moment how much of a dork this makes me — after all, I do it for you guys — turns out I probably should have paid more attention to the ones that asked, “Are You Dating a ‘Tweenager’?” and “Are Your Parents Squandering Your Inheritance?”
Before you click off in disgust, a bit of explanation: I’ve been struck recently not so much by how Yers have been acting, but how parents are behaving.
Consider the aforementioned Details stories. “Tweenager” decries the 35-going-on-12 woman, the center of a “Big Girl Epidemic” that has grown women wearing babydolls, “OMG”ing all over the place, and shrieking over The Hills. And the inheritance story sports the somewhat alarming headline, “It’s Time To Cut Your Parents Off: Mom and Dad are living it up well into their sixties. Guess who’ll pay for it?” According to the story, a Fidelity Investments survey in March not only found that the average Boomer has saved “a paltry $45,000,” but also that “one in five households led by 25-to-42-year-olds has either begun providing financial support to their parents or expect to soon.”
And if you weren’t frightened enough, just flip a few more pages to “Totally Blonde,” where the Girls Next Door are joined by 40-something Real Housewives of Orange County Lauri Waring and Tamra Barney in an, um, swimsuit photo essay the cover calls, “The California Blondes Taking Over Your Sexual Fantasies.” (Notably absent were either of the housewives’ grown children. I’ll let you Google this one on your own.)
Yikes. Admittedly, on the right day, I too might be called a Big Girl. I love The Hills, have long favored the empire waist, and abbreviate with the best of them — and you know my feelings about emoticons. But that sort of thing is generally reserved for indulgent conversations with my girlfriends, not the general public, and I think many of my peers would say the same. And even then, at 27 — despite a melding of pop culture and youth culture that to some extent legitimizes this hair-twirling act — I can actually feel myself aging out of this demo.
Why, then, are people our moms’ age trying so hard to be twentysomethings again? And if they were, was it judgmental to begrudge them that? It’s not as if it hurts us. If Housewife Waring wants to look her kids’ age — as she told Details, “I will never look a day older than 32” — and she can, well, good for her. Maybe.
Even as I was pondering these pressing questions, what should come on but Keeping Up With the Kardashians, featuring another mom gone wild, Kris Jenner, whose necklines, hemlines, naughty mouth, inability to tell the truth, and, oh, everything else often drive even her less than demure daughters to comment. As my friend Jon Caramanica wrote in the LA Times this weekend, “This is a family with severe boundary issues — it is Kris who encourages Kim to pose for Playboy and who cheerily does crisis management about Kim’s sex tape. She seems more interested in the cameras than Kim is.”
And therein lies the problem, right? It does hurt us. Sure, Kim might not have been destined for a Nobel, but with her mom’s expert parenting, she bypassed all the other options and went straight to reality TV caricature and sex object. And the saddest part is, whatever Kim’s feelings about her “career,” she’s obviously living out her mom’s dream. It takes stage-mothering to a whole different place, moving it from behind the scenes to an embarrassing front-and-center.
It isn’t so much that I want our moms to become decrepit hags, rocking away their twilight years over embroidery and weak tea. I appreciate the desire to stay youthful, and the need to build friendships with one’s children — based in part on shared interests and tastes — but surely succumbing to these pressures at the expense of good parenting isn’t the answer. Rather, it’d be awesome if our parents would both take care of themselves and act like adults, so as to, you know, set an example. (Maybe forgo that tanning session for an episode of What Not to Wear; Stacy London would set ’em straight.) And it’s not to suggest that these parents don’t love their children; in fact, I’d bet that if they really knew how their actions would affect their children in the long-term, they’d be horrified and repentant.
But obviously, they don’t know. And the children (we) do end up paying for it. It’s something we first mentioned on The Gig in our “Gen Y on ’60 Minutes'” post — the idea that if we’re not acting our age, it might just be because our parents aren’t either. Perhaps our helicoptering parents put too much of their own lives on hold for us, and now, finally able to do their own thing, they’re overdoing it. Clearly, I’m not sure exactly how I feel yet, but I bet some of you are. What do you think? Is this a case of out-of-control parents, or uptight kids? Or is it just a matter of our parents trying to live their best — albeit somewhat irresponsible — lives, which in the end, is exactly what we want, too?
*****
Friend of The Gig Christine Hassler is looking for a few good stories:
The co-authors of “Chicken Soup for the Twenty-Something Soul” are putting together a collection of inspiring, moving, and funny stories to warm the hearts and soothe the souls of twenty-somethings. And they want YOUR story! This is your shot to inspire others AND be published. (And, we pay!) Deadline to submit your Twenty-Something Story is January 1st. For more details, click here.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
|
Pile-CC
|
Friday, July 29, 2011
You know what you're going to get with Ted Lilly: five or six innings and an insurmountable deficit of runs. You know what you're going to get with Josh Collmenter: that funky-chicken delivery. You know what you're going to get at Dodger Stadium on a Friday night: fireworks. And you know what you're going to get when you use the restroom at a bus station: herpes. So slap on the baseball equivalent of an ass-gasket — low expectations! — and enjoy tonight's game.
Reds win the game in the bottom of the 13th, with Brian Wilson entering and only managing to get one out while walking two and giving up two singles, the latter of which won the game for the Reds, 4-3.
@PPR 10:48p: totally agree with you on the at bat radio feed. it used to be that they'd let it go on for hours afterward; you could hear the post-game show with ken and josh and then roll right into kabc programming. (sigh)
|
tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
|
Pile-CC
|
[Changes in tracheal and lung sounds before and after resection of adenoid cystic carcinoma of the trachea].
A 79-year-old woman was admitted to our hospital with complaints of wheezing and dyspnea. Adenoid cystic carcinoma was diagnosed from the findings on biopsy specimens obtained by fiberoptic bronchoscopy. The tumor was resected and end-to-end anastomosis was performed. Precision analyses of lung sounds were conducted before and after the operation. During eupnea the tracheal sounds prior to operation contained an accentuated, high-frequency component at about 1,500 Hz. The tracheal sounds included a single monophonic wheeze during deep inspiration and 5 wheezes during forced expiration. By contrast, lung sounds in the chest wall were almost normal both before and after the operation. We concluded that increases in high-frequency components in tracheal sounds and the manifestation of various wheezes can be useful in diagnosing tracheal stenosis and/or tumors.
|
tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
|
PubMed Abstracts
|
Q:
How to Position a React Native Button at the bottom of my screen to work on multiple ios devices
I am young to react native search the web for tutorials that could help me with this problem but have not find anything. I know how to move the buttons from point A to B on my screen. The thing is I just cant seem to get it to be fixed at the bottom to work on different form factors of my ios emulator.
So far I have tried marginTop which takes down the button to the screen but as soon as a I change the emulator to a different screen size the button goes up a little. I am asking can I get any guidance as how I may set this to work on different ios screens.
submitButton: {
height: 85,
flex: 1,
backgroundColor: "#FFBB34",
borderColor: "#555555",
borderWidth: 0,
borderRadius: 0,
marginTop: 200,
justifyContent: "flex-start"
}
The code above is my button.
A:
You can use absolute position to put things wherever you want...
submitButton: {
position: 'absolute',
bottom:0,
left:0,
}
will put at bottom of screen, left side....
A:
Here is how I placed the floating button at the bottom-right of the screen.
return (
<View style={mainConatinerStyle}>
{this.renderSwiper()}
{this.renderFloatingMenu()}
</View>
);
Use the following styles for container & button:
mainConatinerStyle: {
flexDirection: 'column',
flex: 1
},floatingMenuButtonStyle: {
alignSelf: 'flex-end',
position: 'absolute',
bottom: 35
}
Output:
|
tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
|
StackExchange
|
Git Town – A high-level command line interface for Git - tnorthcutt
http://www.git-town.com/
======
git-pull
Those who think a wrapper is going to help their development is in for
something when things break and they don't know how to operate things the way
they're meant to.
git is an especially poor choice for wrappers. You're hiding the concepts of
staged and unstaged information, branches, tags, remotes, submodules.
Regardless of VCS, you're setting yourself up for failure when you buy into a
third-party tool's workflow rather than knowing what the hell you're doing.
Pick up git as you go along. Rather than a tool doing who knows what behind
the scene. If you really goof things when you're starting, don't be afraid to
git reset --hard <ref> / git commit --amend + force push, as long as you know
where you're at in history.
~~~
kevingoslar
Git Town doesn't replace Git, nor does it try to shield you from learning how
Git works. It shows the Git commands it runs for you, as well as their output.
When using it, one should make sure to understand what it is doing.
The thing is, Git is awesome, but intentionally designed as a low-level and
generic tool. Using it correctly for particular workflows (like Git Flow or
Github Flow) requires running many Git commands for each operation, and is
highly repetitive.
Good developers engineer repetition away. Great developers share what they
build. Hence Git Town.
~~~
git-pull
> Good developers engineer repetition away. Great developers share what they
> build. Hence Git Town.
As someone who has engineered repetition away and shares what he builds, I
agree, and admire your gumption.
> intentionally designed as a low-level and generic tool.
git is high level. and opinionated. It has branches and tags baked right in.
Compare to SVN or CVS where the support is second class.
> requires running many Git commands for each operation, and is highly
> repetitive.
I run lots of git commands by hand, and can be pretty verbose in commit
messages. I (sort of) try to follow this: [https://chris.beams.io/posts/git-
commit/](https://chris.beams.io/posts/git-commit/)
However, to speed things up, I will sometimes at shell prompt use `ctrl-r` and
search history a bit, then `ctrl-e` to start scrolling in a line brought back
up if I want to both 1. see what I committed last, and 2. get a head start on
writing the commit message.
I also find the staging workflow git has (another thing I personally consider
high-level, purposeful, opinionated to git, and use regularly) to be very
convenient. I can type `git status`, `git diff`, `git diff --cached` to see
what's staged and unstaged. I can use `git reset` to unstage a file. Overall,
I get more granularity on which files I want to add to that commit. This comes
in really handing when reverting, merging and rebasing.
So in my workflow, I don't want to give up control of these things.
Apparently, while I don't use these features, `git bisect` and `git blame`
also benefit from being thoughtful with commits.
> It shows the Git commands it runs for you, as well as their output.
I am glad to hear that.
> nor does it try to shield you from learning how Git works
This is what irks me. I view git as high level and opinionated already, and
have no way of knowing how it would effect someone learning git. I developed
my own habits w/ VCS a long time ago.
That said, leave it up to the people who want to try your project.
(I followed you and starred your repository.)
~~~
crdoconnor
>This is what irks me. I view git as high level and opinionated already
However high level you think it is, it has no opinion on workflows and there's
a need for a tool that will automate and enforce git workflows.
I'm not sure if this tool the answer, but there is a need for some sort of
tool like this.
I wrote a hacky 'git sync' script at an old company and it achieved what
sending a bunch of developers on a course about git did not (it sped up the
workflow and cut down on git errors).
~~~
git-pull
> it has no opinion on workflows
Oh really? Staged/Unstaged + Commit + Push to remote+branch. Branches (I
suppose you could chuck everything in master), and opt-in or out of tagging.
Maybe users will keep their own remote repositories ("forks")? Even then, it's
still pulling in code with the same history that's going to get reconciled via
a merge or rebase. Whether it's "forked" to their own repo or in a branch of
the "main" repo, it's all the same in the end.
> there's a need for a tool that will automate and enforce git workflows
There's easy, light-weight branching baked right into git.
They scale locally, remotely, and also work with different user's remotes.
You can also merge branches into branches. You can pull --rebase them as well.
> there's a need for a tool that will automate and enforce git workflows.
_Beyond_ branches and remotes?
> I wrote a hacky 'git sync' script at an old company and it achieved what
> sending a bunch of developers on a course about git did not (it sped up the
> workflow and cut down on git errors).
Checking out branches and git add/status/diff/commit/push is that time
consuming not only would you need to create a shortcut, other devs would opt-
in to it?
I use shortcuts for various things in my shell. I have a .gitconfig in my dot-
config files ([https://github.com/tony/.dot-
config](https://github.com/tony/.dot-config)). Personal tweaks for coloring
and editor settings, a global gitignore. I'm the kind of a guy who picks up
shell plugins for fun to try them, but I know that pushing a tool on top of a
VCS on colleagues won't go over well.
What did `git sync` do?
~~~
crdoconnor
>there's a need for a tool that will automate and enforce git workflows.
Beyond branches and remotes?
Yeah, because most branching and merging in a team setting follows a policy.
That branch/merge strategy (and naming) is based upon a whole host of things
including testing strategies, release schedules, issue tracker used, code
review policies, how much you need bisect, etc.
Git is entirely indifferent to those workflows and is as happy to let you
follow it as it is to let you commit and push directly to the master branch
with a commit message of "fixed shit".
>Checking out branches and git add/status/diff/commit/push is that time
consuming not only would you need to create a shortcut, other devs would opt-
in to it?
Yeah, when you add stashing, changing to the correct branches, rebasing and
pushing, changing back and unstashing it actually does get tedious, especially
since I needed to run it about 20 times a day.
I actually didn't even create the script for them originally, I created it for
me and they just started using it.
------
jph
Git Town looks thorough to me. It includes well-written source code in Go,
plenty of edge-case error checking, good messages, and excellent feature
tests. Kudos!
If you're interested in branch aliases, here are some that may be helpful that
I use at GitAlias.com.
topic-start = "!f(){ branch=$1; git checkout master; git fetch; git rebase;
git checkout -b "$branch" master; };f"
topic-pull = "!f(){ branch=$(git branch-name); git checkout master; git pull;
git checkout "$branch"; git rebase master; };f"
topic-push = "!f(){ branch=$(git branch-name); git push --set-upstream origin
"$branch"; };f"
topic-finish = "!f(){ branch=$(git branch-name); git checkout master; git
branch --delete "$branch"; git push origin ":$branch"; };f"
branch-name = rev-parse --abbrev-ref HEAD
~~~
jwilk
You should backslash-escape your inner double-quotes.
~~~
jph
Thanks for the advice! Done.
------
dahart
> squash-merge the password-reset branch into the master branch (this makes it
> look like a single, clean commit, without the convoluted merge history and
> the many intermediate commits on your branch)
Is this what most people do? And is this something you can turn off with Git
Town? I don't like to to squash-merge, I spend time making sure my commits are
as much logical and self-contained units as they can be in my branches, and I
want to preserve the ability to revert and/or bisect them later.
~~~
MBlume
It's a trade-off. Many devs don't know how to do that, don't care to do that,
will never learn to do that, and for them squash merge is a good option.
~~~
dahart
For sure. I'm not suggesting anyone else shouldn't; on the contrary just
asking if Git Town goes both ways, and whether squash merge is more common in
practice?
I would have assumed that a regular (not squashed) merge is more common, and
easier to do, because it's the default behavior of "git merge". It takes extra
git commands and/or extra non-default arguments to git merge to get a squash
merge. My GitHub also doesn't default to squash merge, IIRC... Don't you have
to choose squash merge or be told to use it, if you don't otherwise know or
care?
------
rojoca
[https://github.com/Originate/git-
town/blob/master/documentat...](https://github.com/Originate/git-
town/blob/master/documentation/commands/sync.md)
I think it would be good if the docs had the git commands that are run for a
git-town command.
~~~
kevingoslar
Good suggestion, will add them! Git Town uses Cucumber as living
documentation: [https://github.com/Originate/git-
town/blob/master/features/g...](https://github.com/Originate/git-
town/blob/master/features/git-town-
sync/current_branch/feature_branch/no_conflict/with_tracking_branch.feature)
------
sigi45
Hell of work around a few git commands. Screencast, website, promo.
I prefer aliases i configure myself to understand them, most of my colleges
don't even bother with that detail of git commands at all and use an ui.
~~~
superlopuh
I think that's sort of the point, instead of having aliases, this is a low-
effort way to have even people who prefer to use GUI clients (like me) to have
an easy-to-use/install unified command line workflow. I'm very tempted.
------
gt_
I am new to programming (less than 1 year) and the insignificance of this
project is obvious to me. This looks very well done, but my understanding is
that a user friendly wrapper for such a ubiquitous programming tech with
already widespread GUIs and pluins is comparable to reinventing a wheel. It's
a little frustrating how many projects like this appear to get so much
attention and end up on HN, because it makes for a disorienting maze of
distractions for newer programmers. I love all the productivity, excitement,
possibility but it's still peculiar and debatably problematic.
My best guess is this was a personal project that solved some person(s)
problems, and for some reason related to networking or self-promotion, it got
the decoration of a full release treatment. What else could cause this?
I know there are zillions of these every day but this seems like one we all
can see through. Can anyone share some insight here?
Should I be contributing to the heap of projects like these to further my own
career?
~~~
Normal_gaussian
> the insignificance of this project is obvious to me
> comparable to reinventing a wheel
> many projects like this appear to get so much attention and end up on HN
> Can anyone share some insight here?
First the HN audience, its core is hackers and startups. These people have
certain problems in common, and they are always on the lookout for ways to
eliminate them. The hackers build things and the startup people do a lot of
management and they are often one and the same.
Secondly good version control is hard to use across a project without swamping
new arrivals or accidentally breaking something. Git isn't good enough, but it
is what we have.
So like good hackers we take the first, see the second and try and produce
something better. This is how we end up with lots of similar looking projects.
Because they are solving real problems being faced by HN users they get
upvoted until the comments discover some fatal flaw (leaky? prevents key
conflict resolution?).
This author reckons hes solved it, so he gives it the full treatment because
_it is worth a lot to have_ __actually__ _solved it_. If I could resolve git
woes by handing a newbie a ten minute video I would be ecstatic.
Remember, it is important to reinvent the wheel [1] though don't waste time on
these projects unless you can see a way through.
[1]
[https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CMyiLuKUwAA6l-V.jpg](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CMyiLuKUwAA6l-V.jpg)
~~~
jstimpfle
Can't resist:
[https://www.math.uh.edu/~jmorgan/trinity_talk/square_wheel.h...](https://www.math.uh.edu/~jmorgan/trinity_talk/square_wheel.htm)
------
btym
_For example, correctly merging a finished feature branch requires up to 15
individual Git commands!_
Am I missing something? Does `git merge` imply fourteen other commands?
~~~
stinos
Maybe they include things like stashing/popping current uncomitted changes,
switching to target branch, pulling source and target branches first, rebasing
feature branch onto latest target branch, resolving conflicts, ... ? All of
these are things I has to do at one point or another to 'just' merge some
feature branch from somebody else into master while I was working on another
branch myself. So if they combine all of that in one command including taking
care of everything which can go wrong I can imagine getting 15 commands.
~~~
falcolas
> So if they combine all of that in one command including taking care of
> everything which can go wrong I can imagine getting 15 commands.
My concern would be: what happens when the automation encounters and edge
case; what kind of unholy mess would you end up with?
And to be fair, with GitHub and GitLab, doing local feature branch merges has
become a very rare event for me in the last 5 years.
~~~
kevingoslar
Git Town covers a ton of edge cases. Just look at their "features" folder. If
something goes wrong, Git Town allows to cleanly abort and undo what it did so
far and go back to where it started.
That's a lot safer than the unholy mess that ensues when most people try to
run "git reset --hard" or "git push --force" manually.
~~~
Jare
Edge cases handled properly may be the killer feature of this project, at
least for me. With git, as long as I'm in familiar territory it's fine, but
when somethings goes off rails my head's working set explodes with options.
------
rwieruch
I like to keep Git puristic. I have only a few aliases, because I want to
operate on every machine the same way.
Git can be intimidating for newcomers. In the last two years, I noticed the
pattern that I only use a few essential Git commands in order to resolve a
handful of scenarios. I have written them up:
[https://www.robinwieruch.de/git-essential-
commands/](https://www.robinwieruch.de/git-essential-commands/) Maybe it helps
some people to get started.
~~~
charlierudolph
I believe knowing the low level commands is very important. I don't think
anyone should use Git Town without learning everything covered in your
article. Git Town prints every* Git command it runs and what branch it is run
on. That was my first contribution to the project as I wanted to know exactly
what the tool was doing.
* Git Town runs other git commands to inspect the state of things (for example: what is the current branch, are there any uncommitted changes). These are not printed but each one that changes the state (for example: checking out another branch, fetching updates, merging branches) are printed
~~~
rwieruch
I will give it a shot! Thanks for the clarifications :)
------
throwme_1980
Don't bother, learning GIT is a transferable skill, this will be thrown out as
soon as you join a proper development team . Gimmicky at best
~~~
SmellyGeekBoy
I don't see much utility in this but I certainly don't restrict the toolset my
developers use and would be perfectly fine with them using this on any of our
machines, especially if it made their lives easier.
------
georgecalm
Another great alternative that I use every day is
[https://hub.github.com](https://hub.github.com), especially if you work with
GitHub.
~~~
kevingoslar
Hub is awesome, and orthogonal to what Git Town does. You can use both
together, though.
------
746F7475
So this is for people who don't know how to use aliases (bash or git)?
~~~
kevingoslar
Git Town started out as Git aliases written in Bash. Version 3 was many
hundred lines of Bash, pushing it beyond what Bash was designed for. At some
point it got ridiculous, and we got requests for Windows support, as well as
better integration with the Github API. Hence the rewrite in Go.
~~~
746F7475
I still don't see the killer feature here. It just throws around ton of
commands, most of which are completely unnecessary.
------
partycoder
Over the years, there have been many "friendly interfaces to git", in both UI
or command line form.
They all suffer from the same issue: in the face of conflicts they just
failsafe to good old git.
I think these tools are good if you want to do something more productively but
in the end you will still need to know about git.
~~~
qguv
I'm not sure this is trying to prevent anyone from needing to learn the actual
git commands. (Note that the abstraction intentionally leaks by showing the
commands that are run.) It appears to be more of a tool for experienced users
on centralized teams to save some time typing.
------
paulddraper
Slick stuff.
But can you use this in practice and not know what git is doing? Aka is this
really not a leaky abstraction?
I ask sincerely; having known git for years I can't objectively answer this.
~~~
qguv
As an experienced git user, I'd use this on projects with a central repo, if
only because it saves some typing.
------
afshinmeh
Seems interesting but I don't personally like using these kind of projects.
Having a wrapper around another technology or tools to make things easier to
use, encapsulates many more important concepts that you have to know as a good
developer. I don't think giant tech companies use these kind of tools as well.
~~~
oblio
Giant tech companies basically use their own version control systems. Facebook
uses something forked from Mercurial, I think, Google has a Perforce derived
one, etc.
They basically take the approach presented here to 11.
------
franzwong
When I saw the name, I thought it was a simcity game with git :P
------
mempko
The command-line interface is what I loved about darcs. Too bad it never got
the mind share because of early performance problems.
------
jsiepkes
Seems like a more lightweight version of the 'arc' cli tool of Phabricator
(which I really like BTW)?
------
jaimex2
Shouldn't this whole thing just be a pull request into git itself?
~~~
roblabla
No. Git tries to be agnostic to your workflow. Also, some of the commands are
tailored for github, which is not the only git host. See gitlab, gogs, gerrit,
etc...
------
romanr
Looks very similar to Git Flow
------
mdekkers
_Git is a great foundation for source code management._
No. Fucking marketing doublespeak. Git is great for source-code management.
Don't start your pitch by trying to redefine and reposition Git. You lost me
right there.
|
tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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HackerNews
|
Ok, so I've read this and the unfortunate part (unless I missed it and I don't think I did) but when these acronyms are used (like MCH) I wish they would be defined on the 1st useage... can someone be a good soul and explain MCH please??? Reply
We've seen time and time again in the past few years where rushed out the door mobos are over-hyped and in fact don't perform as advertised. Many don't even run industry standard memory without problems which is a disgrace. These boards are way over priced and sought by naive consumers after they read the glowing online reviews that fail to mention the many defects in these products.
Once the motherboard problems start to get online exposure the mobo makers move to the next model chipset and rave how it's so much better than the previous model. Naturally the mobo companies don't fix the problems with the previous products they shipped and in many cases refuse to even acknowledge the defects that become confirmed by tens of thousands of duped customers. Instead the mobo companies whip out the next trick of the week half baked mobo and make sure that hardware review sites get "special" versions for testing so the reviews are always positive despite the production board defects that exist. Unless a reviewer is buying the retail mobo from a retail outlet, they ain't necessarily getting the same mobo as all other consumers.
You gotta wonder if the gullible fanboys will ever wake up to this scam or if they will keep paying through the nose for defective, over priced mobos. As long as sheep keep buying these dysfunctional mobos the manufacturers will keep shipping garbage. There is no incentive to deliver a properly functioning mobo if the sheep will buy half baked goods at twice the price they should sell for.
The C1 / C2 chipset deal is just another example of hype yet people will believe the C2 will provide a 20% performance increase because they are so gullible. One accurate scientific test is worth much more than a thousand online opinions. The fanboys need to buy a clue instead of pissing their money away on crappy mobos and over hyped chipsets. Reply
There were no temperature differences between the two boards on the MCH. We highly recommend that you replace the paste on the MCH heatsink with AS5 and place a 40mm on it if you plan on overclocking 24/7. The same holds true with the DS3, on my personal system I just replaced the MCH heatsink with this one - http://www.newegg.com/Product/Product.asp?Item=N82...">SwiftTech. Reply
I don't believe you can go lower than 1:1 with the 975X/P965 chipsets and Core 2 Duo. That was from the days of Pentium 4/D where you could run the FSB at a higher speed than the RAM. So if you want to overclock, either you pay a boatload of money on RAM, or you don't OC as far, or you get a more expensive CPU. Not great choices unfortunately. Reply
Must vary by motherboard/BIOS implementation. I know I've seen several boards where 1:1 (DDR2-533) is the lowest possible selection. Or maybe there was a DDR2-400 choice I missed? Meh - can't check now, since I don't have the systems anymore. Reply
The article was already completed when 1.37 came out. I have tested it the past couple of days and notice the voltage is reading a tad bit high on some boards now. However, it is a lot more accurate than 1.36 or before. At least it will be easy to tell from the screenshots what range our voltage settings are at now. Reply
Every time I've looked for one, it didn't have the slot configuration I needed, or lacked Firewire...this looks like it might have everything.
My only question left...I've not heard great things about the JMicron IDE controller used since the i965 no longer has ATA support. I'll still need it, what with the lack of good SATA optical drives, and some programs that appear not to like SATA optical drives even if I used them. What does Anandtech think of this controller as opposed to the native Intel ICH7xx IDE controller? Reply
The highest we could get while keeping the memory timings tight was 485FSB, that level required 2.10V on the memory and 1.4625V on the CPU. Anything over 485FSB, we just let the board handle the memory timings automatically, probably could have decreased tRAS to 10. Reply
Conventionally a major reviosion comes with a new letter designation like C1 -> D#
Plus performance improvements of the magnitude apparently rumored would not be sold as the same chipset. Instead it would probably be marketed as a new product and perhaps even released with a new socket or voltage regulation standard to make upgrading even more fun. Reply
Found myself just getting out of the middrift to browse ASUS for that notorious AMD ATI motherboard wich shouldhave been out in September.
Of course I couldn't keep myself from looking at the 775 Intel MBs from ASUS. There is was an ASUS P5B. 1 PCIexpress,and 3PCI . Passive cooling,and an eSata to go with it.
Then alas I still had to find somebody who had something using a 'Core-Duo for sale. To use it. The same story,just enough in a review and nothing on the retail,or you could find something in some foreign country..perhaps.
Yes,there IS a Asus P5B for sale.Yes,it IS an ASUS P5B-E !!! No,..im not going to tell you where. Nananana no,no...(snickers).
Seriously,the Asus P5B fits right there between the other single PCI-e 965 motherboards I have read reviewed on Anandtechs website. I count around 4 of them at the present time. But I keep reading. There is a Foxconn board out there somewhere with the same type of derivitive numbering. Still different specs.and performer however.
Cant really say too much now can we. Dont want to upset the 975x boys now.
That was sort of the point - this is an "apples to apples" comparison of C1 and C2 on a motherboard that will ship with both revisions. Testing a C2-only board and drawing conclusions that C2 is better isn't fair - maybe it's just the board that's better. So basically, any improvements over C1 boards judging by this article are going to be largely due to the improved motherboard/BIOS designs and not the chipset revision. Reply
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
|
There are over 200 types of cancer known, ranging from skin cancer, lung cancer, and prostate cancer. The symptoms may differ significantly for different kinds of cancer, but they all have one thing in common: Cancer. The Apollo Hospitals Cancer Institute is a symbol of hope for thousands of patients and their families, who come here for treatment every year from over 120 countries, offering complete cancer cure for over 93% of cases.
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Apollo Hospitals established 9 dedicated cancer care hospitals across India including Apollo Specialty Cancer Hospital, Apollo Cancer Hospitals Hyderabad, Apollo Hospitals Ahmedabad, Apollo Hospitals Bengaluru, and Apollo Gleneagles Cancer Hospital Kolkata, featuring over 125 surgical and radiation cancer specialists.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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OpenWebText2
|
YOUR LOCATION — Capt. Alan Michaels, the Battalion Chaplain, is on a direct course for your immediate gaggle of soldiers, leaving a trail of dead conversations and awkward silence in his wake, sources confirmed today.
Michaels is perhaps best known for his long, pointless stories from boot camp, usually told in an effort to remind the privates and specialists that he’s just another soldier like you.
Experts predict that Chaplain Michaels will arrive momentarily, likely uttering the phrase “carry on, just pretend I’m not here.” From there, Michaels is expected to smile broadly, as uneasy looks are exchanged between privates who were just moments before discussing their favorite disgusting sexual maneuvers.
“I’m not going to be the one explaining the ‘Angry Pirate’ to Chap, let alone more complex and dangerous moves like the ‘Sad French Clown,’ the ‘Drunk Uncle’, or the ‘Requiem for a Dream,’” said one specialist on condition of anonymity.
Despite there being four other companies in the battalion, Chaplain Michaels is expected to announce that “there’s no place he’d rather be on a Sunday morning” than with the members of your particular company, “except maybe watching football, that is!”
“I swear to Christ, if he’s got his guitar with him again, I’m converting to Satanism,” a nearby sergeant was overhead saying.
At press time, Chaplain Michaels was seen reminding the company atheist that he’ll be holding a nondenominational service over by the flagpole at 1100 hours.
|
tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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OpenWebText2
|
As we previewed on Friday, when we reported that "Russia Nears Completion Of Second "Holy Grail" Gas Deal With China", moments ago during the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation forum taking place this weekend in Beijing, Russia and China signed 17 documents Sunday, greenlighting a second "mega" Russian natural gas to China via the so-called "western" or "Altay" route, which as previously reported, would supply 30 billion cubic meters (bcm) of gas a year to China.
Among the documents signed between Russian President Vladimir Putin and Chinese leader Xi Jinping were the memorandum on the delivery of Russian natural gas to China via the western route, the framework agreement on gas supplies between Russia's Gazprom and China's CNPC and the memorandum of understanding between the Russian energy giant and the Chinese state-owned oil and gas corporation.
“We have reached an understanding in principle concerning the opening of the western route,” Putin said. “We have already agreed on many technical and commercial aspects of this project, laying a good basis for reaching final arrangements.”
RIA adds, citing Gazprom CEO Alexei Miller, that the documents signed by Russia and China on Sunday define the western route as a priority project for the gas cooperation between the two countries.
"First of all these documents stipulate that the "western route" is becoming a priority project for our gas cooperation," Miller said, adding that the documents provide for the export of 30 billion cubic meters of Russian gas to China annually for a 30-year period.
Miller noted that with the increase of deliveries via the western route, the total volume of Russian gas deliveries to China may exceed the current levels of export to Europe in the medium-term perspective. In other words, China has now eclipsed Europe as Russia's biggest, and most strategic natural gas client. More:
Miller, who heads Russia's state-run energy giant, told reporters that "taking into account the increase in deliveries via 'western route,' the volume of supplied [natural gas] to China could exceed European exports in the mid-term perspective." This came after Russian and Chinese energy executives signed on Sunday a package of 17 documents, including a framework deal between Gazprom and China's energy giant CNPC to deliver gas to China via the western route pipeline. Miller said Gazprom and CNPC were in talks on a memorandum of understanding that would see Russia bring gas to China through the western route pipeline, as well as a framework agreement between the two state-owned companies to carry out the deliveries.
The western route will connect fields in western Siberia with northwest China through the Altai Republic. Second and third sections may be added to the pipeline at a later date, bringing its capacity up to 100 billion cubic meters a year.
The facts and figures of the Altay deal are broken down in the following map courtesy of RT:
Also of note, among the business issues discussed by Putin and Xi at their fifth meeting this year was the possibility of payment in Chinese yuan, including for defense deals military, Russian presidential spokesman Dmitry Peskov was cited as saying by RIA Novosti. More from RIA:
Russia's President Vladimir Putin and China's President Xi Jinping have discussed the possibility of using the yuan in mutual transactions in different fields of cooperation, Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov said Sunday. "Much attention has been paid to the topic of mutual payments in diverse fields ... in yuans which will help to strengthen the yuan as the region's reserve currency," Peskov said commenting on the meeting held between Putin and Xi on the sidelines of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) summit in Beijing. On October 13, Russian Economic Development Minister Alexei Ulyukayev announced that Russia was considering Chinese market to partially substitute access to the financial resources of the European Union and the United States. The European Union and the United States have imposed several rounds of economic sanctions on Russia over its alleged involvement in the Ukrainian crisis, a claim Moscow has repeatedly denied. The restrictions prohibit major Russian companies from seeking financing on western capital markets.
Meanwhile, as China and Russia keep forging ahead in a world in which the two becomes tied ever closer in a symtiotic, dollar-free relationship, this is how the US is faring at the same meeting: "China, U.S. Parry Over Preferred Trade Pacts at APEC: Little Progress Made on Separate Trade Deals at Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation Forum."
The U.S. blocked China’s initiatives because it worried that launching FTAAP talks would impede progress on a separate trade deal, the Trans-Pacific Partnership. The ministers’ statement said that any FTAAP deal would build on “ongoing regional undertakings”—a reference to TPP and other regional trade deals. “The Chinese got all they could expect—a reaffirmation that we all share in the vision of having a regional integrated model” for trade, said U.S. Chamber of Commerce Executive Vice President Myron Brilliant. U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry said Saturday that negotiating the TPP “is a battle that we absolutely must win.” Ministers from the 12 TPP nations met Saturday afternoon to try to narrow differences, including disputes between the U.S. and Japan over agriculture and auto trade. On Monday, the leaders of the TPP nations are again scheduled to discuss the trade deal, although no breakthrough is expected. The U.S. is trying to tie an ITA deal to progress on other trade deals with China, as a way to increase its leverage with Beijing. “How the ITA negotiations proceed is an important and useful data point” on China’s ability to negotiate an investment treaty with the U.S., Mr. Froman said. Trade analysts say the U.S. also hopes to use China’s desire to have the Beijing conference produce concrete results as leverage. This is the first major international summit held in China since Xi Jinping took over as Communist Party chief in 2012, and the government wants to use the session to affirm China’s greater role in the world.
Good luck trying to "increase US leverage with Beijing" using a trade conference being held in Beijing as the venue.
In other words instead of actual trade agreements, the US merely jawboned and "shared visions."
Then again, as noted here since 2010, in a world in which one can merely "print one's way to prosperity", what is the need for actual trade? Surely, which China and Russia are expanding their commercial ties at the expense of Europe, the US can continue to pretend it is the world's only superpower and has no need for either Russia or China. After all, Mr. Chairmanwoman can always go back to work and print some more of that "world reserve currency."
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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OpenWebText2
|
Q:
How to fix appending a timestamp when moving a folder on a remote server to a new location on the remote server?
I am trying to run a batch script on my local machine that will take care of some log archiving on some servers. I can access the servers via file explorer "\SERVERNAME\C$\SOME FOLDER." When I attempt to xcopy from the source to the destination locally and append a timestamp its like the TIMESTAMP variable doesn't store my date/time concatenation.
This is for windows 2012r2 servers, I've tried to append just the date\time to the end which works fine, however, its not the desired format I am looking for and it starts nesting the directory with the date but no time and it looks like a mess. :(
I've also tried to use the wmic however this is the first time I am writing a batch file to automate some tasks so all this has been a great learning experience.
I've tried to echo %TIMESTAMP% and nothing returns? I've even tried to add the concatenation (%CUR_YYYY%%CUR_MM%%CUR_DD%-%CUR_HH%%CUR_NN%%CUR_SS%) directly to the file directory and its doesn't work :(
REM Check to see if a service on the machine is stopped (it is always stopped by the time it gets here) before we move the files from the logging directory to a new one.
for /F "tokens=3 delims=: " %%H in ('sc \\REMOTESERVER query "SOME SERVICE NAME" ^| findstr " STATE"') do (
if /I "%%H" == "STOPPED" (
REM substring the date and time and then concat it together at the end to make the desired timestamp variable
set CUR_YYYY = %date:~10,4%
set CUR_MM = %date:~4,2%
set CUR_DD = %date:~7,2%
set CUR_HH = %time:~0,2%
set CUR_NN = %time:~3,2%
set CUR_SS = %time:~6,2%
set CUR_MS = %time:~9,2%
set TIMESTAMP = %CUR_YYYY%%CUR_MM%%CUR_DD%-%CUR_HH%%CUR_NN%%CUR_SS%
REM copy files from the servers source directory and then move the files to a newly created logging folder with a timestamp appened at the end
echo d | xcopy /f /y "\\REMOTE SERVER\src" "\\REMOTE SERVER\dest\Logging_%TIMESTAMP%" /E /I
REM delete the contents of the servers source directory to keep things nice and clean
pushd \\REMOTE SERVER\src && del . /F /Q popd
)
)
The expected result would look like:
SourceFolder on the server will be there but empty
DestinationFolder will have a new Logging folder created Logging_20190325010101 and within the newly created logging folder all the contents from the SourceFolder should be there.
A:
You need to get rid of the whitespace before and after your = in your set commands, also, You need delayedexpansion in the codeblock with changing variables, and there is a better way to get rid of the colons and comma.
@echo off
setlocal enabledelayedexpansion
REM Check to see if a service on the machine is stopped (it is always stopped by the time it gets here) before we move the files from the logging directory to a new one.
for /F "tokens=3 delims=: " %%H in ('sc \\REMOTESERVER query "SOME SERVICE NAME" ^| findstr " STATE"') do (
if /I "%%H" == "STOPPED" (
REM substring the date and time and then concat it together at the end to make the desired timestamp variable
set "CUR_YYYY=%date:~10,4%"
set "CUR_MM=%date:~4,2%"
set "CUR_DD=%date:~7,2%"
set "mytime=!time::=!"
set "mytime=!mytime:,=!"
set "TIMESTAMP=!CUR_YYYY!!CUR_MM!!CUR_DD!-!mytime!"
REM copy files from the servers source directory and then move the files to a newly created logging folder with a timestamp appened at the end
echo d | xcopy /f /y "\\REMOTE SERVER\src" "\\REMOTE SERVER\dest\Logging_!TIMESTAMP!" /E /I
REM delete the contents of the servers source directory to keep things nice and clean
pushd \\REMOTE SERVER\src && del . /F /Q popd
)
)
To explain your issue however, when you set a variable, the whitespace comes as part of the variable.. So:
set variable = value
Will result in a variable with a trailing space %variable % and a value with a leading space <space>value So we always get rid of the whitespace and best to use double quotes to eliminate possible whitespace after the value. for instance:
set "variable=value"
which will create %variable% and value
|
tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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StackExchange
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Pile-CC
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Microtransactions Are Not Evil!
ESports != Game Affecting Microtransactions
Experimental MMO != Upfront Cost + High Sub Cost
Awareness Raising Serious Game != Fixed Cost Model
Greed Is NOT Good
ARPPU Average Revenue Per Paying User is measured on a per month basis. It varies a lot and is one of the less visible numbers in the industry. LTV Lifetime Value of a User Varies MASSIVELY Engagement DAU / MAU 20% Average DAU Daily Active Users Top 40 all above 1 million MAU Monthly Active Users Top 40 all above 7 million Conversion Ratio Monthly Conversion rate of Players to Payers 2% Average Organic Traffic Amount of Traffic you get that isn't due to Ads, Purchased Traffic or Partnerships. Hard number to pin down and the real value is often hidden behind marketing dollars.
Gray Areas Are Green-lit By Greed
Strong Vision Holder
Girl's Gotta Eat
Over the last year a lot of time has been spent thinking, writing and developing my thoughts on social gaming and by extension microtransactions. The last few months of my professional life have involved some fairly complex and sometimes scary monetization designs and discussions. Moving from consoles to social web games has been an interesting path to walk, with many lessons to be learned.Many, not all, business and marketing characters I've met are so focused on the bottom line they cannot see the product. Now in some cases, this is just greed but more often they are not gamers, they do not partake in the craft nor enjoy its fruits.Some quick numbers and explanations for you.First thing that your money people are going to focus on are those numbers, especially the ARPPU. As a game designer, your key metric should be the Engagement, Lifetime value and some of the softer metrics.Instead of gobbling the raw ingredients like a lazy fat child, put in some work to cook up a feast. Take some risks, aspire to improve the game so people want to play it rather than feel compelled to play it. Drive up the engagement, word of mouth buzz and reduce the churn (loss of players). In short, take the long view.The problem with all this is this it is an ambiguous, gray area. The real kicker is that gray areas are always green-lit by greed. In the interest of a 'little more', so much wrong has been done. So many ideas ruined, communities broken, and teams overstretched by wanting that little bit more. The old sustainable farming arguments come into play here.The massive problem is that you as the Games Designer or other development members do not always have the final say, but you can still fight your corner. You can build your arguments and try to provide some strong research and data to help your money people see the long term view.The problem is this Green lighting of Gray areas doesn't only hit the money people can filter into your team. Money is a great excuse to put your toe over the line.The saving grace is if your company founder, CEO or similar authority is a strong vision holder. Failing that, you can have a hard-headed idiotic bitch of a lead designer in heels with a baseball bat and a South African-sized chip on her shoulder or your local equivalent, who �is willing to fight your corner.The design and vision has to remain consistent, lines must be drawn and values upheld. From this position you can try to innovate and develop. It's scary and frightening and there is no guarantee you will get it right. Trust, Integrity and Values can be sold if you're starving. They can never be bought if you're fat and wealthy.So, all this being said, we aren't making games for free, and we need to eat. I've never met anyone in the trenches of game development who wasn't filled with passion for their craft. I've got a whole other post to write about: compromise, tips on winning people over, and facing the harsh realities.At this point, however, I will just recommend this brilliant, fiery rant of awesome:� GDC 2011: No Freakin' Respect! Social Game Developers Rant Back by Brenda Brathwaite ; along with this counter point argument:� Redesigning Wild Ones into Playdom's Top Game: A Social Game Design Reboot by Joshua Dallman We do it because we love our games, not the money... but a girl's gotta eat.[This piece was reprinted from #AltDevBlogADay , a shared blog initiative started by @mike_acton devoted to giving game developers of all disciplines a place to motivate each other to write regularly about their personal game development passions.]
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The representative plaintiff is Lorne Waldman, a leading immigration and refugee lawyer, whose work for Maher Arar has allegedly been copied by Thomson Reuters through its “Litigator” service. Litigator is a fee and subscription-based database for lawyer-created court documents that permits users to copy and edit documents for their own purposes.
According to Mr. Waldman, this case raises important issues about copyright law in the digital age.
“I have always been open to sharing my work in order to advance the law and assist members of the legal profession and the public, however I strongly believe that I and other authors of these documents have the right to ensure that our work is used appropriately, and with our knowledge and consent. This case will determine whether large corporations like Thomson Reuters can profit from the work of others, obtained and copied without permission.”
John Gregory’s listserv has had a vigorous discussion on how far the fair use defence will stretch.
Seems to me that it is, or should be, explicit in the fact of filing a pleading in court that one makes it available to the public to use in any manner it wishes, short of passing off.
I’ll simply add that I, doing it myself, or engaging somebody else, could go to the court and, by paying the per page amount, get a copy of the pleading from the court. If that’s valid, why isn’t Litigator? It’s merely a how much issue. (Yes, I have in mind the joke about the price of sex and what that makes one.)
Call that fair use, if one wishes.
My initial inclination was to say more, but, unfortunately, I have some concern that the same viewpoint that drives the lawsuit might drive various steps against people who cast aspersion on the lawsuit in a public forum.
We have been here before. Back in 2006 we surveyed Slaw readers about access to factums and included responses to survey questions on copyright.
On copyright, there was no clearly dominant position although respondents were attracted by the idea that factums were documents created for a specific public purpose, and should be made publicly accessible. Again the existing protections under the Copyright Act should protect against use that falls outside the fair dealing defence. Those taking the survey noted that the chief use of the factums would be for legal research purposes. Others noted that factums were drafted not as creative works for all time, but as advocacy documents that had the sole purpose of advancing the client’s argument and winning appeals.
According to Prof. Farrow of Osgoode, the supposed reason why courts only award partial and substantive indemnity costs, as opposed to full costs, is that litigants are also engaging the judicial system as a form of public service. As much as it might be derided by some elements of the public, litigation builds on our body of case law, which develops a richer basis for future courts to draw upon.
It would seem to me on first impression that if litigation itself is in part a public service, and filed documents are part of the public record as David points out, there should be no private copyright attached to them at all.
But I would love to see some judicial comment on the subject. I’ll be watching this one closely.
It seems to me that there is a significant difference between having the documents accessible to researchers and making them available for sale as precedents. Of course they should be accessible as part of the public court file, forever, and neither the lawyer nor the client can prevent that because of their investment in creating them.
That does not mean that anyone can come along and sell them as precedents – much less put its own copyright notice on it. That reminds me of one of the Canadian legal publishers who used to – may still – publish a volume called Ontario Provincial Offences (or such like title) which contained a selection of Ontario statutes that create offences. The only text in the whole volume not enacted by the Legislature was the publisher’s copyright notice!
As between lawyer and client, should a retainer agreement deal with copyright in the documents that the lawyer creates for that client under that agreement? When was the last time any lawyer, barrister or solicitor, created an entire legal document from scratch, rather than from his/her/the firm’s precedent base or a commercial text, or other lawyers’ documents in his/her/the firm’s files?
Again, as I said, anyone can walk into any court, or have somebody go into the court for them, and get a copy of any pleading (that isn’t subject to a sealing order) by paying the per page cost. Litigator is the electronic equivalent of the person getting the document. My view is that there’s no practical difference in substance between what the courts are offering and what Thomson is offering, beyond the fact that (1) Thomson isn’t a public institution and (2) If Thomson is making more money from it, let’s assume that it’s more than the courts are.
I’m now going to be very careful. I’ll start with this general observation. It’s disappointing (to me) how often I find support for my jaundiced view of the profession of which I’m a part.
Now for some comments which are more specific.
1. I will consider believing that the action is about principle and not principal when I hear that both Mr. Waldman and his lawyers disclaim, in material filed with the court, any interest in keeping any of the money that they may succeed in forcing Thomson to disgorge beyond, for Mr. Waldman, any actual financial damage he can prove he has sustained (on even a substantial possiblity possibility-but-less than probability basis, assuming he can prove causation on the balance) and for class counsels fees whatever their time is actually worth. That, by the way, should be determined by the court. No contingency. No multiplier. The number of necessary hours put in by class counsel could be relevant.
2. I’d like to know whether Mr. Waldman believes that all of the allegations in the claim are, in fact, true. I don’t mean just that there are technical breaches of copyright law. I want to know that he believes there is harm caused by Thomson that Thomson should pay for. I’ll pick just two:
(a) the first sentence of para 43 “The Arar Factum was never made available to the public in a format that could be edited, copied or revised.”
I’d like to know if Mr. Waldman has that belief about all documents he files with the court. Also, how he asserts the public would know that. I’d hope not to hear “ignorance of the law etc …”
(b) para. 54 “The defendants have infringed the plaintiffs moral rights in the Arar Factum by undermining the work’s integrity. The Arar Factum has been used in association with the Litigator service to the prejudice of the honour and reputation of the plaintiff, contrary to sections 14.1(1), 28.1, and 28.2(1)(b) of the Copyright Act.”
There’s absolutely nothing in the claim that provides any detail as to the alleged prejudice (which I understand to be harm) to the “honour and reputation” of Mr. Waldman. I consider that gap telling given that the pleading also claims punitive damages and the failure to mention any attempts at negotiations/dealings with Thomson regarding the alleged harm to Mr. Waldman.
I also find it telling that there’s nothing in the pleading alleging that Mr. Waldman asked Thomson to withdraw the Arar factum from the service immediately he learned about it.
3. I want to know if Mr. Waldman claims the action would have been filed if the disgorgement of profits claim was not available.
4. Assuming the action is about principle rather than principal principle, I want to know why the punitive damages claim was included.
5. Even if there’s a technical basis to the action’s allegations of breach of copyright, I consider that services such as Litigator provide an essential service to many lawyers. Used properly, they should (and likely already do) make the quality of legal work better by providing precedents to people who might not otherwise have ready access to these documents. The real question, then, is whether Thomson should be paying somebody something for the data it’s assembling in the Litigator database. Thomson maybe profiting from it but so is the profession. That issue should not be resolved in a class action lawsuit.
6. That leads to my next point. This question isn’t rhetorical. Let’s assume that the entity running the Litigator service was entirely not-for profit. Do Mr. Waldman say he would not have agreed to be the name plaintiff? Do his lawyers say they wold not have taken the action?
7. The class described in the action is not limited to people who now are or once were Canadian lawyers. It is:
all persons who are the authors of original legal documents, and all persons, law firms, or other legal entities, who own copyright in the Works, as defined below. The legal documents in question include, without limiting the generality of the foregoing, pleadings, affidavits, facta, and notices of motion that the defendants have copied,used or otherwise dealt with in connection with their Litigator service.
Most people in the profession who fall into that class will be in a position to express their views on being included. They should.
Mine should be clear enough. I think it a fair guess that I qualify as a member of the class. I want no part of the action. Waldman may not include any document any document which in any way qualifies as my “Work” as it is defined in the claim in the action. (It seems to me that if enough “authors” who are members of the class take that position, it’s going to create significant problems for certification.)
I intend to write to Mr. Waldman’s counsel and make it clear that I am not to be included in the class and that no material of mine which is or could be a “work” as defined in the pleading, or part of a “work” or used to create a “work” etc. is to be included in the action. I will post a copy of that letter, here.
It strikes me that if the large Canadian law firms all wrote letters to that effect to Mr. Waldman’s counsel, it would gut the class.
8. In substance, I don’t see any difference between preparing a pleading (including a factum) filed in court that some layer then copies, or writing an article for a legal journal that tells some lawyer exactly how his or her argument should be made, even if it doesn’t contain the exact words. (I expect Mr. Waldman and his lawyers will say that by having the article published in a law journal, I’ve expressly consented to it being used in that fashion. I agree that’s probably TECHNICALLY right. I also agree that 6 is the same as 1/2 dozen.)
9. That leads to my penultimate point, for now. How much of a “you’re not speaking on my behalf” response will it take for Mr. Waldman and class counsel to pull the plug.
10. And my final point (for now). Does Mr. Waldman have an indemnity agreement in place with class counsel so that, if the action is dismssed, somebody else will pay the costs?
I would think it would be somewhat ironic, given the copyright notice that Thomson has placed on the materials, if the very lawyer who had originally authored a pleading finds him or herself on the receiving end of a copyright infringement claim from Thomson.
While I understand the perspective of others posted in this forum, I have a bit of trouble seeing how filing pleadings with the court is tantamount to giving up all rights. Would that not be akin to asserting that, because music is broadcast to the public over the radio, that one should be able to collect, compile and resell those transmissions?
Admittedly I have not given it much thought (and perhaps I’ll post something more intelligent when I do), but intuitively it strikes me that the claim has some degree of merit to it.
Forgot to add – didn’t Milberg Weiss try to do same thing a few years ago? Not a class action but threatening other lawyers with copyright infringement where they believed their work product was being recycled?
Presumably Thomson is taking the position that filing a factum places it in the public domain. If so, they would be unable to copyright the material, I should think. (Though they might have a claim in some other respect against a competitor who took their digitization without compensation, proof problems aside.)
The primary concern here is that we get to see justice being (and having been) done. An economist would have to tell me whether the “public domain upon filing” approach or another structure — assignment of copyright to the court, for instance — would best ensure the promulgation of these law bits in a market economy such as ours. But technology, surely, will become increasingly relevant here: as I understand it the SCC now requires that facta be filed in electronic form; it shouldn’t be long before all pleadings at all courts will be filed electronically; the relevance here is the ease with which these documents can be made available for individual use or, indeed, for collection and redistribution. There will be no need for minions from Thomson to go to the court for the paper copies to be OCRd, though there’ll still be a utility in the collection and indexing of the data. The courts, however, might appropriately choose to assume these tasks. Or they might, equally appropriately, pass them on to CanLII.
Interestingly, CanLII doesn’t currently collect and make available SCC factums and neither does LexUM, which otherwise publishes judgments for the Court. I gather that the Court takes the position that if you wish to take factums from the SCC site for republication — even non-commercial republication — you must get permission from the author.
I must admit I have some difficulty seeing the legal basis upon which one could assert that a document that would otherwise be subject to copyright enters into the public domain once filed with a court and therefore made available to the general public, either perhaps on the basis of an implied license or otherwise (though with the caveat that I’ve certainly not researched the topic lately).
To perhaps take a similar analogy, authors of books are not considered to have placed those books in the public domain when they are placed in a library. Admittedly not a perfect analogy since the authors have not themselves placed the book there and libraries also have special dispensation under the Copyright Act, but I do think it serves to illustrate the point.
Along similar lines, CCH v. LSUC might possibly be helpful (in an ironic sort of way), though it seems fairly clear in this case that Thomson would not be able to rely on the fair dealing exception under s. 29 of the Copyright Act. I also don’t see how any of the other exceptions could apply. In contrast, it seems quite evident to me that a lawyer obtaining a copy of a pleading from a court for use even in the preparation of another pleading could satisfy the requirements to fall within the fair dealing exception.
I should also mention that my previous comment about Thomson suing lawyers was somewhat tongue in cheek. I doubt they would attempt to assert copyright ownership over the original pleading itself and do recognize that they may have an independent claim of copyright in the database that they’ve compiled (and any other related summaries, keywords, indexing, etc. that they’ve added) to the extent that the criteria in CCH v. LSUC is met.
As for the application of technology, again, to be honest, I don’t see how that itself would necessarily alter the application of the law. It would of course change the facts: If the courts were to make pleadings available electronically, then I think the analysis to be undertaken would be very similar to that of CCH v. LSUC and that there be a relatively good basis for arguing that courts fall within the definition of a “library” under the Copyright Act and therefore take advantage of the exceptions applicable to same.
The Lawyers Weekly has an article on this story in the June 18 issue, which includes interviews with counsel,
Sokolov acknowledges “anybody can go to the court file and get a copy of a document and use it as a basis for their research or work. That’s fair.”
But he argues “the difference of course is if you go to a court file and make a copy, the court isn’t making a profit off a lawyer’s work. The court is providing it as a public service. But it’s a material difference to take tens of thousands of documents and offer them for sale, on a bulk basis, without any compensation, or indeed any permission, from the people who wrote them.
“The nature of the copying, the nature of the publication, and the nature of the profit-making from it, puts it in a different category altogether, and we think that that’s what makes this matter actionable.”
Goldblatt adds “on top of that there is also the fact that the documents are transformed into a format where they can be downloaded, and directly copied from [via cut and paste, for example]. So it goes above and beyond research, to where it can be used as the very basis for another draft of the document.”
The Lawyers Weekly article that Omar refers to also quotes from a Slaw comment about the Waldman lawsuit, attributing the words to “one lawyer commenting on the Slaw legal weblog” rather than a specific person. The article states:
“Sokolov and Goldbatt say lawyers who have contacted them about the case from all over North America have been ‘overwhelmingly positive.'”
“However, public reation has been mixed so far, with one lawyer commenting on the Slaw legal weblog that the Litigator service likely improves the quality of legal work ‘by providing precedents to people who might not otherwise have ready access to these documents. The real question, then, is whether Thomson should be paying somebody something for the data it’s assembling in the Litigator database. Thomson maybe profiting from it but so is the profession. That issue should not be resolved in a class action lawsuit.'”
The quotation is lifted from point 5 of my comment (#7) above. I suppose I should be content that the quotation is accurate and that they didn’t spell my name incorrectly.
Five more points about the The Lawyers Weekly piece and the Waldman lawsuit.
1. It’s a prime example of what I call “infomercial” legal writing, with a touch of “groupie-ism” thrown in. There’s a front page picture of Messers. Sokolov and Goldblatt. Per Anybody care to speculate on the relevance of that picture to any aspect of the merits of the lawsuit.
No? That’s what I thought.
2. It displays The Lawyers Weekly too cavalier, in my view, regard for the accuracy of what it publishes. Consider the paragraph
“Sokolov and Goldbatt say lawyers who have contacted them about the case from all over North America have been ‘overwhelmingly positive.’”
I assume that S & G said that, but what does “overwhelmingly positive” mean in this context. Is it numerical? If so, did the LW article writer ask how many “lawyers” had contacted them and from what jurisdictions? Was it 3 out of 4 lawyers from Nunavut? 9 out of 10 from Mississippi? 4 out of 6 from their law firm? Out of all of the thousands of lawyers there are in North America how many have “contacted them”. Or is “overwhelmingly positive” a comment on the views of the few lawyers who contacted S or G; that is, that the lawyers views were “overwhelmingly” positive, whatever “overwhelmingly” means?
3. I think it won’t be too unkind of me to point out that, as civil litigators, “overwhelming” for Messers S & G, in numerical terms, need be no more than an infinitely small amount more than 50%.
4. Given that the LW writer quoted from a Slaw comment, we’re entitled to assume she read the Slaw lead article and all of the comments. The comments refer to a similar complaint in the United States. Does anybody find it surprising that the LW article doesn’t mention that situation, yet it states that the issue “was raised – but not decided – in the action against Google’s books database plan? Regardless of one’s views about the levels of avarice in parts of the profession, it’s instructive to compare the first step the California lawyers took to the actions of Mr. Waldman and his lawyers. Comments #1 and #3 contain links to the California lawyers’ letter to the Chief Justice of the California Supreme Court.
5. If I get bored enough at some point during the summer – if this were winter I’d have a Leaf game to create the opportunity – I’ll see if there’s anything instructive in the 613 mitzvot. Wikipedia has been good enough to reproduce the Maimonides’ list. One never knows. We are, after all, the people of the book, and the law suit is about the use of, in a way, books. Off hand, #308 could be relevant if we substitute “toner” for “oil”; maybe 467, 468, 474, 476, 481; on the other hand, there’s 497 and 500, let alone 501 and 563.
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Podcast: How to Protect Yourself (and Your Data) Online
Our personal data is everywhere online. Much of it we post ourselves on social-networking sites like Facebook and Twitter. But much more is gathered, stored and even sold without our knowledge. We wanted to understand how much of our data is out there, who collects it — and whether, in today’s world of oversharing online — privacy even matters.
FRONTLINE asked two privacy experts to help answer these questions, and talk about what they do to protect themselves online.
Listen Now
Julia Angwin
A journalist and author of Dragnet Nation, Angwin spent a year researching privacy and surveillance, and trying to disconnect.
Hanni Fakhoury
Senior attorney, Electronic Frontier Foundation. At the EFF, Fakhoury focuses on criminal law, privacy and free speech litigation and advocacy, and has worked on privacy and surveillance cases.
Transcript:
By now we all know our personal data is at risk online. It can be stolen by hackers, scooped up by the government, and stockpiled by companies like Google and Facebook. But could you live without the Internet? Imagine losing the convenience of online shopping, navigating roads with only a paper map, or having to crack open an encyclopedia to answer a question.
So what do we do? How do you draw the line between privacy and security? Does privacy even matter if you have nothing to hide? Is there a practical way to unplug?
I’m Sarah Childress, and today, for our latest FRONTLINE roundtable, we’ve asked two privacy experts to help answer these questions.
Joining me today is Julia Angwin, journalist and author of Dragnet Nation. She spent an entire year trying to disconnect. Welcome Julia.
ANGWIN: Great to be here.
FRONTLINE: We also have Hanni Fakhoury, a senior attorney at the Electronic Frontier Foundation who’s worked on some tough cases on tracking and surveillance. Hi Hanni.
FAKHOURY: Thank you for having me.
FRONTLINE: So Julia I want to start with you. What is the average person’s digital trail? How much data is out there?
ANGWIN: Well there’s a lot of data out there about all of us. I tried to find my trail and I was shocked at how vast it was. I identified more than 200 data brokers that had my name and address and personal details for sale. I found all my web searches stored on Google servers dating back to 2006. Everyone I’d ever friended or declined their friend request of on Facebook — all of it was stored in all these different servers. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.
There’s so much data out there about me that I’ll never get to see, the companies that follow you around online and track your movements, and show you those ads that follow you around. The people who are watching the data that comes out of my cellphone without my knowledge. So there’s just a vast digital trail that’s almost impossible for people to control unless they don’t use these devices. But that’s very few people.
FRONTLINE: And Hanni, who is gathering all this information that’s out there?
FAKHOURY: Well there are a number of different, I don’t know if you want to call them groups or entities, that are collecting them. There’s obviously private industry and private companies that make money off of your data — data brokers. And they have mysterious-sounding names like Acxiom, and companies like Experian that do your credit checks. There’s also more well-known companies like Facebook and Google and Twitter, and they’re collecting information about you in order to sell you ads, to cater their services to you, which is really just another way to sell you ads.
And then of course, lurking on top of all of this is the government in a very abstract way, in the sense that both at the state and local level type of law enforcement — your police departments and sheriffs’ offices — as well at the federal level at both the FBI and of course the NSA, are taking advantage of this data explosion and seeking to use this data about you in order to solve crime, investigate national security threats, analyze where crime is going to potentially occur in the future.
There’s even been some discussion of trying to predict who will commit a crime before a crime has been committed. And so you have a confluence of the government and the private sector sharing and taking this data to sell you ads and keep us safe, in a sense.
FRONTLINE: So is there a difference between what the government knows and what companies know?
FAKHOURY: You know that’s a hard question to answer. In a sense that anything a company knows about you the government can find out about you as well, and in a sense they’re partners in that way.
In the NSA scandal, if you will, there’s been much discussion about how the NSA has attempted to get not only information directly from some of the companies by directly accessing servers and the lines that are carrying our communications, but also just submitting requests for all of a person’s telephone metadata for example over an extended period of time. And the companies are just turning that information wholesale over to the government under these requests by the government for that information.
ANGWIN: One thing I think is really telling about the government and company cooperation is if you look at voting records. So if you want to register to vote, which is your duty as a citizen of our democracy, you go to your state and give them some information about yourself — usually your name, address, sometimes your birthdate, oftentimes your party affiliation and a few other details.
Most states sell those lists to commercial data brokers, and then those data brokers buy extra data about you and enhance that, and then often times they sell it right back to the government. So law enforcement might buy those files. Many of the files I looked at about myself from data brokers are ones law enforcement uses all the time, routinely, in investigations. And even some lawmakers buy that data for their campaign targeting. They want to send the right marketing message to different constituents.
So you see it’s a really symbiotic cycle. Both parties benefit from it. And the thing that was so amazing about the Snowden revelations was it was even more symbiotic than we thought. The idea that the NSA was going to such lengths. I mean we sort of knew they might show up at the front door of Google with a court order secretly saying, “Get me the communications of this one particular bad guy.”
But we didn’t know that they were jumping on the traffic, for instance one of the documents showed how they were trying to break into the traffic between Google data centers. Or that they were jumping on the traffic and intercepting the traffic that allows those ads that target you online to follow you around. So even the most innocuous data out there, they’re scooping up.
FRONTLINE: What’s the harm? If you have nothing to hide, does it matter if law enforcement is sharing all of this data if it means you get better product recommendations on Amazon? Does it matter if ad companies are tracking you online?
FAKHOURY: I think the answer to that question is, everyone has something to hide. When you meet someone for the first time you don’t ask them for their social security number and their home address and their sexual orientation or preferences, because there’s some pieces of information that we should want to keep to ourselves, or only disclose to certain people in certain instances after we feel comfortable with that person, or confident they’re going to keep something sensitive about us close to their chest and they’re not going to reveal it to anybody.
I think the second thing is that, I understand oftentimes there are tradeoffs to be made in terms of surrendering a little bit of that autonomy and giving up some of the information about yourself in order to receive some sort of service or benefit or convenience. And I don’t think there’s necessarily anything wrong with that in the abstract.
The problem becomes when people don’t realize there’s a tradeoff for the benefit that they’re getting. When you sign up for a Gmail email account through Google, you are allowing them to scan your email so they can serve you advertisements, and some people may feel that tradeoff is worth it and other people feel that tradeoff is not worth it and they don’t use the service.
But the key important fact to remember is there has to be a clear ability for the person to decide whether to use the service or not. They have to be totally aware that that’s what’s happening. And there should also be alternatives in our market place so people can chose to use an email service that doesn’t scan your emails and they don’t have to necessarily pay for it. Or they would have to pay a smaller cost for it. And I think that’s where the real problem is: that we don’t necessarily have great alternatives to some of these wonderful free services, and some of these wonderful free services are not necessarily detailing what they’re doing.
FRONTLINE: Julia what do you think?
ANGWIN: I think what you should know is that information is power. People who have information about you have power over you. This is definitely just true in life, right?
If you’re going on to a car dealership lot you don’t want the guy to know your income and what models you’ve been looking at, and what other deals you been offered at other dealerships. So we have a basic understanding that there’s certain information we want to keep close to the chest at certain points of our life and other times we don’t.
But our ability to do that is really curtailed these days. In fact one of the stories that my team wrote at The Wall Street Journal was exactly about this issue, at a car dealership. They had learned to scrape the web browsing history of people who were making appointments to come to their lot. And so they already knew what car you were looking for, and they could add on information from data brokers about your income, etc.
So our ability to negotiate everything in life could be affected by this. We could get worse deals on cars, and we could get targeted at a store where they think we’re not going to be a good customer and they don’t treat us well, or we can have the government make a mistake and look at our data and think we’re a threat just because of some browsing pattern we’ve been having.
So the thing is, the harms are real. Ted Kennedy was put on the no-fly list briefly before they realized that was a mistake. So bad data can lead to bad outcomes. You could not get a loan or not get a job.
FRONTLINE: How much do we have a say in what’s collected about us from a legal point of view? Hanni?
FAKHOURY: Well that’s a tricky issue because there’s a very complicated regulatory scheme that’s supposed to govern some of these things. But I mean at its most simplest core, you’re kind of stuck with whatever you agree with. So when you sign up for a service and there’s that huge block of text that says “OK, in exchange for using this service for free we reserve the right to scan your email to sell you advertisements, we will turn over information” —which nobody reads, right?
What those big long legal disclaimers oftentimes will do will give up your ability to really raise any legal challenges in two ways. One- they’ll oftentimes basically say that by clicking and agreeing to use this services you’re agreeing to data collection that we’re engaging in without you really fully contemplating it, and B- if you decide you’re mad about this and you want to sue us, you’re going to have limited remedies, you’re going to have to go through arbitration instead of bringing a lawsuit, and your lawsuit can only be brought in a certain jurisdiction, or in a certain district etc. And there have been some attempts to restrict what these companies can do, but they are kind of hit-and-miss to a certain extent.
Under federal law there are laws that basically say that companies can resell certain forms of data or share other forms of data with other companies to make money, etc. as long as they make the data anonymized. Meaning they can’t turn over “Julia looked at this web browsing history.” It could be “this specific user, who we won’t tell you who that person is, had this specific web browsing history.” The problem with that is that there have been a lot of studies that show anonymizing this information isn’t really a great safeguard, because it’s pretty easy to figure out who that specific person is with just a few data sets.
FRONTLINE: So you’re never really anonymous.
FAKHOURY: Exactly. The idea is that a person’s online behavior is so unique to them specifically, it’s pretty easy to figure out who that particular person is.
FRONTLINE: Have there been cases where people have been harmed by this kind of data collection? I’m just going back to asking what the harm is. Are there cases where this has been abused?
ANGWIN: Even the most innocuous data for instance, the ads that follow you around: even I, as a person who really cares about privacy, don’t feel that horrified about the ads that follow me around, because usually it’s just a pair of shoes and you know, who cares? But in my book, I tell the story of a woman who was checking her Facebook page at work, and one of her colleagues leaned over and looked at her screen and said, “Why is every ad on your page for gay and lesbian things?” and then it dawned on him that she had a particular sexual orientation which she hadn’t shared with her colleagues.
So just that amount of targeting was an inadvertent disclosure that outed her to her colleagues. So it’s just one of these things where it seems really innocuous, and in many cases it may well be, but there are moments where you don’t want that data to be shared out of your control, and it can happen. And obviously even more egregiously, people have definitely lost jobs and not gotten credit and various things because of data about them. And that’s been true for a long time. The thing that’s different now, is so much more data is available.
FRONTLINE: So let’s talk about what the average person can do to protect their privacy. Julia I know you tried to do this for about a year. How difficult was it to opt out?
ANGWIN: It was pretty difficult. I spent a year doing things that probably most people would consider too much of a hassle, and at the end of it I felt like I had been probably only about 50 percent successful. But I’ll tell you the things that worked and the things that didn’t.
So things that worked were I was basically able to protect my web browsing by adding a bunch of technology that would block a lot of the online ad tracking. I was able to have anonymous web searches by switching from Google, which keeps a record of everything you search either by IP address or by your login if you have a Google login. I switched to Duck Duck Go, which is a privacy protecting search engine so it doesn’t store any data, doesn’t have any history of my searches and doesn’t know who I am or where I am.
I quit LinkedIn. I unfriended everyone on Facebook so I didn’t have a list out there of all the people I associate with. And I got better passwords and sort of basic security so hackers wouldn’t get me, and I put little stickers over my camera so no one could take over by remote-control my camera and film me. And so I think most of those things were pretty successful. That was the low-hanging fruit of privacy.
But what was really hard was my cellphone. It’s the perfect tracking device. I carry it around everywhere, I have no ability to modify it without breaking the terms of service basically to prevent it from sending data I don’t want it to send. I turned off location, I turned off Wi-Fi, I cut back on my apps, blah blah blah. But eventually I realized that really the only way to ensure that it wasn’t transmitting when I didn’t want it to was to block the signal physically.
So I basically wrapped it in tinfoil for a day. This guy who was an ex-CIA guy, I’d been telling him I was going to buy a special bag to put my phone in to block the signal and he was like “Oh you don’t need to do that, just wrap it in foil it works fine.” So I thought, “OK, I’ll try it.” So I did, I wrapped it in foil, and it blocked the signal. I tested it, I called it, it didn’t ring, nothing happened, it was just sitting in front of me looking like a crushed sandwich. But it was so terribly depressing the whole day to be carrying around a phone—
FRONTLINE: — That doesn’t work.
ANGWIN: –wrapped in foil. In meetings sort of unwrapping it to check my phone. So I did buy eventually the bag that I keep it in that’s called a Faraday case that blocks the signal. It’s basically a metal-lined bag.
FRONTLINE: So Hanni what do you do? Have you tried any of these methods? Do you keep your phone in tin foil?
FAKHOURY: I do not keep my phone in tin foil, mostly because of the incessant work emails that come through and have to be responded to in an orderly fashion. But what I do do is, as a lawyer — I have some unique perspective on this, because as a lawyer I have to be careful what I say over email to potential clients, and I try to preserve privilege — so basically, what I tell clients is, do not email me at all ever. You can email me, “Hey, can we talk? When’s a good time to talk?” And then I will call them or schedule a time to meet with them in person, but I do not communicate over email with clients, and I minimize that as much as possible.
I’m very conscientious of what I say online and what I post online, both in a professional and a personal capacity. So I have a Twitter account and I use it for work purposes. I never post pictures of personal stuff, nor do I tweet about personal stuff. I only use it for work purposes. I’m also pretty conscientious of what I say and try not to say anything stupid and try not to say anything that’s going to get me in trouble at work, or offensive or rude to anybody. So I try to take a common sense approach to that.
I do try to read the terms of service to new services I use. I try to minimize the amount of services that I do use, and I will pay for services if I feel like it’s a good value. I try to use my EFF email as much as possible because I trust their privacy policy really well, and I know they’re not going to sell my email for advertisements.
But ultimately I’m a sophisticated user, and even I’m not doing the sorts of things Julia was talking about. There are a lot of people who don’t realize what they’re doing or haven’t taken steps to control their privacy at all. What’s interesting is Julia was talking about cellphones, and Consumer Reports just two or three weeks ago issued a report that the majority of smart phone users in this country have no security on their phone at all. So you know how when you have your cellphone you have to put in a four-digit password to get into the phone?
FRONTLINE: Yeah.
FAKHOURY: Consumer Reports found that I think about 33 or 34 percent of all Americans with a smart phone that they surveyed did not have a four-digit pin set up. And it was only a small sliver of people who had installed antivirus software, had installed a kill switch on their phone — had done something more aggressive than just install a four-digit pin. And I think that’s where we need to start thinking about how we can encourage people to really take privacy into their own hands.
And so I think we have to start encouraging the technology companies and the innovators to come up with user-friendly ways to allow people to keep their communications private in ways that aren’t onerous and a big burden, and don’t involve tinfoil and Faraday bags and 60-digit passwords. There has to be an easier way to do those sorts of things.
FRONTLINE: Julia, one of the things you talk about in your book is wrestling with what you’re trying to protect against. As an average person, what am I locking my phone for? Why do I need to make sure people aren’t reading my emails? What’s the level of concern? What do we need to be concerned about?
ANGWIN: Well I think everybody needs to be concerned about criminals. And the truth is criminals are using all the same techniques to get into your information that the government and these companies are. And in some ways there’s just a land grab going on for personal data, and criminal elements are in there just as much.
One reason you should have a password is if you lose your phone, at least now that person can’t get into your data and start sending emails to your friends saying “Wire me a hundred dollars I’m stuck in a prison somewhere, blah blah blah.” And that’s the same reason you don’t want them in your Facebook account. And we’ve all seen these scams and they’re only going to continue to get better. And these scams often play on gaining some information from you about your social network in order to infiltrate that network and extract value from it.
FRONTLINE: So are there three sort of concrete things — someone finally says you know I should actually do something about this — what are three things that anyone could do to start protecting their privacy?
ANGWIN: So I would say the three things that are really easy — they’re not something everyone would want to do — but I would say one of the easiest things I did was switching from Google search to DuckDuckGo search. And this is no slam on Google, they provide great search results, I just didn’t want that search history stored for years and done with whatever, whether the government wants it or whether they want to analyze it — I wanted it not in their hands.
Another thing that was a very successful strategy, a little bit controversial, but compartmentalizing your life. Basically you don’t have to have the same accounts for everything, and in fact I recommend having basically fake identities. So I have an email address with a different name that I use just for all those random websites that want you to log in. They don’t need to know everything about you. So come up with a different account that logs into those. And for my kids, I don’t want them to have a digital trail, but they want to be online, and I’m in a very tech-saturated household, so they have fake names they use online. So I basically recommend fake identities. And it sounds kind of illegal, but it’s not illegal if you’re not using it for fraud, or any criminal intent. If you’re just using it because you want to have a name on some network, go for it. Kids should have, in my opinion, Facebook accounts under other names.
And the other thing you should do is just try to lock down your web browsing a little bit. Everyone should use the EFF Https Everywhere extension. You can add it to any browser and it basically just makes sure that your Internet browsing sessions are encrypted. Which protects you from criminal hackers and the NSA, so it’s good for both. And I like to block the ad-tracking technology — these invisible tracking companies that are on most websites that follow you around, collect data on your browsing habits. That’s also fairly easy to prevent with various add-ons such as Disconnect or Ghostery, and EFF just launched one called Privacy Badger. So there are a bunch of those out there that are pretty easy to use and they don’t affect your day-to-day life that much.
FRONTLINE: Hanni, what do you think?
FAKHOURY: Well I agree with all of those — especially the use of the EFF software. But a couple of other things I would add is users have to be aware of what’s going on. I know reading that fine print — I’m a lawyer, and reading that fine print is kind of tedious. But the common user has to at least try to grasp and see “I’m singing up for this service what am I getting myself into?”
I think the second important thing is users have to obviously use some common sense and be conscientious and assume — maybe not assume but recognize — that right now there is a growing explosion in all this data that is being generated and there is access to companies, there is access to the government down the road. And so to be careful and conscientious about what they decide they want to post or say online, or do online and think about, like Julia was suggesting, compartmentalizing some of those tasks so it’s a little bit harder to piece everything together with every person.
And ultimately I think the third thing is people have to care, and I think people have to demand that their privacy and their security be respected. That means both reigning in government surveillance, that means opting out of services if they feel a company is not respecting their privacy, and holding companies accountable to their promises of privacy and security.
ANGWIN: One thing that has been happening, and I’m guilty of this too, is in the last 10 years we’ve seen this incredible explosion in Internet services, and it’s such heady times. And I was very unquestioning for many years too about all this technology. I loved it, I sort of just received it, and I was like, “Wow, now I can make phone calls from anywhere, this is incredible.” I think we’re just collectively waking up to the fact that they’re not free, these services, many of them, they come with a cost.
FRONTLINE: So what’s the endgame here? Julia you talked about sort of being in the honeymoon period of information sharing. So what lies ahead? And I’d love to hear from both of you on this. Where are we going to be in five or 10 years when it comes to privacy, when it comes to surveillance?
ANGWIN: You know I’m really worried about where we’re going to be in five or ten years actually. I think people are going to start to care more about privacy when their neighbors are surveilling them. It isn’t quite yet affordable for our neighbors to be flying drones over our backyards, or using technology to intercept our emails — although all of that stuff is possible, and will happen. We’re all going to have iPhones that we can hold up and do facial recognition on the people we walk by on the street. And I actually think this may be the moment when we will start to care about privacy, because that threat will seem so real and in front of us.
But I’m really worried about that world, I think it’s going to change something even more fundamental than all the sort of theoretical rights we’ve been talking about. Or even when I’m talking about losing money on a car purchase. There’s something just about the public space that we all occupy together being kind of a surveillance war zone, and who has the best technology, and who’s recording who. It all starts to feel like we’re just in constant litigation with each other. And I just don’t want my kids to grow up in a world like that.
FRONTLINE: Is it going to be too late by then to make the changes that you were talking about?
ANGWIN: Well I always say it’s never too late — this is my motto. You know it took a long time for cars to get seatbelts installed. I think we will also come to moment where we want to confront the underbelly of our information society, and reign it in a little bit. What I am worried about is we’re going to get to a point where the technology is so small and so invisible. The cameras are going to get so small we’re not going to see them anymore. Then I think it just becomes part of the infrastructure, and it’s a little harder to fight against.
Similarly, our ability to watch the watchers, the way that I can look at the traffic that leaves my computer and see where it’s flowing, and that allows me to know actually where my data is going, that is curtailed for instance in the mobile world. I can’t see that as well. So our ability to surveil the surveillers is going to get clamped down as the technology evolves. We’re going to have less power to audit and see how we’re being watched if we don’t come up with some sort of legal mechanism now.
FRONTLINE: Hanni what do you think? What do you see?
FAKHOURY: I think Julia is exactly right. The technology is advancing and developing and part of the problem is it’s advancing and developing much faster than the law can keep up with it. Right now the law is trying to address the problems of the technology as it existed a few years ago, while new technologies are being deployed very quickly. We’re going to see the technology continue to develop, but my hope is that we’ll see the law develop a little bit faster.
We get a lot of calls from lawmakers at the state level who are looking to be more aggressive and put privacy protections for their citizens.
I think people are sufficiently outraged with the NSA situation, for example, that there are a number of bills in front of Congress right now to reign in some of the abuses of the NSA surveillance scandal. And the fact that there is actual legislation out there that would restrict some of these data collection practices is an encouraging sign that there’s recognition by Congress that the American public is very upset about the breadth of the NSA surveillance.
And I think we’re starting to see a similar approach with other forms of surveillance. There’s been a lot of talk about allowing consumers the ability to erase prior data that they’ve put on, for a consumer to get access to information that companies have about you. You’re allowed to get a credit report every year for free, something similar where you can make a request to the company say “What information do you have on me? Share it with me once a year so I can see what’s going on.”
Those sorts of approaches are unique and new and they’re going to be challenged, and there’s gong to be good proposals and bad proposals. But the fact that we’re having those conversations, that there’s legislation picking up across the country is an encouraging sign that we are moving forward and trying to keep people’s information private and protect the details of their lives better than we had in the past.
FRONTLINE: Well I think we’re pretty much out of time. Thank you so much to both of you for being here today. I really appreciate it.
For our listeners, you can visit pbs.org/frontline for more on privacy, surveillance, and the Snowden revelations. And check out United States of Secrets, a two-part investigation into the American surveillance state. You can watch part one, a history of the NSA’s program online anytime, part two on the relationship between the NSA and Silicon Valley premieres on-air and online Tuesday, May 20.
In order to foster a civil and literate discussion that respects all participants, FRONTLINE has the following guidelines for commentary. By submitting comments here, you are consenting to these rules:
Readers' comments that include profanity, obscenity, personal attacks, harassment, or are defamatory, sexist, racist, violate a third party's right to privacy, or are otherwise inappropriate, will be removed. Entries that are unsigned or are "signed" by someone other than the actual author will be removed. We reserve the right to not post comments that are more than 400 words. We will take steps to block users who repeatedly violate our commenting rules, terms of use, or privacy policies. You are fully responsible for your comments.
Funding for FRONTLINE is provided through the support of PBS viewers and by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. Major funding for FRONTLINE is provided by John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation. Additional funding is provided by the Park Foundation, the Ford Foundation, Wyncote Foundation, and the FRONTLINE Journalism Fund with major support from Jon and Jo Ann Hagler on behalf of the Jon L. Hagler Foundation.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
|
Serum biochemistry reference intervals of live wild dugongs (Dugong dugon) from urban coastal Australia.
Little is known about the baseline clinical pathology of the dugong (Dugong dugon), a vulnerable marine mammal found in tropical coastal marine systems. The purpose of the study was to collect and determine reference intervals (RI) for select serum biochemical variables for dugongs, and to analyze differences between males and females and different age groups. Reference intervals were established from 103 apparently healthy, wild-caught dugongs for 31 analytes using a Beckman Coulter AU400 Automated Chemistry Analyzer and an Olympus AU680 Chemistry-Immuno Analyzer. Significant differences (P < .05) in some of the variables were found related to size class, sex, and pregnancy status. Adult dugongs had higher serum sodium, potassium, bicarbonate, glucose, and l-lactate concentrations and higher anion gap, compared to sub-adults. Male dugongs had higher triglyceride and l-lactate concentrations than females. Pregnant females displayed higher l-lactate levels compared to nonpregnant animals. Statistical differences in variables within the population contributed to better understanding of the physiologic differences between cohorts. Some serum biochemistry changes observed in this study here also potentially include some effects of pursuit on dugongs (eg, higher l-lactate); however, as all dugongs were subject to similar capture and handling, serum biochemistry RI should be considered as normal for captured dugongs. The serum biochemical RI documented here are considered representative of a population of healthy captured dugongs. They provide a baseline for health surveillance of this and other dugong populations.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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PubMed Abstracts
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An outbreak of severe acute respiratory syndrome (SARS) began in Guangdong, China, on November 16, 2002. The first three SARS cases in Singapore were confirmed on March 6, 2003. By May 5, a total of 204 cases, including 27 deaths, had been confirmed. The last case was isolated on May 11, and by July 30, the end of the outbreak, 205 patients had recovered and 33 had died ([@R1]).
Since SARS infection may come from ordinary contact with acquaintances, colleagues, or strangers, outbreaks can trigger anxiety and influence public perception of susceptibility, causing serious economic and social disruption. The need for health information and for crisis management by public health authorities is also high. We examine four areas of public reaction to the SARS outbreak in Singapore: preventive practices, perception of self-health, knowledge of SARS, and appraisal of SARS crisis management.
Materials and Methods
=====================
Sample
------
We interviewed a representative stratified random sample of 1,202 adults (≥21 years of age). To minimize personal contact during the outbreak, participants were interviewed by telephone instead of face-to-face. The residential telephone sampling covered 90% of households in Singapore. The response rate was 62.3%, and the sampling error ±3.5% ([Table 1](#T1){ref-type="table"}). We used Random Digit Dialing+1, a system commonly used in public health studies, to capture unlisted telephone numbers ([@R3]).
###### Demographic characteristics of study and total population
Characteristics Study population Total population^a^
------------------------------------------ --------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------
Ethnicity
Chinese
Malay
Indian
Other 900 (75.0)
172 (14.0)
82 (7.0)
47 (4.0) 2,505,400 (76.8)
453,600 (13.9)
257,800 (7.9)
46,400 (1.4)
Age
21--29^b^
30--39
40--49
50 and older 233 (19.0)
313 (26.0)
312 (26.0)
343 (28.0) 480,191 (20.4)
613,944 (26.1)
575,674 (24.5)
681,282 (29.0)
Sex
Male
Female 599 (49.9)
602 (50.1) 1,630,293 (49.9)
1,632,916 (50.1)
^a^Ref. [@R2].
^b^Total population figures refer to ages 20--29 years.
Data Collection
---------------
We modified and expanded a structured questionnaire provided by researchers from the Department of Community Medicine, University of Hong Kong (A.J. Hedley, T.H. Tan, G.M. Leung, B.H.Y. Chan, S.Y. Ho, L.M. Ho, unpub. data). The modified questionnaire ([Appendix](#SD1){ref-type="local-data"}) was translated into Mandarin, Malay, and English; interviews were conducted from May 5 to May 10, 2003. Factor analysis and logistic regression (SPSS for Windows \[Version 11.5\]) examined trends among four factors (SARS prevention, perception of self-health, knowledge of SARS, and perception of health authorities' crisis management). We also assessed how prevention measures correlated with other factors, including respondents' demographic characteristics.
Preventive Measures
-------------------
Eight questions focused on respondents' prevention practices in the 3 days before the interview. We constructed a composite index indicating the total number (from 0 to 8) of preventive measures taken. A dichotomous indicator of preventive behavior was calculated based on the mean number of precautions taken (4.68): "low" (≤5) versus "high" (≥6).
Self-Health Perception
----------------------
Three sets of questions addressed respondents' perception of their own health. The first set covered nine physical health complaints. We created a composite index of symptoms by adding all instances of health complaints over the previous 2 weeks. This index was 0 to 7 in our study since no one reported having more than seven of the nine symptoms.
The second set was a "frame of mind" index fashioned after B.A. Thyer's Clinical Anxiety Scale ([@R4]). Scores for positive items were 1 (not at all) to 4 (very much); negative item scores were reversed, so lower total scores indicated higher anxiety. The scale had an Alpha reliability coefficient of 0.8244.
The third set addressed respondents' perceived susceptibility to SARS. Scores were 4 (very likely) to 0 (don't know). On the basis of the average score (1.5; standard deviation \[SD\] 1.01), we created a dichotomous variable to contrast respondents who believed they were susceptible to contracting SARS (scores 3 and 4) with those who did not (scores 0--2).
Knowledge of SARS
-----------------
Three questions tested SARS knowledge. Responses were scored 0 (incorrect) or 1 (correct); a composite index indicated the number of correct answers, from none correct (0) to all three correct ([@R3]).
Appraisal of Crisis Management
------------------------------
Four sets of questions addressed respondents' appraisal of crisis management, but we discuss the three most relevant. The first set of five questions (Alpha reliability 0.8136) assessed opinions on information distribution. Scores were 1 (very negative) to 6 (very positive). On the basis of the mean score (4.83; SD 0.617), we calculated a dichotomous index: negative appraisal (scores ≤4.7) versus positive appraisal (scores ≥4.8).
The second set of questions addressed openness of communication. Scores were 1 (very negative) to 6 (very positive). By using the sample's mean score (4.31; SD 1.25), this variable was dichotomized into "disagreement" (scores 1--3) and "agreement" (scores 4--6).
The third set referred to the public's acceptance of quarantine regulations. The scores were dichotomized into "agreement" ([@R1]) versus "no agreement" and "don't know" ([@R2]).
Results
=======
Responses to the survey questions are summarized in [Table 2](#T2){ref-type="table"}. Variables were examined by using odds ratios (ORs) at 95% confidence intervals (CI). The statistically significant ORs are reported in [Table 3](#T3){ref-type="table"} with their respective level of significance from the Mantel-Haenszel common odds ratio estimates.
###### Variables used in analysis of public reaction and perspective of SARS crisis
Variable \% Mean SD
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------- -------- --------
Symptoms (0--8) over past 2 weeks
None
One or more
Main SARS-related symptoms
Persistent high fever ≥38°C
Cough
Rapid breathing 77.6
22.4
1.0
9.0
1.0 0.3639 0.8286
Anxiety level
High (1.0--2.2)
Moderate (2.3--3.2)
Low (3.3--4.0) 2.9
42.4
54.7 3.2307 .4819
Perceived likelihood of contracting SARS
Very likely (4)
Likely (3)
Not very likely (2)
Not likely at all (1)
Don't know (0) 4.0
10.0
39.0
29.0
18.0 1.5304 1.014
Knowledge of SARS
No knowledge (0 of 3 answers correct) (0)
1 of 3 answers correct (1)
2 of 3 answers correct (2)
3 of 3 answers correct (3) 11.7
25.0
42.5
20.7 1.7227 .9222
Appraisal of crisis management
"Strongly agree" and "Agree" that information by health authorities is:
Accurate
Clear
Sufficient
Timely
Trustworthy
Population has chance to express personal views and concerns to the authorities, "strongly agree" or "agree."
Agreeable to 10-day quarantine after nonclose contact with SARS-infected person and no symptoms
Agree
Don't agree
Don't know 82.2
86.3
84.5
84.4
87.8
66.3
71.6
22.4
6.0
Years of formal education
≤10 years
≥11 years 57.1
42.9 10.07 3.9642
Practice of preventive measures
Practicing each of eight measures "always" or "most of the time" during the past 3 days:
Covered mouth with tissue when sneezing or coughing
Covered mouth with bare hand when sneezing or coughing
Washed hands after sneezing, coughing, or clearing nose
Used soap or liquid hand-wash when washing hands
Wore a mask
Used serving utensils for shared food
Took preventive measures when touching objects
Washed hands after touching objects
Preventive measures taken over past 3 days (score 0--8)
Five or fewer of the eight measures
Six or more of the eight measures 62.0
47.0
72.0
81.0
4.0
28.0
15.0
48.0
69.3
30.7 4.686 1.5286
###### Practice of SARS preventive measures, 3 days before interviews^a^
Variable No. OR 95% CI
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------- ------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Personal health evaluation**
Symptoms in past 2 weeks
None
One or more
Anxiety^b^
Moderate or high (score ≤3.25)
Low anxiety (score \>3.25)
Perceived likelihood of SARS
Not likely
Likely 932
269
544
657
1,034
167 1.012
0.960
0.861
1.140
1.031
0.833 0.947 to 1.082
0.766 to 1.203
0.757 to 0.978
1.031 to 1.283
0.979 to 1.085
0.621 to 1.118
**Knowledge of SARS**
Two or fewer correct answers
Three correct answers 952
249 1.012
0.954 0.950 to 1.079
0.753 to 1.079
**Appraisal of crisis management**
Quality of official information
Below average (negative)
Above average (positive)
Have chance to express opinion^c^
Disagree
Agree
Agreeable to quarantine when non-close contact with SARS-infected person and no symptoms
Agree
Do not agree or don't know 290
911
271
930
860
341 1.164
0.955
1.434
0.909
0.969
1.084 0.928 to 1.460
0.893 to 1.020
1.115 to 1.846
0.855 to 0.966
0.899 to 1.045
0.888 to 1.323
**Demographic characteristics**
Years of formal education^d^
≤10
\>10
Sex^c^
Male
Female
Age^c^ (y)
\<35
≥35 686
515
599
602
391
809 0.909
1.143
1.339
0.770
1.365
.872 0.821 to 1.006
0.985 to 1.325
1.166 to 1.539
0.689 to 0.861
1.123 to 1.658
0.806 to 0.943
^a^SARS, severe acute respiratory syndrome; OR, odds ratio; CI, 95% confidence interval.
^b^Asymptotic significance (2-sided) ≤0.05.
^c^Asymptotic significance (2-sided) ≤0.001.
^d^Asymptotic significance (2-sided) ≤0.10.
Recommended preventive measures were not practiced uniformly. The most practiced measures 3 days before the interview were using soap when washing hands (81%) and washing hands after sneezing, coughing, or clearing the nose (72%). The least practiced measure was wearing a mask over the mouth. A total of 4% wore masks, and most did so only when visiting a clinic or hospital or when the mask was part of a uniform (as in healthcare workers). The index of preventive measures indicates that most people (69.3%) took some preventive measures.
Respondents' perception of their health was generally positive. A relatively low proportion (22.4%) of respondents reported having any of our nine physical health complaints over the previous 2 weeks, and fewer than 1% reported the three classic symptoms of SARS (fever ≥38°C, cough, rapid breathing). The mean number of health complaints reported in our sample was 0.369 (SD 0.828). The survey also showed low anxiety; only 2.9% of respondents reported high anxiety. The mean anxiety score was 3.23 (SD 0.48). Most respondents (68%) thought they were not very likely or not likely at all to contract SARS, and 18% were not sure of their likelihood. Those who thought they were likely to get the disease reported slightly more anxiety. Of the three aspects of health perception, only anxiety was associated with taking precautions (OR 0.861; 95% CI 0.757--0.978). In the high-anxiety group, 34% followed six or more of the eight preventive measures, in contrast to 28% of respondents who had low anxiety.
Regarding knowledge of SARS, the sample correctly answered an average of 1.722 (SD 0.922) of 3 questions on SARS transmission. Approximately 63% answered two or more questions correctly; 11.7% did not answer any questions correctly.
Respondents had a generally high opinion of authorities' crisis management. More than 80% thought official information was accurate, clear, sufficient, timely, and trustworthy, and 72% were prepared to accept a 10-day quarantine, even in the absence of SARS symptoms or close contact with a SARS patient. Of the three crisis management aspects, one had significant influence on preventive action: respondents' opinion of authorities' openness to communication. People who thought that authorities were open to communication were more inclined to practice six or more of the eight SARS preventive measures (OR 0.909; 95% CI 0.855 to 0.966) than those who thought they had no chance to express their concerns to the authorities (OR 1.434; 95% CI 1.115 to 1.846).
Three demographic characteristics were associated with taking preventive measures against SARS: sex, age, and estimated years of formal education. Women were more inclined (OR 0.770; 95% CI 0.689 to 0.861) than men (OR 1.339; 95% CI 1.166 to 1.539) to take preventive measures; this finding is consistent with other studies on health behavior in Singapore ([@R5]*,*[@R6]). People ≥35 years of age were more inclined to take preventive measures (OR 0.872; 95% CI 0.806 to 0.943) than their younger counterparts (OR 1.365; 95% CI 1.123 to 1.658). The association with education disappeared when controlled for sex.
Discussion
==========
Information regarding the SARS outbreak was widely distributed by the media and government; while this information was essential to keep the public informed of the risks for infection and preventive measures, it also could increase anxiety. However, we found low levels of anxiety in Singapore, and few reported health complaints. Reporting health complaints was not associated with taking precautions against SARS, possibly because the nine symptoms of SARS covered in our questionnaire are associated with other common diseases in Singapore (e.g., dengue fever, the incidence of which was 86.2 per 100,000 in May 2003) and are not usually deemed serious. In fact, familiarity with symptoms was a key initial obstacle in preventing SARS spread in hospitals ([@R7]) and remains an impediment to raising community alertness.
In our sample, anxiety appeared to motivate preventive behavior; those in the highest anxiety group took more precautions. However, anxiety was not associated with the perceived likelihood of contracting SARS. The low percentage of respondents who viewed SARS as a personal risk (14%, compared to 22% found in a similar survey in Toronto \[[@R8]\]) could be explained by the fact that healthcare workers were among the first SARS patients. By the time the interviews began, two physicians had died, and two hospitals had clusters of cases. Lay respondents (those with no contact with hospitals or healthcare workers) may have perceived SARS an occupational hazard.
Distribution of SARS information and prevention advice in Singapore increased rapidly over the 2 months preceding the interviews. All types of media were used, including a public television channel, the "SARS Channel," established to give current and comprehensive information on world infection trends and Singapore's situation. The Ministry of Health provided SARS information on its Web site ([@R9]), taking advantage of the fact that, as of December 2001, Singapore had 1.9 million Internet subscribers (out of 3.3 million population) ([@R10]). Of respondents, 20.7% were able to correctly answer all three SARS questions, and these did not differ in the practice of preventive measures from those who had less SARS knowledge. The absence of a correlation between knowledge and behavior confirms that knowledge of a disease is not sufficient to trigger preventive action ([@R5],[@R6],[@R11]--[@R13]).
Since SARS appeared unexpectedly, healthcare experts were uncertain how to control the epidemic. Consequently, assessing public opinion of authorities' crisis management in our survey was relevant to Singapore. Of the aspects we examined, only public opinion of authorities' openness to communication was correlated with taking preventive measures. The other two aspects (information dissemination and acceptance of quarantine regulations) did not affect preventive action, probably because of their very positive rating.
The public's highly positive assessment of Singapore authorities' crisis management is distinctive. History shows that epidemics are politically perilous to governments as, among other things, they challenge their resolve, efficiency, and state of readiness ([@R14]). Political leaders of other SARS-affected Asian countries witnessed this principle directly. The SARS outbreak in Singapore appears to have worked in an opposite way: it corroborated the usefulness of public health and environmental regulations. In addition, this study's findings parallel the population's response to quarantine and other restrictive measures, confirming previous observations of a relatively high level of social discipline in the population ([@R15],[@R16]).
Conclusion
==========
Singapore was taken out of the official list of SARS-infected countries by the World Health Organization on May 30, 2003. The epidemic has left the crisis phase and entered a new phase, normalization and vigilance. As a new disease, SARS demands continuous scrutiny on all fronts, from the laboratory to the homes of the people.
Supplementary Material
======================
###### Appendix
Questionnaire given to SARS survey respondents
*Suggested citation for this article:* Quah SR, Lee H-P. Crisis prevention and management during SARS outbreak, Singapore. Emerg Infect Dis \[serial online\] Feb 2004 \[*date cited*\]. Available from: URL: <http://www.cdc.gov/ncidod/EID/vol10no2/03-0418.htm>
We express our appreciation to the persons who consented to be interviewed for this study; John Wong, Director of the National University of Singapore--Office of Life Sciences, who facilitated the grant application; Calvin Fones, David Koh, and Paulin Straughan for their comments and suggestions on the questionnaire; two anonymous reviewers for their constructive feedback; and A.J. Hedley for sending us the questionnaire his research team applied in Hong Kong (April 2003) and suggesting that we apply it in Singapore.
This study was supported by National University of Singapore research grant R-111-000-045-712.
Dr. Quah is a professor of sociology at the National University of Singapore. Among her areas of interest are medical sociology and social policy.
Dr. Lee is professor of public health at the National University of Singapore. Among his areas of interest are cancer epidemiology and community medicine.
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PubMed Central
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Q:
Which one to choose: XML attribute or Sub node?
We want to export some data from our data base as XML. For example, a Person can have age, name and some other properties.
We have two choices to define the XML format.
Choice #1:
<Persons>
<Person>
<Age>16</Age>
<Name>Richard</Name>
</Person>
<Person>
<Age>34</Age>
<Name>Eric</Name>
</Person>
...
</Persons>
Choice #2:
<Persons>
<Person Age="16" Name="Richard"/>
<Person Age="34" Name="Eric"/>
...
</Persons>
So what's the difference between definition of sub node or attribute?
And what's the benefit of each choice?
A:
There is no clear documentation/best practice for this, but, consider the alternatives, as you have:
As Element text:
it can be easier to display the data as xhtml, etc, where the text content is considered text, rather than markup or meta-data.
there can be more than one. If you need child content with multiple age or name rows, attributes won't allow this
if you need row level meta data, you have the option of using the attributes of <name> or <age> for this purpose
As Attributes:
the XML is more compact
XSLT and DocTypes are simpler to specify
you don't have to worry about whitespace (padding, indenting, line breaks), or other items that can be introduced (comments, PI's) in PCDATA areas (element text)
there can be only one! you don't have to worry about child content containing multiple age attributes.
I have spent a lot of time working with XML, and, in my opinion, for pure data communication, attributes should be used whenever possible. If the XML is likely to be used for presentation (XSLT, xhtml, etc.) then it may be better as text content (but not necessarily).
A:
Principles of XML design: When to use elements versus attributes by Uche Ogbuji from IBM is probably one of the best resources on the matter.
At the core of the decision is that attributes are 'done' things. You can't change them or modify them or nest them. They are order independent and and distinct within the element (you can't have two of the same thing).
If any of these constraints are things that may change, make the data a child node of the XML.
In your example, you have a person who has a name and an age. I have a first, middle, and last name... and a nickname. And some people have maiden names, multiple middle names, or honorifics - how would you put in John Ronald Reuel Tolkien into such a structure?
And so we have someone who has two middle names that have an order to them. This should clearly show that no, an attribute isn't the best choice for this.
I can't find it currently, but in the above linked document there is a statement that names are things that require a bit of thought leading to "I hope to expand on the treatment of people's names in markup in a future article." If anyone has a lead on this, please leave a comment or edit it into this spot.
On the other hand, the age is something that has a rather fixed structure (I'd suggest the birthday rather than an integer). As such, representing this information in a well known and understood format makes sense in an attribute. A person has one, and only one birthday and there is no 'ordering' to it that you want to preserve.
Uche Ogbuji identifies three core principles in properly designing an xml format. The following are abbreviated quotes from the above linked document.
Principle of structured information
If the information is expressed in a structured form, especially if the structure may be extensible, use elements. On the other hand: If the information is expressed as an atomic token, use attributes
Principle of readability
If the information is intended to be read and understood by a person, use elements. If the information is most readily understood and digested by a machine, use attributes.
Principle of element/attribute binding
Use an element if you need its value to be modified by another attribute
And so, names should elements - they are structured data that is not an atomic token, they are more likely to be read by a human than a computer and they may be modified by another attribute on the name itself.
Dates should be attributes - they are data that is an atomic token, they are more likely the read by a computer than a human (and then transformed into the human's preferred format if need be), and lastly they are unlikely to be modified by other attributes on them.
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StackExchange
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Alexander Chee
Alexander Chee (born August 21, 1967) is an American fiction writer, poet, journalist and reviewer.
Born in Rhode Island, he spent his childhood in South Korea, Kauai, Truk, Guam and Maine. He attended Wesleyan University and the Iowa Writers' Workshop.
Career
Chee's short fiction appeared in the anthologies Best American Erotica 2007, A Fictional History of the US (With Huge Chunks Missing), Men on Men 2000, His 3, and his personal essays in Out, From Boys To Men, Loss Within Loss, Boys Like Us, The M Word, and The Man I Might Become. His essay "I, Reader" was selected for inclusion in the Notable Essays list of the 2011 edition of the Best American Essays, and his essay "Girl," was included in Best American Essays 2016.
His short stories and essays have also appeared in magazines and journals such as The New York Times Book Review, Tin House, Slate, Guernica, NPR. Chee's poetry has appeared in Barrow Street, LIT, Interview, the James White Review, and XXX Fruit. He has written journalism and reviews for The New York Times, Time Out New York, Out/Look, OutWeek, The Advocate, Out, Bookforum and the San Francisco Review of Books.
Chee's critically acclaimed debut novel Edinburgh was awarded the Asian American Writers Workshop Literary Award, the Lambda Editor's Choice Prize, and the Michener/Copernicus Fellowship Prize. In 2003, Out named Chee one of their 100 Most Influential People of the year.
He was also the recipient of the 2003 Whiting Award, a 2004 NEA Fellowship, and a 2010 Massachusetts Cultural Council of the Arts Fellowship, as well as residency fellowships at the MacDowell Colony, the Virginia Center for Creative Arts, Civitella Ranieri, and Leidig House. He was a judge for the PEN/Open Book award in 2012 and currently serves on the board of directors of the Authors' Guild of America.
Chee was the associate fiction editor of literary magazine The Nervous Breakdown, and is currently a contributing editor at The New Republic, an editor-at-large at VQR and The Lit Hub, and a critic-at-large for The Los Angeles Times.
He has taught fiction writing at the New School University, Wesleyan, University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop, Columbia University, the University of Texas at Austin and Princeton University, and has served as a Visiting Writer at Amherst College. In the winter semester 2012/2013 he was Picador Professor for Literature at the University of Leipzig. Chee is currently associate professor of creative nonfiction and fiction writing at Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire.
Works
Books
2001: Edinburgh, Picador USA,
2016:
2018: How to Write an Autobiographical Novel (April 17, 2018), Mariner Books,
Anthologies
Essays and stories
Film appearances
Interview in Sex Is... (1993), Directed by Marc Huestis, as himself
Podcast appearances
LGBTQ&A, "Alexander Chee: On Becoming An American Writer," April 23, 2018
References
External links
Author's blog
Profile at The Whiting Foundation
"Korean Enough: Alexander Chee on New Korean American Fiction" by Alexander Chee, Guernica, June 14, 2008
"Future Queer" by Alexander Chee, The New Republic, June 23, 2015
Category:American writers of Korean descent
Category:American poets of Korean descent
Category:Iowa Writers' Workshop alumni
Category:Gay writers
Category:American novelists of Asian descent
Category:American people of Korean descent
Category:LGBT writers from the United States
Category:Living people
Category:Place of birth missing (living people)
Category:Wesleyan University alumni
Category:American journalists of Korean descent
Category:LGBT poets
Category:LGBT people from Rhode Island
Category:Writers from Rhode Island
Category:American male poets
Category:LGBT American people of Asian descent
Category:1967 births
Category:American male non-fiction writers
Category:21st-century American poets
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Wikipedia (en)
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[Beginner Guide] Write and deploy your first ICO smart contract under 30 minutes (stage 1)
Write a smart contract that can issue tokens and transfer tokens
Image credit to bitcoinmagazine.com
This super simple tutorial will walk you through very basic steps of writing a smart contract that can ISSUE TOKENS, like an real ICO, and transfer tokens. Though it is not ERC20 compatible, which makes it insufficient to do an legal ICO so far. This is still a guide that can get you started pretty fast.
Things you need
A Google Chrome browser (download here)
A registered Metamask account (tutorial by CryptoCompare)
Basic knowledge about what is a smart contract (tutorial by Blockgeeks)
Go visit the place where you write codes
Visit Remix compiler from your Chrome browser, which is a great online compiler that you can write smart contracts, deploy contracts, and interact with contracts.
Remix compiler (http://remix.ethereum.org/)
Start writing your first smart contract!
Today we will be writing a simple smart contract that has only 4 features:
Data: Record the token balances of each user
Record the token balances of each user Method: Check the token balance of a specific user
Check the token balance of a specific user Method: Issue all the tokens
Issue all the tokens Method: Transfer tokens from one user to the other user
Now, in the white box of Remix, delete everything and let’s start from fresh.
White box is right there circled by the green border
Step 1:
Specify the solidity version:
pragma solidity ^0.4.21;
Solidity is the programming language that we use to write smart contract. And we are writing in Solidity right now! Here, we have specify the solidity version to be 0.4.21, with has the compatibility up to 0.4.x (x > 21). Don’t worry if you cannot understand by this stage.
Step 2:
Create the contract body:
contract Token {
// Write more codes here
}
We create a smart contract with a name “Token”.
Step 3:
Now we are getting to the first feature. Data: Record the token balances of each user. We need a dictionary in the type of mapping to record the balances for each of the users.
// Write this inside the "contract Token" body mapping (address => uint256) private balances;
This line declare a variable with the type mapping , which can take an address of a user, and return a uint256 value of that user’s token balance. So it’s like an dictionary that you look for an address to get its corresponding token balance. The address type stores a user or a deployed smart contract. The uint256 type stands for unsigned integer (256 bits) , which is simply a integer number holder.
The private keyword hides this variable from being accessed externally. The balances is just the name of the variable we are creating. Lot’s of things to catch up. But I promise you that it will be fun!
Step 4:
We have completed our very first feature. And now we are moving on to the second cool feature — Method: Check the token balance of a specific user.
Please add the following code below the mapping , but still inside the Token contract body:
We are creating a function with the name getBalance . This function asks for a input variable with type address that named _account (which is basically the user). And it returns a output answer with type uint256 (the token balance of that user). The function is public and constant , which opens to public access and can ONLY check the info from blockchain without changing them.
Inside the function, we return the answer by providing balances (the address book) with the _account (user address). It will return the token balance of that specific user _account .
Step 5:
Now we want to be a bit selfish by storing all the ICO tokens to our own wallet right after the deployment of the smart contract (launch of th ICO). By reaching that, we are now building the third feature — Method: Issue all the tokens.
Add the following code below the second feature:
This is a Constructor function, which will only be triggered once right at the moment of deployment. The name is Token , which must be the same as the smart contract created. The function takes in _initialSupply with the type of uint256 (the issue amount of the tokens! As much as you wish!).
Inside the function, we are setting the balances of the msg.sender to be the initial supply that I have just set! But who the hack is msg.sender ? It’s the user address who will be deploying the contract and .. it’s YOU! You now have all the tokens. :)
All the codes we have so far
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OpenWebText2
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Pages
Aug 29, 2006
The Joakim Saga
I’m holding a copy of yesterday’s TODAY newspaper. Page 30 screams “FALLOUTBOY – Joakim Gomez Has Become The S’PORE IDOL CONTESTANT THAT EVERYONE LOVES TO HATE…WHAT’S BEHIND ALL THE MALICE?
Seriously, is anyone following Singapore Idol? Ok…That’s a dumb question. I do know of an asshole that chalked up hundreds of dollars worth of votes. The best part, the line is under this poor girl’s name. The only time I voted was for Taufiq in the finals (just so to make sure the ah-beng didn’t win).
The only person that deserves to be in the competition is Hady. This fellow can sing (a.k.a talent) and will do well in the nightlife industry. I understand he was or still is performing at Devils Bar. He’s got what it takes to front a band. We can’t say the same about the rest of the Idol hopefuls. However, I can picture Nurul sharing a stage with another vocalist.
Let’s talk about Joakim Gomez now. He does have his pool of fans. And that’s not because he sings well. He’s cute. That’s the bottom line. If he wasn’t cute, he wouldn’t have fans. He can’t sing to save his life and he dances like a moron on heat. In TODAY, he talks about walking into a fast food joint and got stares that said “we wanna kill you”. Come on dude! Did this happen in Singapore?? It’ll likely happen in Johor where Singaporeans stand out like a sore thumb. He goes on to say that his walking path has been spat on by the public. Drama to the max! This ain’t the fucking Sopranos for crying out loud!!
I’ll be the first to admit that I can’t dance. Occasionally, I do try when I’m drunk but it just doesn’t happen. I’ve tried singing before and for well being of those around me, I confined my singing to my bathroom. But, I know a good voice when I hear one. I know what makes money and what doesn’t. I sure as hell know where to spend my money when it comes to Live Bands. I wouldn’t pay a dime to listen to Joakim sing. Even if it’s for charity.
At the end of the day, SG Idol is all about looks. As long as the producers think you’re yummy for TV, they’ll throw you in. If you’ve had the opportunity to watch Malaysia Idol, Indonesia Idol and Philippine Idol, you’ll see that they have talented singers in their competition. Each and every one of them deserves to be on their stage.
But there have been exceptions. Look at people like Nana and Maia Lee from season one. They’re winners in their own right. Nana currently performs with Jive Talkin’ at Bar None and Maia has been doing her own thing with the media.
But, I don’t blame Singaporeans like Joakim for joining Singapore Idol. I blame the producers for giving us crap TV. We’re always far behind when it comes to local programming. Name me one freaking local English production that’s worth watching? With the exception of PCK and Hey Singapore! It’s been a long time since I've watched JUNK thanks to cable.
The TODAY articles concluded with Ken Lim commenting that since singing may not be Joakim’s forte, he could cut it as an actor or a host. And that folks, is advice that he should heed.
i have to stand up for joakim. seems like nobody in your blog supports him. he has talent and doesn't deserve to be part of this on-going slamming. the readers of www.joakimgomez.com will agree with wat i have to say. please spare a thought for others and think about their feelings. if he wasn't good, do you really think he'll be up there right now?
Well well...what do we have here? A Joakim supporter!! Trust me when I say this. It’s all good. The boy needs all the support he can get. Lots of people won’t agree with my views. But most would agree that Singapore Idol is junk tv. My thanks to Jason for agreeing with me on this. It’s shit that doesn’t deserve the prime time slot. Seriously…name me a working adult that watches Singapore Idol regularly?
Ok Joseph...the following comments are solely for you and the bandwagon of Joakim supporters. Which isn’t many by the way…I seriously doubt that anyone here supports Joakim. If any of my friends did, I would have slapped them silly. The only talent he seems to have is keeping his mouth shut. I would suggest you get your ears checked. Have you not heard him sing?? If you answered yes, then the rest of Singapore deserves to be on that stage. Please spare a thought for others?? I’m doing just that. I’m sparing a thought for all the people whom are stuck watchin channel 5 cos they don’t have cable. I did mention why he’s on that stage. LOOKS god damnit! Do yourself a fucking favour and watch Rock Star (Star World) in 10 mins. You’ll see real talent!!
So Joseph, why the fuck should one 'spare a thought for others' while writing a blog??You obviously didn't before you decided to defend the sorry excuse for an Idol hopeful. Did you stop to think our feelings might be hurt knowing that someone might actually like Joakim? Didn't think so.
Dear Mr Joseph, I may not be a regular watcher for SG idol...But really,I support yours truly says..It IS just sucks.no offense,sir..and i believe this is no on-going slamming.the blogger just put up what his thoughts are..SG consists of million of residence so i reckon that Joakim is not the only one going thru this shit. to spare a thought,i guess there should not be any competition and make it a karaoke session live on tv instead..this idol thingy is just like a talentime in school days..and till then he is in the show due to all of the votes but does it mean he is good?...i doubt so...so mr joseph, i suggest u do not take this post personally due to u are one of the voters/supporters.take a chill break and have a kit kat instead and watch HI-5 at Kids Central... ; )
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Pile-CC
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Arsenal’s pressing game has suffered since the start of the season mostly due to a matter of distances.
______________________________________________________________________________
Shortened names are all the rage these days. From Subo (Susan Boyle), R-Pat (Robert Pattinson) and Brangelina (Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie), it’s a wonder they still haven’t thought of one for Babyshambles front man Pete Doherty. And after Barcelona swept all before them to bag six trophies last year, with Bordaeux and Chile prevailing as underdogs doing it, Arsenal became the latest side at the start of this season to adopt football’s trendiest tactic – that of “high intensity pressing.”
Enter the first game and a swirling cloud of red, snapping and snarling at the heels of each Everton player, giving them no time to rest, was a welcoming surprise from a jittery pre-season campaign trialing the same tactics. Somehow such usually difficult opponents were swatted away with great ease and efficiency also, and it was not just defensively Arsenal had found improvements on – the Gunners put six past Everton. Arsenal were voracious in attack, averaging around three goals per game and even though they leaked the odd goal, it seemed at last Arsène Wenger had found the right balance and the players were tactically maturing. But fast-forward to defeats at Barcelona, Tottenham and Wigan and that pressing system has started look fragmented, no less exposed by the Catalan side and their pressing standards.
Why Pressing is Important in the 4-3-3
As Barcelona have shown, pressing is as much an art to them as a through ball, with Pep Guardiola claiming that his side would not be as effective as they are were it not for the mechanism put in place of pressing the ball when it is lost. And after watching Barca’s dismantling of Arsenal in this year’s Champions League, many felt that that was the key difference between the two teams – that Barcelona had a more thorough defensive system in place to complement their attacking style. The need to press in either sides variant of 4-3-3 is a pertinent one as it allows allows the side to remain compact in a way not offered by most formations. Typical formations are more concerned with zones therefore when possession changes hands, they can more easily fall back into a defensive block to retain their shape and press within. “There is less high-intensity pressing from the front in advance areas (in top-level European football),” says Fulham boss Roy Hodgson. “This is partly because concern of the interpretation of the offside law has led to teams to play deeper. Sides are sill compact, but this is mainly in their own half of the pitch.” Teams who played a similar style – the Ajax sides of the late 60’s0/early 70’s, Dynamo Kyiv and Holland in ’74 – were able to do this because the interpretation of the offside law meant they could play in a small area of the pitch to squeeze the opponents.
The 4-3-3 deployed by Barcelona and Arsenal is unique in that, when in possession, in order to be dynamic in attack and offer more angles in the pass, the side is required to stretch play up the pitch. However that is also what makes it such a specialised formation in the modern game because the danger is, when you lose the ball, the distances between your players will be large and thus presents a great opportunity for opponents to exploit. Therefore, the need arises for the team to compress space and that is best served by pressing the opposition when the ball is lost. Which sounds simple enough, however, pressuring still requires a structure – a framework – which all players should be willing to conform to. And that, in essence, was the gulf in execution between Barcelona and Arsenal in both legs of the quarter-final.
A Matter of Distances
Much of Arsene Wenger’s talk early in the season was one of maintaining correct distances and indeed the different defensive assignments he gave to his players led him to label the formation as a 4-1-4-1. The midfield four behind Robin van Persie as it were, were to pressure along the same band as each other with Alex Song the self-titled stopper of counter attacks.
The auxiliary left central midfielder was to have a stabilizing role – one to cover for the left forward (who was usually Andrey Arshavin because of his tendency to drift infield) and the other, to drop slightly more deeper to help out Song.
That ploy would of course allow Cesc Fabregas to push further up the field and enable the captain to exert greater influence between the lines and pressure higher. However, slowly but surely, as Arsenal’s goals dried after van Persie’s injury, Fabregas was pushed closer to the main forward in order to create goals but rather than it multiplying his impact, it proceeded to inadvertently upset the balance of the side.
That problem was in part highlighted in the 2-1 defeat against FC Porto, where Swansea manager Paulo Sousa, commentating for ITV Sport, mentioned that Arsenal’s problem with pressing was in balancing their intensity. The gap between attack – the first line of pressure – and defence was too large and that made it a difficult transition from the attacking phase to the defensive phase. So if Tomas Rosicky, starting on the left in that game, pressured the right-back high up the pitch – of which he attempted on a number of occasions – his hard work would invariably fall flat as one pass could essentially free the defender from the Czech’s advances. And that made it all the more difficult for Rosicky to track back as the ball is hit forward quickly.
In truth, that was only half the story as Porto purposely made it difficult for Arsenal by looking to stretch the game as much as possible, defending very deep and stationing the three forwards in direct confrontation with the Gunners defenders at all times. Nevertheless the idea was to expose burgeoning problems in Arsenal’s defensive phase which, after a good start to the season, was feeling the strain of chasing silverware.
The Cesc Fabregas Question
Arsene Wenger once stated you are more worried about correcting the creative side of a team than the defensive balance and indeed as Arsenal’s attacking play started to become stale, Cesc Fabregas was pushed higher up the pitch. The game against Liverpool, following successive defeats to Chelsea and Manchester United, saw Arsenal attempt to revert to a more pragmatic approach to balance both sides and it proved successful. The full-backs got tighter to their opposing wingers and likewise the two central midfielders to their opposite numbers while Fabregas and Arshavin led the way in closing down aggressively high up the field. And just as that re-found stability looked set to reignite Arsenal’s title challenge, old habits soon kicked in.
The biggest problem is seemingly in the centre where teams, especially during December and January, where able to profit from the gaps in the centre. On paper, it looks like pushing Fabregas higher may have had an adverse impact on the balance. Yet, Barcelona, in their new variant of 4-3-3, whereby Guardiola has deployed Messi in an interior role similar to Fabregas indicates that is not necessarily the case. The difference comes in how rigidly Barcelona stick to their individual and collective assignments and press aggressively not just the ball carrier, but to eliminate all passing options completely. That means when the forward presses, he will continue all the way even if the ball is passed backwards while his team-mates back him up by looking to get tight and at times, get in front of potential passing options. That tactic may in part explain why opponents are not so willing to go direct as confidently against Barcelona and of which enables the Barca defenders to be more assured in taking the risk to push up. Because it is true that, if teams go direct more quickly, as Inter did in their 3-1 win, Barcelona can be exposed from the ball over the top. Indeed, Aston Villa, Burnley, Everton, Fulham and West Ham have displayed similar tactics against Arsenal, stopping the Gunners from passing the ball out from deep and profiting through gaps in the channels.
If one uses the example of Rafael Marquez in the second leg, four or five could go and press him as they did in Arsenal’s 4-1-4-1 in the defensive phase but that would surely result in inefficiency. It may theoretically claustrophobe the target but not necessarily stop him making a pass to an opponent were he was in space. So when Marquez had the ball, having the vision the Mexican has and the movement his teammate’s do, all it took was for Xavi or Buqsquets to drop into a pocket of space and an opportunity opened up. And on the occasions that one player did press Marquez, the others did not quite follow up and get tight on the potential passing options on offer. What that will inevitably lead to is inefficient pressing, which if not followed through correctly will become false pressing – which is not exactly pressing at all. The different defensive assignments Wenger has given to his players are there for a reason and are there to help balance the side defensively – the 4-3-3 can feel like chain reactions and one player’s movement can impact on the effectiveness of another. Simon Kuper, writing for the Financial Times, wrote of how Bayern Munich’s strikers, under Louis Van Gaal, “harries their defenders, not in order to win the ball but to pressure a pass to central midfield, where Bayern will win it.”
It is an area Arsenal must improve upon otherwise repeats of how Denilson was exposed in the centre during the 3-1 defeat to Manchester United are likely occur again. It seems at the moment, the Brazilian is stuck in transition of which system of marking to follow – zonal, man-marking or neither. Gael Clichy’s indifferent early form goes some way to suggest this is also indicative of more than one of his team-mates. “With 4-3-3 it’s all about choosing when to go and when to stay rather than just going for the sake of it,” says the left-back.
Final Thoughts
In that respect, Alex Song has been a vital cog in Arsenal’s pressing system as he has looked the one who has most benefited from closing down early. His presence in the middle often results in a better team performance for the Gunners and allows Arsenal to win the ball back quickly. Robin van Persie is also arguably a better presser of the ball than Nicklas Bendtner but it also must be stressed the importance of the role the Dane played early in the season on the right hand side of the attacking trident. That Nasri and Rosicky have had more game time later on in the season in wide areas may have also had an adverse effect on the pressing game as their tendencies are not so forward thinking and quite lackadaisical. Arsenal have also been bad starters of games, only scoring twice in the league in the opening fifteen minutes which can again explain that Arsenal need time to adjust to the distances.
Pressing however, is best realised by a good attacking game, and that Arsenal have not been as dynamic in attacking in the second part, nor as obsessive in possession of the season has probably undermined their confidence in pressing the ball high up. Nevertheless, as a team collective, there is no doubt that the pressing game has been for the better for Arsenal and with the players maturing each time. They have less been exposed on the break as previous seasons and the strain their expansive style causes on the back is not as apparent. Thomas Vermaelen has improved Arsenal’s winning back of the ball and that Arsenal are the best utilisers of the offside trap indicates an effective back line which only needs greater synchronicity with the midfield. “I think we all want to get the ball back very quickly,” explains Bakary Sagna. ”Everyone is defending quicker and the forwards are doing more. It helps us play as a team. We worked a lot on this in pre-season because we changed the formation and we have to keep working on it.”
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Yeah, I wanted to start one, but got frustrated, as I couldnt post a map location of the meeting place....
Click to expand...
Gotcha yea its a pain in the ass... for the last one I ended up just bringing up a pictures of the area I wanted in google maps, doing a print screen, pasting it into word and inserting the arrow then saving it as a jpeg.... Kind of a pain but o well
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From the publisher:x0Dx0AArboretum is a strategy card game for 2-4 players, aged 10 and up, that combines set collection, tile-laying and hand management while playing in about 25 minutes. Players try to have the most points at the end of the game by cre
From the Publisher:x0Dx0Ax0Dx0Ax0Dx0AAtlas: Enchanted Lands is an elegant card game set in a world of fairies and magic. Play cards to reveal a certain place and time — and place your stake in one of the two. Explore a location at dawn, day, sunset, and night,r see what the whole land looks like in the dark. Each card offers two choices, and it’s up to you to uncover the world that awaits.x0Dx0Ax0Dx0AIn more detail, players are challenged to predict the time or place that will be uncovered first. Cards laid on the board will complete sets. Depending on the cards chosen by the players, sets of similar cards or numerically ascending cards will be revealed, granting points to the players that deduced the correct combination.x0Dx0A
Welcome to the most popular bubble tea shop in Taiwan, where youll find rich, delicious milk tea filled with chewy pearls and jellies! To make an unforgettable drink, youll need to pay attention to crucial elements. More bubbles, less sugar, ju
From the Publisher:x0Dx0Ax0Dx0Ax0Dx0ACastell is the vibrant Catalan tradition of building human towers. Huge teams of people from all over Catalonia gather at festivals to celebrate Catalan culture and compete to build the highest and most difficult human towers
From the Publisher:x0Dx0Ax0Dx0Ax0Dx0AThe evil Lord Eradikus has all but conquered the galaxy and is now on a victory lap across the sector in his flagship, Eradikus Prime. He may rule with an iron grip, but his most prized artifacts are about to slip through his cyborg claws. You and your fellow thieves have challenged each other to sneak aboard his ship, hack your way into its command module, and steal from him.x0Dx0Ax0Dx0AAlong the way, you’ll recruit allies and snatch up extra loot. But one false step and — Clk! Careless noise draws the attention of Lord Eradikus. Hacking into his command module and stealing his artifacts increases his rage. You’d better hope your friends are louder than you are if you want to make it to an escape pod and get out alive…x0Dx0A
From the Publisher:x0Dx0Ax0Dx0Ax0Dx0AThe evil Lord Eradikus has all but conquered the galaxy and is now on a victory lap across the sector in his flagship, Eradikus Prime. He may rule with an iron grip, but his most prized artifacts are about to slip through his
From the publisher:x0Dx0ABurgle your way to adventure in the deck-building board game Clank! Sneak into an angry dragon’s mountain lair to steal precious artifacts. Delve deeper to find more valuable loot. Acquire cards for your deck and watch your thievish abilities grow.x0Dx0Ax0Dx0ABe quick and be quiet. One false step and CLANK! Each careless sound draws the attention of the dragon, and each artifact stolen increases its rage. You can enjoy your plunder only if you make it out of the depths alive!
From the Publisher:x0Dx0AYou have it in your sights: the dead drop. You’ve messaged back to Headquarters that your mission has been accomplished, and now you are awaiting new orders. Moscow, London, Belgrade… wherever it is they’re sending you, youw you’ll be prepared. You’ll be in and out before anyone knows you’re coming. You are a super spy. You are undercover. You are COVERT.x0Dx0Ax0Dx0ACovert is a game where players take on the roles of spies working covertly to accomplish missions. Over serounds, players will collect the equipment needed and deploy their agents all across Europe in an effort to complete these missions. Utilize your assets. Make your move. Don’t let anyone stand in your way.
From the publisher:x0Dx0AThese are special eggs. They have a glow that seeps deep into your soul causing an insatiable urge. Despite the peaceful look on her face, you know the mother dragon could roast your fragile goblin body without a second thought. You throw caution to the wind and inch towards the eggs. How many can you grab before you awaken the beast?x0Dx0Ax0Dx0ADicey Goblins is a push your luck dice game where you will take on the role of Goblins stealing dragon eggs. Each round will challenge you to decide between attempting to raid the dragons lair or running for the exit. Collect 18 eggs or survive 6 rounds for a chance to win!
From the Publisher:x0Dx0ARaiders of the North Sea is set in the central years of the Viking Age. As Viking warriors, players seek to impress the Chieftain by raiding unsuspecting settlements. Players will need to assemble a crew, collect provisions and journey north to plunder gold, iron and livestock. There is glory to be found in battle, even at the hands of the Valkyrie. So gather your warriors, it’s raiding season!x0Dx0A
From the Publisher:x0Dx0AExplorers of the North Sea is set in the latter years of the Viking Age. As ambitious sea captains, players seek out new lands to settle and control. They will need to transport their crew among the newly discovered islands to ca
From the Publisher:x0Dx0AIntruders have made their way on to your ship! Their goal: Total Destruction!x0Dx0AFUSE is a real time cooperative dice game for 2-5 players where friends work together to quickly save their ship from impending doom!x0Dx0ATwenty bombs have been detected on-board, and the ship’s computer has begun to countdown. Your elite Bomb Defusal Team (BDT) has been called into action to neutralize thethreat.x0Dx0AHurry! The computer says you only have 10 Minutes to complete your task.x0Dx0ADoes your team have what it takes to work through the intricacies of the bombs and defuse them all in time? x0Dx0AYou’d better get moving, because this game will self-destruct in 10 minutes…
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a term with an infinite amount of acceptable uses. use shit yo to say hello or good bye, use shit yo when somethingbad happens, when something good happens, use it when you really have nothing else to say. for lack of a better word, use shit yo.
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Q:
Horrible upload speed only on certain computers, can't seem to isolate issue, affecting exchange10
I'm having a very interesting/frustrating issue.
First off, I'm in the process of migrating Exchange 2003 to Exchange 2010. Everything appeared to be running swimmingly last evening after I set up the send connector on Exchange 10. E-mails to every domain I sent to were received within seconds/minutes.
Today, when the users arrived and started pounding the network, we started having issues getting delays to gmail, aol, and a few minor domains..
A few various errors:
Connection dropped due to Connection reset
Connection dropped due to socket error
After a bit of troubleshooting I discovered that a speedtest from www.speakeasy.net/speedtest run from the exchange machine was showing 2.6mbit down, but the upload test would either time out, or register 0.0
From my machine, Ubuntu Maverick, the same occurs. Name: merlin (not on domain)
From a Windows 7 Ultimate machine, it gets a normal upload of about 2.5 Name: craig (not on domain)
From another Windows 7 Ultimate machine, (on domain), upload stalls. Name: peter
From a windows xp machine (on domain), upload is 2.7. Name: adpbox
From three Windows Server 2003 boxes, some DCs some not, upload is 2.5-3.0 Names: exchserver(old exchange box,dc) remote1(app server), vault(file server, dc)
Another thing I'm noticing on affected PCs: Downloads start off normally at 300 or so kb from the average site, but then slow to a trickle of 5-6kb.
Results from speakeasy speedtest duplicated with other speed tests.
If anyone can offer any advice on further troubleshooting I can do, I would really appreciate it.
A:
I think the quickest way to resolve this is to mirror the port with the outbound internet traffic or place a box inline and sniff the traffic. NTOP would be useful here but simple wireshark may be effective enough. You could rig up a laptop to do it temporarily at a time when there aren't too many lusers on the network.
Try to isolate whether its a DNS, bandwidth or packet loss issue.
Some tools that may assist:
mtr : this can help you find where packet loss is occuring in the network, which router is responsible or whether its upstream
ipperf : run some performance benchmarks between different spots in the network and see whether its just outgoing traffic affected or all traffic
ethtool : try to work out whether its a layer 2 or layer 3 issue
From what you describe you believe what you have is exchange flooding the network. If you can remove exchange and prove this, great but I would keep an open mind it may be a combination of factors - e.g. exchange is pushing the network gear and its falling over beyond a certain point because its misconfigured.
Try to cross off the obvious: are you definately 1000/Full everywhere? Are uplinks being clogged? Are we simply using lots of bandwidth at a certain time of day when everyone else is - e.g. is the ISP to blame?
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Identification of cytochrome P450s involved in the metabolism of 6-benzyl-1-benzyloxymethyl-5-iodouracil (W-1) using human recombinant enzymes and rat liver microsomes in vitro.
1. The aim of this study was to identify the hepatic metabolic enzymes, which involved in the biotransformation of 6-benzyl-1-benzyloxymethyl-5-iodouracil (W-1), a novel non-nucleoside reverse transcriptase inhibitor (NNRTI) in rat and human in vitro. 2. The parent drug of W-1 was incubated with rat liver microsomes (RLMs) or recombinant CYPs (CYP1A2, CYP2A6, CYP2B6, CYP2C8, CYP2C9, CYP2C19, CYP2D6, CYP2E1, CYP3A4, and CYP3A5, respectively) in the presence or absence of nicotinamide adeninedinucleotide phosphate (NADPH)-regenerating system. The metabolites of W-1 were analyzed with liquid chromatography-ion trap-time of flight-mass spectrometry (LC-IT-TOF-MS). 3. The parent drug of W-1 was metabolized in a NADPH-dependent manner in RLMs. The kinetic parameters of prototype W-1 including Km, Vmax, and CLint were 2.3 μM, 3.3 nmol/min/mg protein, and 1.4 mL/min/mg protein, respectively. Two metabolites M1 and M2 were observed in shorter retention times (2.988 and 3.188 min) with a higher molecular ion at m/z 463.0160 (both M1 and M2) than that of the W-1 parent drug (6.158 min with m/z 447.0218). The CYP selective inhibition and recombinant enzymes also showed that two hydroxyl metabolites M1 and M2 are mainly mediated by CYP2C19 and CYP3A4. 4. The identification of CYPs involved in W-1 biotransformation is important to understand and minimize, if possible, the potential of drug-drug interactions.
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Trailer Face-Off: What Maisie Knew vs. Much Ado About Nothing
Welcome to Thursday Trailer Face-Off, a feature in which we cast a critical eye on two similar upcoming film releases, pitting them against each other across a variety of categories to determine which is most deserving of your two hours. This week: What Maisie Knew vs. Much Ado About Nothing, two cinematic adaptations of classics about privileged people in breaking romances.PremiseIt’s not surprising that people have been writing texts about dysfunctional relationships forever, and both What Maisie Knew and Much Ado About Nothing attempt to adapt older stories about divorce, infidelity, and general disintegration into a modern context. What Maisie Knew is based on an 1897 Henry James novel of the same name, and focuses on a wealthy, self-involved couple (Julianne Moore and Steve Coogan) in the midst of a divorce, who use their precocious daughter, Maisie (Onata Aprile) as a pawn in their legal battles. Much Ado About Nothing is Joss Whedon’s Shakespeare adaptation, updating the Bard’s famous comedy (but using the original script) to a circle of modern yuppies involved in infidelity, backstabbing, and general tomfoolery. Advantage:What Maisie Knew
Location, location…In terms of setting, What Maisie Knew treads familiar territory: the film unfolds amongst the stomping ground of the upper echelon of New York’s creative elite. We get lots of views of sprawling SoHo lofts with open floor plans, and preschools where admission is as competitive as at Harvard. There’s a portion that takes place at a beach house, presumably in the Hamptons. Much Ado About Nothing is filmed, notably, entirely in black and white, and the setting is rather anonymous for Hollywood, a well-manicured California mansion with a hot tub and sprawling grounds. This location is the actual home of director Joss Whedon, who filmed the movie (which he had long considered his “passion project”) in 12 days on a limited budget, in lieu of going on a vacation for his 20th anniversary.Advantage:Much Ado About Nothing
StarsWhat Maisie Knew certainly does not skimp on big names, featuring the likes of Julianne Moore, as Susanna, Maisie’s well-meaning but selfish mother. Moore has continuously demonstrated her ability to play mother characters in turmoil (See: The Hours, The Kids are All Right, The Forgotten, Far From Heaven), so the casting seems especially apt. Steve Coogan takes a break from his generally comedic roles to play Beale, the overwrought art-dealer father, and True Blood hunk Alexander Skarsgård appears as Lincoln, Susanna’s new beau following her divorce. Seven-year-old Onata Aprile is the real show-stealer, though, with a toothy smile and believable confusion at her extremely trying, adult reality. Much Ado About Nothing showcases the Shakespearean talents of many actors who have appeared in Whedon’s previous films and television shows: Amy Acker, Alexis Denisof and Emma Bates, to name a few.Advantage: What Maisie Knew
Dysfunction FactorWritten at the end of the 16th century, Much Ado About Nothing has become an exemplary benchmark of the playful banter and wordplay that often surrounds domestic disputes (see: all romantic comedies, ever), and the 2013 version faithfully adapts the comedy of errors, including classic cases of mistaken identities and a notably archaic century view of female sexuality. What Maisie Knew is based off of a more contemporary piece of literature, and also takes more liberties in adaptation; the film seems markedly modern while still dealing with classic tropes of divorce and infidelity (the father has run off with the nanny). What Maisie Knew‘s power seems to hold true to James’ novel in that the movie documents a multitude of adults who, in becoming enveloped in their own drama and petty selfishness, have forgotten to love and nurture their child.Advantage: What Maisie Knew
The VerdictMuch Ado About Nothing is definitely a treat for fans of both Buffy and Shakespearean comedies (and honestly, who doesn’t fall into one of those categories?). However, we love a good breakout child star, and we got a little teary watching the trailer for What Maisie Knew, so we’re going to have to grab some Kleenex and go with that.Winner: What Maisie Knew
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Photo: Contra Costa County Sheriff
A 54-year-old Orinda teacher was arrested and charged with sex crimes in connection to inappropriate and unlawful relationships with two minors while she was a teacher at a Lafayette school more than two decades ago, authorities said Thursday.
Contra Costa County Sheriff’s detectives arrested Kyle Ann Wood around 6:30 p.m. Wednesday at her Pleasant Hill home following a recent probe by the sheriff’s investigation division and Lafayette police into the alleged misconduct, officials said. The victims were two of Wood’s students at Acalanes High School, and the alleged relationships occurred between 1996 and 1998.
Authorities booked Wood, who is currently a teacher at Miramonte High School in Orinda, into the Martinez Detention Facility and held her on $150,000 bail, according to the Sheriff’s Office. Prosecutors filed felony sex charges against Wood.
Wood was placed on administrative leave, Superintendent John Nickerson said in a Thursday statement. She has taught in the Acalanes Union High School District since 1994.
“We hold student well-being as our greatest priority, and whenever we hear about situations that are counter to this value, it is of the greatest concern,” Nickerson said. “I assure you that our District office will cooperate fully with law enforcement in this ongoing investigation.”
Nickerson reminded district employees that their conduct with students should be respectful, and instructed students to report concerns about inappropriate conduct to a trusted adult.
The investigation continues. Anyone with information about the case can call detectives at 925-283-3680.
Alejandro Serrano is a San Francisco Chronicle staff writer. Email: [email protected] Twitter: @serrano_alej
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The stars of rock group Survivor are embroiled in a legal tussle with their record label bosses over royalties for their hit track Eye Of The Tiger. Bandmates Frank Sullivan III and James Peterik claim they are owed money from digital downloads and streams of the song, and they are battling executives at Sony Records for their share of the cash, according to TMZ.com.
The website reports the pair is suing in a bid to force Sony bosses to pay up.
News of the legal battle has emerged just months after the death of their singer Jimi Jamison, who passed away in September (14).
As America's Next Top Model's 21st cycle unfolds, we've decided to take a look at previous seasons to see how often Tyra and her ever-changing panel of judges choose the right model. As anyone who has watched the show throughout the years (and the marathons every time they're on TV) knows, the model you spend all season rooting for rarely wins, no matter how much she deserves to.
Cycle 1
WENN/David Livingston
Who Won: Adrianne Curry
Should Have Won: Adrianne Curry
If only Tyra's first season were a sign of things to come. She picked it right. Adrianne had that special blend of being cool, a good model, and reality TV perfection (which is essential for a first season). She went on to become a "star" on Vh1's CelebReality, and we continued to grow up watching the ups and downs of her relationship with a Brady. That sort of contribution to our adolescence is invaluable.
Cycle 2
Getty Images/WENN
Who Won: Yoanna House
Should Have Won: Mercedes Scelba-Shorte
Mercedes was perfect! She was such a great model, she had the cutest personality, and she was owning the competition while suffering with Lupus. Her final photo and her Billie Holiday photo are some of our favorite in ANTM history.
Cycle 3
WENN/Getty Images
Who Won: Eva Pigford
Should Have Won: Toccara Jones, Yaya DaCosta
Eva was okay, but we loved Toccara. She left too soon, and we began to root for Eva. Looking back on this cycle now though, it's hard not to feel like Yaya is sort of like ANTM's Jennifer Hudson -- she lost, but has the best career possibly out of any of the girls.
Cycle 4
Getty Images/Getty Images
Who Won: Naima Mora
Should Have Won: Kahlen Rondot
This is a no brainer. Kahlen was perfect. Naima was a good model, okay, sure. But she was quiet and enigmatic. Kahlen was shy, but adorable and relatable. And, if we're being frank, a far superior model.
Cycle 5
WENN/WENN
Who Won: Nicole Linklater
Should Have Won: Bre Scullark (or Nik Pace)
We loved Bre. We still love Bre. She will always be one of our favorites. We rooted for Nik after Bre was eliminated, but Tyra didn't seem to care and picked the annoying and whiny Nicole.
Cycle 6
WENN/WENN
Who Won: Danielle (Dani) Evans
Should Have Won: Joanie Dodds
This makes us uncomfortable to say, because we really like both girls here. This was one of the rare instances where we would have been happy regardless of who won. For some reason, we always remember this as the cycle that Joanie won though. Clearly she left the stronger impression (although we'll never forget Dani's photo on top of the elephant, while she was sick).
Cycle 7
WENN
Who Won: CariDee English
Should Have Won: CariDee English
We felt really bad when Melrose lost because she was consistently good. She tried so hard to be perfect. Sure, she wasn't the most likable, but she was undeniably a good model. But CariDee had the whole package. She was likable and could model. We would have been happy if one of the twins won too though (just saying...).
Cycle 8
WENN/Getty Images
Who Won: Jaslene Gonzalez
Should Have Won: Renee Alway
We were rooting for Renee from the very beginning. When she came in third place, we obviously started supporting Jaslene just to prevent the bizarre Natasha from winning. Deep down though, we still feel wronged by Renee's elimination.
Cycle 9
WENN/The CW
Who Won: Saleisha Stowers
Should Have Won: Jenah Doucette
We never liked Saleisha. She kind of looked like Rihanna if Rihanna were on Disney. We were never into it. Chantal similarly had sanitized feel to her. Jenah shined as the only normal, likable girl in the cycle. She was a great model too!
Cycle 10
WENN/WENN
Who Won: Whitney Thompson
Should Have Won: Anya Kop
This is one that outrages us still. Whitney was unlikable and even the judges thought so for most of the season. She just happened to get farther than any other plus-sized model, so they let her win. Everybody knows that Anya ran that cycle as if she were already a professional. Her photo shoot with Nigel? Her Sprite campaign? And don't even get us started on the injustice of eliminating Tiffani Thiessen-lookalike Katarzyna. How did they pick Whitney?
Cycle 11
WENN
Who Won: McKey Sullivan
Should Have Won: McKey Sullivan
Girl was flawless. She was tall, stunning, poised, and had a lovely personality. Honorable mention to Analeigh Tipton though for doing her thing and having a great career.
Cycle 12
Getty Images/Getty Images
Who Won: Teyona Anderson
Should Have Won: Allison Harvard
Allison. Our favorite contestant in the history of ANTM. This one hurts. We're not quite ready to talk about it.
Cycle 13
WENN
Who Won: Nicole Fox
Should Have Won: Nicole Fox
We loved Nicole and we loved runner-up Laura Kirkpatrick. Tyra didn't have the chance to mess this cycle up.
Cycle 14
WENN/WENN
Who Won: Krista White
Should Have Won: Raina Hein
Raina has been working more than anyone else from this cycle -- we've been seeing her pop up on commercials, and a working model is a successful one. Overall, we didn't really like this cycle.
Cycle 15
WENN/The CW
Who Won: Ann Ward
Should Have Won: Kayla Ferrel
First of all, Ann's runway walk was not good. Chelsey and Jane were both good models, but there was something about Kayla that we were consistently drawn to. She somehow looked like a classic beauty, yet edgy and modern. She was fieeeeerce.
Cycle 16
WENN/Getty Images
Who Won: Brittani Kline
Should Have Won: Hannah Jones
Were we the only ones who didn't hate Alexandria? We would have been happy if she won, but instead we were left with Brittani. She was a fine model, but on a personal level, we just stopped liking her after that meltdown in panel. Hannah also reminded us a lot of Analeigh from cycle 12, so we had a soft spot for her.
Cycle 17
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Who Won: Lisa D'Amato
Should Have Won: Allison Harvard
TWICE? REALLY? Allison, who broke our hearts when she was runner-up in cycle 12, admits that it sucks to be runner-up twice. She should have won. Twice. She's the best. We'll never be ready to talk about this.
Cycle 18
WENN/WENN/Twitter
Who Won: Sophie Sumner
Should Have Won: ...Annaliese Dayes? ...Laura LaFrate? Maybe Sophie?
This is one of those cycles that had three great girls at the end. At one point or another, we rooted for all of them to win. We're happy Sophie won because she was a cutie, but we loved Annaliese way more throughout the competition. She was like a Spice Girl and a model all in one.
Cycle 19
WENN/Twitter
Who Won: Laura James
Should Have Won: Leila Goldkuhl
Laura is a fantastic model -- let's just get that out of the way up front. Leila was eliminated, because Tyra rarely makes good decisions, and brought back by the fans who loved her. Clearly she was a fan-favorite and she should have won. Leila was definitely better than runner-up Kiara.
Cycle 20
Twitter/The CW
Who Won: Jourdan Miller
Should Have Won: Renee Bhagwandeen
Our friend texted within the first episode of ANTM 2.0 saying she couldn't stand the girl who was married and divorced at 18. And she never really made us like her more. On the other hand, from the moment Renee was shown in the casting episode, she had our vote. We were gung-ho from the get-go. Sure, Cory and Marvin were fantastic, but personally we're still rooting for the girls.
Will Tyra make the right choice in Cycle 21?
DreamWorks
For the bulk of every Rocky and Bullwinkle episode, moose and squirrel would engage in high concept escapades that satirized geopolitics, contemporary cinema, and the very fabrics of the human condition. With all of that to work with, there's no excuse for why the pair and their Soviet nemeses haven't gotten a decent movie adaptation. But the ingenious Mr. Peabody and his faithful boy Sherman are another story, intercut between Rocky and Bullwinkle segments to teach kids brief history lessons and toss in a nearly lethal dose of puns. Their stories and relationship were much simpler, which means that bringing their shtick to the big screen would entail a lot more invention — always risky when you're dealing with precious material.
For the most part, Mr. Peabody & Sherman handles the regeneration of its heroes aptly, allowing for emotionally substance in their unique father-son relationship and all the difficulties inherent therein. The story is no subtle metaphor for the difficulties surrounding gay adoption, with society decreeing that a dog, no matter how hyper-intelligent, cannot be a suitable father. The central plot has Peabody hosting a party for a disapproving child services agent and the parents of a young girl with whom 7-year-old Sherman had a schoolyard spat, all in order to prove himself a suitable dad. Of course, the WABAC comes into play when the tots take it for a spin, forcing Peabody to rush to their rescue.
Getting down to personals, we also see the left brain-heavy Peabody struggle with being father Sherman deserves. The bulk of the emotional marks are hit as we learn just how much Peabody cares for Sherman, and just how hard it has been to accept that his only family is growing up and changing.
DreamWorks
But more successful than the new is the film's handling of the old — the material that Peabody and Sherman purists will adore. They travel back in time via the WABAC Machine to Ancient Egypt, the Renaissance, and the Trojan War, and 18th Century France, explaining the cultural backdrop and historical significance of the settings and characters they happen upon, all with that irreverent (but no longer racist) flare that the old cartoons enjoyed. And oh... the puns.
Mr. Peabody & Sherman is a f**king treasure trove of some of the most amazingly bad puns in recent cinema. This effort alone will leave you in awe.
The film does unravel in its final act, bringing the science-fiction of time travel a little too close to the forefront and dropping the ball on a good deal of its emotional groundwork. What seemed to be substantial building blocks do not pay off in the way we might, as scholars of animated family cinema, have anticipated, leaving the movie with an unfinished feeling.
But all in all, it's a bright, compassionate, reasonably educational, and occasionally funny if not altogether worthy tribute to an old favorite. And since we don't have our own WABAC machine to return to a time of regularly scheduled Peabody and Sherman cartoons, this will do okay for now.
If nothing else, it's worth your time for the puns.
3/5
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ABC Television Network
Right now, Richard Castle and and Kate Beckett are engaged to be married on Castle. They are planning their wedding while also solving crimes and getting into precarious situations. The biggest unsolved mystery seems to be whether these two will actually make it to the altar. Will everyone's hopes be dashed once again? By this point, fans have had the football yanked away about 800 times. The show has teased, taunted, prodded, and practically kicked up with innuendo only to back up each time and now that they have finally united them. But sadly, I'm afraid we might see them split once more. Here's three possibilities:
1) Beckett Puts Up Her Walls Again
I know that she's sworn up and down that she's going to stop with the whole "secrets" thing with Castle, but the woman laid down more bricks than the Great Wall of China. There's going to be another time when she shuts her feelings down. I just hope that it's not the day of the wedding, or someday close to it. But there will undoubtedly be some drama up ahead.
2) Castle Does Something Really, Really Dumb
In the Castle universe, Beckett closes off her feelings and Castle acts too quickly on them, often doing impulsive things without bothering to check how it might impact others. That's trouble enough if you're single. If you're married or engaged, even worse. Let's just hope that several decades from now, he isn't hosting his own talk show and seeking wife No. 10. I could see him doing something so dumb that it goes way beyond the mere eye-rolling reaction and stern talking-to that it usually elicits. So yeah, it would stink if the wedding was called off because of that.
3) Something Bad Happens to Alexis or Martha
So far, the engagement has withstood Castle's daughter being kidnapped half a world away, but if there were something more... final to happen to either Alexis or Martha, it'd be hard for the wedding to move forward. Never mind the wedding! If either character were to exit permanently, the show itself would really suffer, since both of them serve to also ground Castle and give him perspective in any of his own troubles. Were this to happen, I think it would be fatal for the show itself.
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The founding members of rock band Survivor have launched a legal action against label bosses at Sony Music over allegations of missing royalties surrounding their smash 1982 hit Eye Of The Tiger. Frank Sullivan and James Peterick filed a breach of contract lawsuit in Illinois federal court on Friday (31Jan14), claiming they have not received the 50 per cent of profits they are entitled to as per the terms of a 1978 recording agreement regarding licenced masters.
They suggest Sony Music executives have categorised digital downloads as "sales of records" instead of licences, meaning they only need to pay Survivor bandmates a fraction of the song royalties.
The plaintiffs, who are seeking compensatory damages, have also accused Sony chiefs of threatening to remove their tracks from digital music outlets like iTunes.com and are asking a judge to issue an injunction banning them from pulling the plug, thereby protecting their revenue stream from legal downloads, according to The Hollywood Reporter.
Tribeca Film via Everett Collection
For a film that involves a love triangle, mental illness, a Bohemian colony of free-spirits, an impending war and several important historical figures, the most exciting elements of Summer in February are the stunning shots of the English country and Cornish seaside. The rest of the film never quite lives up to the crashing waves and sun-dappled meadows that are used to bookend the scenes, as the entertaining opening never manages to coalesce into a story that lives up the the cinematography, let alone the lives of the people that inspired it.
Set in an Edwardian artist’s colony in Cornwall, Summer in February tells the story of A.J. Munnings (Dominic Cooper), who went on to become one of the most famous painters of his day and head of the Royal Academy of Art, his best friend, estate agent and part-time soldier Gilbert Evans (Dan Stevens), and the woman whom they both loved, aspiring artist Florence Carter-Wood (Emily Browning). Her marriage to Munnings was an extremely unhappy one, and she attempted suicide on their honeymoon, before killing herself in 1914. According to his journals, Gilbert and Florence were madly in love, although her marriage and his service in the army kept them apart.
When the film begins, Munnings is the center of attention in the Lamorna Artist's Colony, dramatically reciting poetry at parties and charming his way out of his bar tab while everyone around him proclaims him to be a genius. When he’s not drinking or painting, he’s riding horses with Gilbert, who has the relatively thankless task of keeping this group of Bohemians in line. Their idyllic existence is disrupted by the arrival of Florence, who has run away from her overbearing father and the fiancé he had picked out for her in order to become a painter.
Stevens and Browning both start the film solidly, with enough chemistry between them to make their infatuation interesting. He manages to give Gilbert enough dependable charm to win over both Florence and the audience, and she presents Florence as someone with enough spunk and self-possession to go after what she wants. Browning’s scenes with Munnings are equally entertaining in the first third of the film, as she can clearly see straight through all of his bravado and he is intrigued by her and how difficult she is to impress. Unfortunately, while the basis of the love triangle is well-established and entertaining, it takes a sudden turn into nothing with a surprise proposal from Munnings.
Neither the film nor Browning ever make it clear why Florence accepts his proposal, especially when they have both taken great pains to establish that she doesn’t care much for him. But once she does, the films stalls, and both Stevens and Browning spend the rest of the film doing little more than staring moodily and longingly at the people around them. The real-life Florence was plagued by depression and mental instability, but neither the film nor Browning’s performance ever manage to do more than give the subtlest hint at that darkness. On a few occasions, Browning does manage to portray a genuine anguish, but rather than producing any sympathy from the audience, it simply conjures up images of a different film, one that focused more on Florence, and the difficulties of being a woman with a mental illness at a time when both were ignored or misunderstood.
Stevens is fine, and Gilbert starts out with the same kind of good-guy appeal the won the heart of Mary Crawley and Downton Abbey fans the world over. However, once the film stalls, so does his performance, and he quickly drops everything that made the character attractive or interesting in favor of longing looks and long stretches of inactivity. He does portray a convincing amount of adoration for Florence, although that's about the only real emotion that Gilbert expresses for the vast majority of the film, and even during his love scene, he never manages to give him any amount of passion.
Cooper does his best with what he’s given, and tries his hardest to imbue the film with some substance and drama. His Munnings is by turns charming, brash, and brooding, the kind of person who has been told all of their life that they are special, and believes it. He even manages to give the character some depth, and even though he and Browning have very little chemistry, he manages to convey a genuine affection for her. It’s a shame that Munnings becomes such a deeply unlikable character, because Cooper is the only thing giving Summer in February a jolt of life – even if it comes via bursts of thinly-explained hostility. It's hard to watch just how hard he's working to connect with his co-stars and add some excitement to a lifeless script and not wish that he had a better film to show off his talents in.
Unfortunately, by the time Florence and Gilbert are finally spurred into activity, the film has dragged on for so long that you’re no longer invested in the characters, their pain, or their love story, even if you want to be. Which is the real disappointment of Summer in February; underneath the stalled plot and the relatively one-note acting, there are glimmers of a fascinating and compelling story that’s never allowed to come to the forefront.
2/5
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Lions Gate via Everett Collection
When we last left our heroes, they had conquered all opponents in the 74th Annual Hunger Games, returned home to their newly refurbished living quarters in District 12, and fallen haplessly to the cannibalism of PTSD. And now we're back! Hitching our wagons once again to laconic Katniss Everdeen and her sweet-natured, just-for-the-camera boyfriend Peeta Mellark as they gear up for a second go at the Capitol's killing fields.
But hold your horses — there's a good hour and a half before we step back into the arena. However, the time spent with Katniss and Peeta before the announcement that they'll be competing again for the ceremonial Quarter Quell does not drag. In fact, it's got some of the film franchise's most interesting commentary about celebrity, reality television, and the media so far, well outweighing the merit of The Hunger Games' satire on the subject matter by having Katniss struggle with her responsibilities as Panem's idol. Does she abide by the command of status quo, delighting in the public's applause for her and keeping them complacently saturated with her smiles and curtsies? Or does Katniss hold three fingers high in opposition to the machine into which she has been thrown? It's a quarrel that the real Jennifer Lawrence would handle with a castigation of the media and a joke about sandwiches, or something... but her stakes are, admittedly, much lower. Harvey Weinstein isn't threatening to kill her secret boyfriend.
Through this chapter, Katniss also grapples with a more personal warfare: her devotion to Gale (despite her inability to commit to the idea of love) and her family, her complicated, moralistic affection for Peeta, her remorse over losing Rue, and her agonizing desire to flee the eye of the public and the Capitol. Oftentimes, Katniss' depression and guilty conscience transcends the bounds of sappy. Her soap opera scenes with a soot-covered Gale really push the limits, saved if only by the undeniable grace and charisma of star Lawrence at every step along the way of this film. So it's sappy, but never too sappy.
In fact, Catching Fire is a masterpiece of pushing limits as far as they'll extend before the point of diminishing returns. Director Francis Lawrence maintains an ambiance that lends to emotional investment but never imposes too much realism as to drip into territories of grit. All of Catching Fire lives in a dreamlike state, a stark contrast to Hunger Games' guttural, grimacing quality that robbed it of the life force Suzanne Collins pumped into her first novel.
Once we get to the thunderdome, our engines are effectively revved for the "fun part." Katniss, Peeta, and their array of allies and enemies traverse a nightmare course that seems perfectly suited for a videogame spin-off. At this point, we've spent just enough time with the secondary characters to grow a bit fond of them — deliberately obnoxious Finnick, jarringly provocative Johanna, offbeat geeks Beedee and Wiress — but not quite enough to dissolve the mystery surrounding any of them or their true intentions (which become more and more enigmatic as the film progresses). We only need adhere to Katniss and Peeta once tossed in the pit of doom that is the 75th Hunger Games arena, but finding real characters in the other tributes makes for a far more fun round of extreme manhunt.
But Catching Fire doesn't vie for anything particularly grand. It entertains and engages, having fun with and anchoring weight to its characters and circumstances, but stays within the expected confines of what a Hunger Games movie can be. It's a good one, but without shooting for succinctly interesting or surprising work with Katniss and her relationships or taking a stab at anything but the obvious in terms of sending up the militant tyrannical autocracy, it never even closes in on the possibility of being a great one.
3.5/5
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Elizabeth Banks and Paul Giamatti will be "Surfin' USA" alongside John Cusack and Paul Dano in the Brian Wilson biopic Love & Mercy. The Hunger Games actress and Amazing Spider-Man 2 stars are set to star in Love & Mercy, which will document Wilson, played by Cusack and Dano, as he grapples with mental illness throughout the decades of his acclaimed music career as the rockin' Beach Boys front-man.
On top of showcasing Wilson's superb raw talent as a musician, the Bill Pohlad-directed and -produced film emphasizes the people in his life that helped guide him along the way. Banks is slated to take on the role of Wilson's wife, Melinda, and Giamatti will portray Dr. Eugene Landy, Wilson's therapist.
Wilson first met his wife when he and his band performed at Hollywood nightclub Pandora's Box in October 1962. After clumsily spilling a drink all over Marilyn, the couple started dating despite their apparent age gap– she was 14 and a high school student, while he was a 20-year-old performer. scandalous!
Marilyn hired Dr. Eugene Landy to treat her husband in 1975. Dr. Landy's unorthodox 24-hour therapy regime was and is considered highly controversial. Although Landy triumphed in limiting Wilson's abusive drug habits and successfully rejuvenated the musician's look and health, the doc (who earned the brand "Doctor Feelgood") was fired by The Beach Boys for allegedly brainwashing, isolating, and drugging his patient.
Biopics documenting legendary and impactful men are all the trend right now: first Ashton Kutcher will tackle the role of Apple Inc. genius Steve Jobs in the film Jobs, and next up Paul Dano and John Cusack will star as Wilson when production for Love & Mercy written by Oren Moverman begins in August.
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More:Smile! Paul Dano Will Play Brian Wilson in 'Love & Mercy' Biopic James Brown Has Got a Brand New Biopic! Mick Jagger and Brian Grazer to Begin CastingAshton Kutcher as 'jOBS': How Well Does He Pull Off Nerd? — PICS
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If you've ever seen a college comedy — or heck, just about any underdog story — you can probably predict every beat of Monsters University: an earnest, hard-working newcomer pursues his unlikely passions in a new environment, quickly learning that he is in way over his head. There's a quasi-antagonistic foil, one who might eventually become his ally (or heck, best pal!), and a majorly antagonistic authority figure, and probably a series of competitions that'll prove the worth of our lovable heroes. They'll lose the first round, but by some loophole be allowed back into the games, only to reign supreme in every subsequent feat of strength, ultimately achieving something in the vein of self-worth, or new friendships, or a car.
And it works. Sure, any genre-savvy adult might find Monsters U to deliver one of Pixar's less impressive plots, but it hits every mark in terms of entertaining its younger demographic — it is bright and lively, kooky and funny (while teenage Mike and Sully aren't half as witty as their adult counterparts, their goofy frat brothers offer enough good-natured quirk to make up for it), and illustrative of the all-important messages of acceptance of yourself, no matter what your limitations, and others, regardless of how much they veer from your ideals. While the rest of the campus sees Mike Wazowski (Billy Crystal) as a nobody, he's sure from the get-go that he's destined to be a great scarer, obsessing over every theory and formula behind the exhaustive study. Jimmy Sullivan (John Goodman), on the other hand, is universally beloved and admired, banking on his father's legacy to help him coast through a field that he knows to "come naturally" for him.
But both young "men" are thrown for a loop when it turns out that neither brains nor charisma alone can build an effective scare machine. You need the full package. Thus, the heartwarming banding together of this way-too-different-to-Ever-be-friends-oh-wait-this-is-Disney pair, resulting in the lifelong friendship that we stumbled into in Monsters, Inc. ... with one exception.
These are Not the characters we met in Monsters, Inc. — not the Sully, and definitely not the Mike.
Sure, the easy argument is that as teenagers, the fellas had different attitudes, different outlooks, different personalities. That the events of Monsters University helped Sully to learn a lesson about hubris, eventually becoming the upstanding hero that we first discovered back in 2001. But does that forgive the fact that we're faced with a relative in the new release? And what about Mike? In the original, Crystal sighs and whines as a nebbishy 9-to-5er, a glory hound who seems less like a lifelong scaring aficianado and more so a cog in the all-encompassing machine of the monsters' benignly Orwellian society. He's a wiseass who fibs and smack-talks, who fails to file paperwork and aches to clocks out early. Not an evolution of the Monsters University hero, but a separate character entirely. And, in earnest, a much funnier one.
As such, we wonder if the story would have been better served with a focus on two different characters entirely — perhaps the son of Monsters, Inc.'s James Sullivan, and a wide-eyed original character in place of the pseudo-Wazowski. Naturally, this is simply not good business. People signing onto a Monsters, Inc. follow-up want to see the characters they fell in love with, and would be far more likely to hitch wagons to at the very least a thin guise of said characters than to something altogether new. But with a much younger spirit than its predecessor, a younger mentality and as such a younger audience to please, it's worth noting that the people this movie is really reaching were probably not even alive when Monsters, Inc. came out.
We'd be more inclined to judge the film as a standalone feature if it didn't grab for off-references to Inc. every few scenes, peppering in jokes about Mike's canon inability to take a good photo (or to recognize when he has taken a bad one), the eventual decay of the first's villain Randal (Steve Buscemi), and about the mysterious existence of special agent Roz, among others. With constant reminders to the glory that was Monsters, Inc., a movie that painted a vivid world that University's hardly lives up to, longstanding Pixar fans are bound to face disappointment.
However, those noble cinephiles able to take the new release as its own dish, feasting on the sweet and tender parable about friendship and tolerance, and chuckling at some of the crazier side characters' likable antics, will find it to be just enough simple fun and feel-goodery. While Inc. and many of its Pixar brethren are stocked with entertainment for all audiences, this one's really more for the kids ... which is odd, because there's a scene of monsters playing beer pong.
3/5
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More:Every Pixar Movie Has a Non-Pixar Equivalent4 'Monsters University' Clips12 Animation Milestones
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In the formidable years leading up to college, we are tutored in the ways of dorm life by films like Animal House, Van Wilder, Old school... in short, we get a pretty unrealistic vantage point of what higher learning (oh, there's another one!) actually is. But that's because lounging around common rooms and cramming for finals doesn't make for very entertaining cinema. As such, Monsters University is keeping in step with its collegiate predecessors, thrusting Pixar's beloved Mike Wazowski (voiced by Billy Crystal) and James "Sulley" Sullivan (John Goodman) into raucous parties, roommate squabbles, and life-or-death situations of the most extreme caliber.
Check out these two new clips from Monsters University and catch the film in theaters on June 21.
Follow Michael Arbeiter on Twitter @MichaelArbeiter | Follow Hollywood.Com On Twitter @Hollywood_com
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Main Street (Calle Mayor, 1956)
Director J.A. Bardem
I have a weakness for films that look at rural life in the provinces; I guess it’s because I managed to escape from that kind of life. Calle Mayor is a melodrama about a spinster from the provinces. In the 50s, female loneliness always meant the absence of a man. The fate of a woman over 30 was the kitchen, the church or obesity. A group of idle friends (they seem to be lifted straight from Fellini’s I vitelloni) decide to play a joke on naive spinster Isabel (the wonderful Betsy Blair), by one of them pretending to court her. The story is told from the female point of view – something unusual at the time. Female sexual desire is repressed or becomes an object of ridicule. Calle Mayor is a major work that has not only stood the test of time but has consolidated its reputation.
It Happened in Broad Daylight (El cebo, 1958)
Director Ladislao Wajda
Six years before Goldfinger (1964), the German actor Gert Froebe starred in this strange Spanish-German-Swiss coproduction about a pederast who kills girls in a forest near a small village in a Swiss canton. You could say it’s a version of Little Red Riding Hood. In fact El cebo belongs to the genre of ‘crime thriller with children and a monster’, whose most illustrious forebears are Fritz Lang’s M (1931), Charles Laughton’s The Night of the Hunter (1955), James Whale’s Frankenstein (1931), and even Víctor Erice’s The Spirit of the Beehive (1973). It boasts splendid black-and-white photography and a script written by Friedrich Dürrenmatt, who two years later would write a version in novel form called The Pledge (Sean Penn directed an adaptation of it in 2001 starring Jack Nicholson).
The main characters, aside from Gert Froebe, are played by two big European stars of the time, Michel Simon and Heinz Rühmann. Directed by the Hungarian Ladislao Vajda, who lived in Spain and who had worked as editor for Billy Wilder at the beginning of the 30s, El cebo is one of the few examples of a film in which a diverse mix of nationalities and talents crystallises into something beautiful and personal.
The Executioner (El verdugo, 1963)
Director Luis García Berlanga
A young gravedigger meets the daughter of an executioner and falls in love with her. Although love has sprung from their shared connection to death, the gravedigger dreams of emigrating to Germany to complete his training as a mechanic, but a bureaucratic mistake forces him to stay in Spain and take on his father-in-law’s role as executioner. Rafael Azcona and Luis García Berlanga’s script is full of humour, and José Isbert (who plays the executioner) comes across as so likeable that the censors failed to understand the true nature of the film; they only found out it was against the death penalty (in Spain death by garrotte was still in force) when it was shown at the Venice Film Festival and won the FIPRESCI prize. From that moment on, the film encountered difficulties getting screened. The Executioner is an absolute masterpiece; seen now, it seems inconceivable that it was filmed in 1963. It’s an astonishing plea against the death penalty, disguised as a delightful and funny comedy of manners.
Aunt Tula (La tía Tula, 1964)
Director Miguel Picazo
Once again a repressed spinster, but in this case it’s about self-repression. Aunt Tula happily immerses herself in all the everyday female rituals – church, family, innocent all-female meetings, all the while turning her back on sexual pleasure. Tula and her environment are manifestations of a deformed, almost psychotic view of chastity and female decency. Despite not containing any nakedness or explicitly erotic scenes, it’s only rarely that sexual desire has been as vividly present in Spanish cinema as it is in Aunt Tula. For someone like me, who would make films about lonely, courageous women, Aunt Tula by Miguel Picazo is still a role model.
Strange Voyage (El extraño viaje, 1964)
Director Fernando Fernán Gómez
Fernando Fernán Gómez was a genuine one-man band: actor, director, novelist, playwright – he shone in all disciplines. I was lucky enough to work with him on All about My Mother, where he played Penélope Cruz’s father. El extraño viaje is an ‘accursed’ masterpiece that was not actually released at the time, although Spanish censors could not really account for their rejection of it. In 1964 Spain was getting ready for modernisation and development. Tourism was envisaged as one of the big hopes for our economy, so the image of a Spanish beach on which the corpses of two fat, ugly, drunken brothers appear didn’t seem the best way of promoting our coasts.
The film tells the true story of the, still unresolved, killing of two brothers in a small coastal town. Unlike other films included in this season which are set in a rural milieu, the work of Fernán Gómez overflows with the blackest humour. It is an example of that peculiar Spanish neorealism, less sentimental than the Italian version that highlights one of our distinguishing features – a grotesque and sometimes surreal black humour.
Peppermint Frappé (1967)
Director Carlos Saura
Some films define themselves by means of a simple dedication; Peppermint Frappé’s is to Buñuel and openly embraces the Buñuelian surrealist influence. A drab and insignificant radiologist from the provinces (a superb José Luis López Vázquez) becomes obsessed with his long-time friend’s girlfriend, a modern, fresh and very free girl – the opposite of both him and Spain in the 60s. The film can be read as a cryptic plea against the repression and hypocrisy of the petty bourgeoisie of the time, but it is more than that; the story could have been lifted from a Patricia Highsmith novel, where the protagonist is a sweet psychopath who goes unnoticed in the world he inhabits.
Carlos Saura’s film lives on as a very modern film, a ‘pop’ work in the same way that Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom (1960) is ‘pop.’ Its technical credits are mythical for Spanish cinephiles: Rafael Azcona co-wrote the script with Saura himself and Luis Cuadrado, the father of modern Spanish cinematography, was director of photography. And a young Geraldine Chaplin plays opposite López Vázquez, in what for me is one of her best performances
Poachers (Furtivos, 1975)
Director José L Borau
Poachers is a Goyaesque fresco that takes place on a hill and its surroundings – a microcosm of Spanish society at the precise moment Franco was on his deathbed. A symbolic reading might see the forest as representative of Spanish society, or the mother character, Martina, as a metaphor for our country – fierce, immortal, hypocritical, inbred and a killer.
Poachers mixes two genres that have only rarely been tackled in Spanish cinema: the western and the noir. Director José Luis Borau pays homage to Buñuel by choosing Lola Gaos to play the fierce mother character. This actress with the hoarse voice and craggy physique had worked with Buñuel, the genius from Aragón, in Viridiana (1961) and Tristana (1970); in the latter she played Saturna, the maid of Tristana-Deneuve. As Borau has stated, the name Saturna gave him the key to the character in Poachers, by way of allusion to Goya’s ‘Saturn Devouring His Son.’
Rapture (Arrebato, 1979)
Director Iván Zulueta
Arrebato was filmed only four years after the dictator Franco’s death in 1975 but it’s almost as if he had never existed. The story, deliberately depoliticised, takes place in a cosmopolitan Madrid, at the outset of la movida. The protagonist is a horror film director, mysteriously gobbled up by his Super 8mm camera. It’s a fantastic tale of self-immolation; of dedication to both heroin and cinema as beginning and end of everything, and to the dark side as the only possibility for self-fulfilment and self-knowledge. Arrebato is an ‘accursed’ film that nobody saw back then and which is now an absolute modern classic. Its actors would appear in some of my 80s films.
El sur (1983)
Director Víctor Erice
Can it be that an unfinished film is one of the best in Spanish cinema history? Yes it can, and that film is El sur. The second work by Víctor Erice tells of a girl growing up into adolescence and her fascination with her father. Relationships between parents and their children are always mysterious. The father is a kind, reserved and hermetic man who hides a secret. The discovery of this mythical father’s past and the tenderness and simplicity of Erice’s mise-en-scène turn the film into an instant classic. Owing to production problems the film, originally scripted at two and a half hours, eventually came in at 96 minutes. 96 minutes of emotions so intense that you’re left breathless. I cry every time I watch it.
Jamón, Jamón (1992)
Director Bigas Luna
Bigas Luna’s film was Penélope Cruz’s debut and the reason why so many directors, me included, dreamt about working with her some day. The most important icons of our culture are all pitched together in Jamón, Jamón: bullfighting, food, out of control passion, shameless sensuality, class struggle, the Iberian macho man, ham (also Iberian); and then there’s also the explosive encounter of those two forces of nature, Penélope Cruz and Javier Bardem. Jamón, Jamón is a genuine celebration of all things Spanish. The film is worth watching just to see Penélope Cruz walking in front of Javier Bardem’s motorcycle. And for its humour – fresh, physical and unquenchable.
Thesis (Tésis, 1996)
Director Alejandro Amenábar
Alejandro Amenábar debuted in style with this skilful thriller about the market for violent images, in this case videos of real murders and torture, or snuff movies. Amenábar concocts an inspired teen horror film, anchored by a solid script, that constantly springs surprises throughout its two hours. In order to speak about snuff movies he has the brilliant idea of locating the action in the main college of the School of Communication Sciences in Madrid, where future filmmakers are trained, a space well known to the director because he was still a student there. It turns out to be very practical and economical that everything takes place there; and delightfully ambiguous that teachers and students chase and kill each other, and that the video cameras, which they use for their film practices, carry within them a lethal danger.
Blancanieves (2012)
Director Pablo Berger
Blancanieves is one of the peaks in recent Spanish cinema, but had the bad luck to be released a year after The Artist (2011), a silent film that triumphed the world over. Pablo Berger had in fact decided years earlier to film his personal take on the Brothers Grimm fairytale as a black-and-white silent; the result is heartrendingly beautiful. Blancanieves embraces Freaks (Tod Browning), German Expressionist cinema, Spanish folkloric clichés (including Merimée’s Carmen), even Sleeping Beauty. Berger’s experiment is, in my opinion, the best cinematographic version of the Brothers Grimm tale, risky and brilliant in every sense. And there’s a wonderful cast of Spanish actresses: Maribel Verdú, Ángela Molina, Inma Cuesta and the young Macarena García.
Magical Girl (2014)
Director Carlos Vermut
Carlos Vermut is the latest big revelation of Spanish cinema. Not only is his second feature, Magical Girl, a deeply disturbing tale full of mystery, but it also looks like no other Spanish film. Vermut comes from the graphic comic world and is a devotee of Japanese culture. The film tells of the difficulties faced by a jobless father who adores his daughter, a 12-year-old girl with leukaemia whose biggest dream is to own the dress worn by the lead character in the Japanese anime series she fanatically follows, Magical Girl Yukiko. Getting hold of the money to buy her the dress turns her father into a criminal.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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OpenWebText2
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The safety and scientific validity of this study is the responsibility of the study sponsor and investigators. Listing a study does not mean it has been evaluated by the U.S. Federal Government.
Read our disclaimer for details.
This is a single site, prospective, randomized, double-blind study of a single intravenous autologous or allogeneic, unrelated cord blood (CB) infusion in children ages 2-7 years with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). Participants will be randomly assigned to Sequence A, consisting of a single infusion of CB cells at baseline followed 6 months later by a single infusion of placebo, or Sequence B, consisting of an infusion of placebo at baseline followed 6 months later by an infusion of CB cells. All participants will ultimately be treated with CB cells at some point during the study. Participants with an available qualified autologous CB unit will receive autologous cells, and those without a suitable autologous CB unit available will receive cells from a ≥4/6 HLA-matched, ABO-matched allogeneic, unrelated donor CB unit from the Carolinas Cord Blood Bank. All infusions will be double-blinded. The primary outcomes will be assessed 6 months after the initial infusion in the sequence. Additional testing for secondary exploratory analyses will be performed at 12 months. Duration of study participation will be 12 months from the time of baseline infusion.
Change in Social Communication as Measured by the Vineland Adaptive Behavior Scales, Third Edition (VABS-3) [ Time Frame: Baseline, 6 months ]
The Vineland Adaptive Behavior Scales, Third Edition (VABS-3) Socialization domain standard score has mean=100 and standard deviation=15 (range: 20-140). Higher scores indicate better developed adaptive social behavior. The change in the Socialization domain standard score was calculated for each participant from Baseline to Month 6. Changes in the Socialization standard score are indicative of skill acquisition relative to chronologically aged peers of the same sex. Thus, a zero (no change) represents change consistent with what is expected. An increase represents acquisition of more skills over time than would be expected. Participants who experience a decrease in Socialization standard score may still have acquired skills although not at the rate expected based on their age and sex.
There are 3 raw scores within the Socialization domain of the VABS-3. These are the Interpersonal Relationships Raw Score (range: 0-86), the Play and Leisure Raw Score (range: 0-72), and the Coping Skills Raw Score (range: 0-66). Higher numbers on all three scores reflect better functioning in each area. Each raw score is the sum of the item scores in the respective subdomain of Socialization skills. The items are scored as follows: 2=usually present, 1=sometimes present, 0= never present. The item scores are assigned by a trained interviewer who interviews the parent of the child participating in the study. The change in raw score was calculated for each participant from Baseline to Month 6. Positive scores indicate improvement over time whereas negative scores indicate worsening, and zero indicates no change. The scores are not norm-referenced.
There are 3 age equivalent scores within the Socialization domain of the VABS-3: the Interpersonal Relationships Age Equivalent, the Play and Leisure Age Equivalent, and the Coping Sills Age Equivalent. An individual participant's age equivalent represents the chronological age (in years:months) at which their score would be considered normative. The age equivalent ranges are 0:0-22:0, 0:0-20:0, and 2:0-22:0 for the Interpersonal Relationships, Play and Leisure and Coping Skills age equivalents, respectively. The change in this age equivalent was calculated for each participant from Baseline to Month 6 and expressed as a number of months. Positive scores indicate increases in the age equivalent of the participant's social communication skills over time and are considered an improvement. Negative scores indicate decreases in the age equivalent of the participant's social communication skills and are considered worsening, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The PDD-BI assesses both social impairments and development of pro-social skills that are integral to improved reciprocal social behavior. The PDD-BI renders T scores (mean=50, standard deviation=10) based on comparisons to a standardized ASD population. The Autism Composite T score ranges from 10-100. The typical child with autism scores between 40-60.Higher scores indicate more severe autism symptoms and lower scores reflect milder symptoms. Change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Negative change scores indicate improvement in autism symptoms over time whereas positive scores indicate worsening of symptoms, and zero indicates no change in symptoms.
The CGI-S is a 7 point scale completed at the baseline and 6-month visits that requires the clinician to rate the severity of the participant's symptoms of autism at the time of assessment, relative to the clinician's past experience with participants who have the same diagnosis. There are 3 CGI-S scores: the Social Communication Score, the Restricted and Repetitive Behaviors Score, and the Overall Score. The clinician's rates the severity of autism symptoms - 1, normal, no symptoms; 2, borderline level of symptoms; 3, mild symptoms; 4, moderate symptoms; 5, marked symptoms; 6, severe symptoms; or 7, extremely severe symptoms. Increases in the change score represent increases in symptom severity, decreases in the change score indicate improvement, and zero indicates no change.
The CGI-I is a 7 point scale that requires the clinician to assess how much the participant's autism symptoms have improved or worsened relative to a baseline assessment. The symptoms are rated as: 1, very much improved; 2, much improved; 3, minimally improved; 4, no change; 5, minimally worse; 6, much worse; or 7, very much worse. There are three separate CGI-I ratings: social communicative functioning, restricted/repetitive interests and behaviors, and overall improvement.
This Expressive One-Word Picture Vocabulary Test is a standardized evaluation of the child's expressive one-word vocabulary by a trained clinician. It tests an individual's ability to name, with one word, objects, actions, and concepts when presented with color illustrations. Higher EOWPVT standard scores reflect a better vocabulary. The minimum score is age-dependent (years:months) as follows. For a child age 2:0 to 2:1 the minimum is 65; age 2:2-2:3 (min=62); age 2:4-2:5 (min=60); age 2:6-2:7 (min=58); age 2:8-2:9 (min=57); age 2:10-2:11 (min=56); age 3:0 and older (min=55). The maximum possible score across all ages is 145. The change in score from Baseline to Month 6 was the outcome measure. Increases reflect increases in vocabulary skills, decreasing reflect decreases in vocabulary skills, and zero reflects no change.
The VABS-II measures adaptive functioning in socialization, communication, daily living, and motor skills. The Communication subscale standard score is derived by summing norm-referenced (by age group and sex) v-scale scores (mean=15, standard deviation=3) from the Receptive, Expressive, and Written communication subdomains and standardizing this sum to a normal distribution with mean=100 and standard deviation=15. Changes in the Communication standard score are indicative of skill acquisition relative to chronologically aged peers of the same sex. Thus, a zero (no change) represents change consistent with what is expected. An increase represents acquisition of more skills over time than would be expected. Participants who experience a decrease in Communication standard score may still have acquired skills although not at the rate expected based on their age and sex.
The VABS-II measures adaptive functioning in socialization, communication, daily living, and motor skills. The Daily Living standard score is derived by summing norm-referenced (by age group and sex) v-scale scores (mean=15, standard deviation=3) from the Personal, Domestic and Community subdomains and standardizing this sum to a normal distribution with mean=100 and standard deviation=15. Changes in the Daily Living standard score are indicative of skill acquisition relative to chronologically aged peers of the same sex. Thus, a zero (no change) represents change consistent with what is expected. An increase represents acquisition of more skills over time than would be expected. Participants who experience a decrease in Daily Living standard score may still have acquired skills although not at the rate expected based on their age and sex.
The Vineland Adaptive Behavior Scales II (VABS-II) measures adaptive functioning in socialization, communication, daily living, and motor skills. The Adaptive Behavior Composite provides an overall summary of adaptive behavior across all of the domains. Each participant's score is standardized to a normal distribution with mean=100 and standard deviation=15. Positive scores indicate an increase in the Adaptive Behavior Composite Score over time whereas negative scores indicate decrease in the Adaptive Behavior Composite Score, and zero indicates no change in the Adaptive Behavior Composite Score.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Repetitive, Ritualistic and Pragmatic Problems T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) measures a broad range of behavioral problems associated with autism. The score ranges from 26-100 in patients aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of severity. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect worsening of problem behaviors, decreases indicate improvement, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Approach/Withdrawal Problems T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) measures a broad range of behavioral problems associated with autism. The score ranges from 27-100 in patients aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of severity. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect worsening of problem behaviors, decreases indicate improvement, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Sensory/Perceptual Approach Behaviors T-score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) includes behaviors that are largely non-communicative and involve approach toward asocial stimuli. The score ranges from 31 to 86 in patients aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of severity. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect worsening of problem behaviors, decreases indicate improvement, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Ritualisms/Resistance to Change T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) describes behaviors that communicate the child's desires to carry out rituals or to communicate dissatisfaction with a change in the environment or routine. The score ranges from 34 to 100 for participants aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of severity. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect worsening of problem behaviors, decreases indicate improvement, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Social Pragmatic Problems T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) measures the difficulties children with autism have in either reacting to the approaches of others, understanding social conventions, or initiating social interactions with others. The score ranges from 29 to 100 for participants aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of severity. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect worsening of problem behaviors, decreases indicate improvement, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Semantic/Pragmatic Problems T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) assesses the difficulties children with autism have in using spoken language to indicate comprehension, communicate meaning, respond to the interests of others, and sustain a conversation. The score ranges from 34 to 100 for participants aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of severity. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect worsening of problem behaviors, decreases indicate improvement, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Arousal Regulation Problems T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) measures behaviors that are largely non-communicative or unresponsive and reflect emotional constriction, the apparent seeking of kinesthetic sensation, and, in the parent version, difficulty with sleep regulation. The score ranges from 26 to 77 for participants aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of severity. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect worsening of problem behaviors, decreases indicate improvement, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Specific Fears T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) measures behaviors that communicate the fears and anxieties associated with withdrawal from social or asocial stimuli. The score ranges from 36 to 100 for participants aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of severity. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect worsening of problem behaviors, decreases indicate improvement, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Aggressiveness T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) assesses the aggressive approach toward self or others, as well as the negative mood changes that are often associated with such behaviors. The score ranges from 36 to 100 for participants aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of severity. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect worsening of problem behaviors, decreases indicate improvement, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Expressive Social Communication Abilities T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) measures a broad range of social communication skills affected by autism. The score ranges from 20 to 100 for participants aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of competence. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect improvement, decreases indicate worsening, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Receptive/Expressive Social Communication Ability T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) measures a broad range of social communication skills affected by autism. The score ranges from 20 to 100 for participants aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of competence. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect improvement, decreases indicate worsening, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Social Approach Behaviors T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) assesses those social communication skills that are notoriously difficult for children with autism (e.g., eye contact, joint attention, effective use of gesture, imaginative skills). The score ranges from 14 to 93 for participants aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of competence. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect improvement, decreases indicate worsening, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Expressive Language T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) assesses the ability of the child to speak the sounds associated with the English language and to use words and sentences that indicate his or her competence with grammar, tone of voice, and the pragmatic aspects of communicating with others. The score ranges from 28 to 100 for participants aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of competence. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect improvement, decreases indicate worsening, and zero indicates no change.
The PDD-BI is an informant-based rating scale that assesses problem behaviors as well as appropriate social, language, and learning/memory skills. The Learning, Memory, and Receptive Language T-Score (mean=50, standard deviation=10) assesses two areas of variable competence in children with autism: (a) memory and (b) receptive language. The score ranges from 22 to 88 for participants aged 2-8 years. Higher values indicate increasing levels of competence. The change in this score from Baseline to Month 6 was calculated for each participant. Increases in the change score reflect improvement, decreases indicate worsening, and zero indicates no change.
Choosing to participate in a study is an important personal decision. Talk with your doctor and family members or friends about deciding to join a study. To learn more about this study, you or your doctor may contact the study research staff using the contacts provided below. For general information, Learn About Clinical Studies.
Evidence of clinically relevant physical dysmorphology indicative of a genetic syndrome as assessed by the PIs or other investigators, including a medical geneticist or psychiatrists trained in identifying dysmorphic features associated with neurodevelopmental conditions
Current/Prior Therapy:
History of prior cell therapy
Current or prior use of immune globulins or other anti-inflammatory medications with the exception of non steroidal anti-inflammatory medications
Current or prior immunosuppressive therapy
No systemic steroid therapy that has lasted >2 weeks, and no systemic steroids within 3 months prior to enrollment. Topical and inhaled steroids are permitted.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
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Stereotactic surgery for post-traumatic cerebellar syndrome: an analysis of seven cases.
A variety of post-traumatic movement disorders may follow severe head injury. Generally, the movement disorder is a moderate to severe intention tremor, and this is often the major source of disability for the patient. The clinical features of 7 patients whose predominant problem was a post-traumatic cerebellar syndrome, who were treated by stereotactic ablation of the ventralis intermedius thalamic nucleus, are reported. 6 patients had good relief of their tremor and only 1 patient did not improve. Conservative treatment is usually ineffective, but in appropriately selected cases, stereotactic thalamotomy has a high degree of clinical success.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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PubMed Abstracts
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Q:
How to POST with request in Express
So I'm trying to POST a new user to Intercom using the request module, but can't seem to get the format correct. I'm able to do GET requests just fine with request and POST with the same data with CURL. So my conclusion is there must be somthing wrong with the way I'm using the request library.
Working CURL request:
curl https://api.intercom.io/users \
-X POST \
-u xxx:da39xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx0709 \
-H 'Accept: application/json' \
-H 'Content-Type: application/json' -d '
{
"user_id": "25",
"email": "[email protected]",
"name": "Hoban Washburne",
"signed_up_at": 1392731331,
"last_seen_ip" : "1.2.3.4"
}
Not working server side request:
request.post('https://api.intercom.io/users',
{
'auth': {
'user': 'xxx',
'pass': 'xxx',
'sendImmediately': false
}},
{
"user_id": "193",
"email": "[email protected]",
"name": "Hoban Washburne",
"signed_up_at": 1392731331,
"last_seen_ip" : "1.2.3.4",
},function (error, response, body) {
var info = JSON.parse(body);
console.log(info);
console.log(error);
});
res.status(200).send(info);
A:
I changed the format of the request based on this blog post
Here's an answer that worked for me.
request({
'url': 'https://api.intercom.io/users', //URL to hit
'method': 'POST',
'headers': {
'Content-Type': 'application/json',
'Accept': 'application/json'
},
'auth': {
'user': 'xxxxxx', //org ID
'pass': 'xxxxxxxxxxxxx', //API key
'sendImmediately': false
},
//Lets post the following key/values as form
'json': {
"user_id": "193",
"email": "[email protected]",
"name": "Hoban Washburne",
"signed_up_at": 1392731331,
"last_seen_ip" : "1.2.3.4"
}
}, function(error, response, body){
if(error) {
console.log(error);
} else {
console.log(response.statusCode, body);
}
res.status(200).send("this is a test");
});
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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StackExchange
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1. Field of the Invention
This invention relates to an electro-acoustic transducer for converting electrical signals from, for example, a speaker, or collecting the sound from outside to convert it into electrical signals, in which the effect of the sound radiated to the back side of an electro-acoustic transducing device, such as a speaker unit, is eliminated to improve the acoustic characteristics from the mid to high ranges.
2. Description of the Related Art
As a speaker device, there has hitherto been known a bass-reflex type speaker device 50, shown in FIG. 23a, or an enclosure type speaker device 60, as shown in FIG. 23b.
The bass-reflex type speaker device 50 has a duct 51 on the front side of a casing 53, as shown in FIG. 23a. The enclosure type speaker device 60, on the other hand, is of a hermetically sealed structure, without being formed with an opening, such as a duct, in a casing 63, as shown in FIG. 23b.
The bass-reflex type speaker device 50 has sound pressure versus frequency characteristics A, impedance versus frequency characteristics B and second harmonics distortion versus frequency characteristics C, as shown for example in FIG. 24. It may be seen from the sound pressure versus frequency characteristics A in FIG. 24 that the sound pressure is decreased and increased in the low range and in the mid to high range, respectively. Correspondingly, the second harmonics distortion versus frequency characteristics C are increased in the low frequency range, while being lower in the mid to high range than in the low range.
The enclosure type speaker device 60 has sound pressure versus frequency characteristics A, impedance versus frequency characteristics B and second harmonics distortion versus frequency characteristics C, as shown for example in FIG. 25. It may be seen from the sound pressure versus frequency characteristics A in FIG. 25 that, as in the bass-reflex type, described above, the sound pressure is decreased and increased in the low range and in the mid to high range, respectively. Correspondingly, the second harmonics distortion versus frequency characteristics C are increased in the low frequency range, while being lower in the mid to high range than in the low range.
In the above speaker devices 50, 60, when the sound is radiated by diaphragms of speaker units 52, 62 towards the front side, the sound is radiated towards the back side of the speaker unit as well. In these speaker devices 50, 60, the radiated sound is reflected by the inner wall sections of the casings 53, 63 to return back to the diaphragms so as to be superimposed as noise components on the sound radiated from the diaphragms to deteriorate the acoustic characteristics.
In particular, in a speaker device having enclosure in the shape of a cube or parallelepiped, there are produced standing waves between inner wall sections facing the speaker unit. Moreover, significant noise components are superimposed on the sound radiated from the diaphragm.
It is an object of the present invention to provide a novel electro-acoustic transducer which is able to resolve the problems inherent in the conventional electro-acoustic transducer.
It is another object of the present invention to provide a novel electro-acoustic transducer having optimum acoustic characteristics free from adverse effects of the sound radiated from a diaphragm.
It is yet another object of the present invention to provide a novel electro-acoustic transducer having optimum acoustic characteristics free from adverse effects of the sound radiated from the back side of the diaphragm towards the inner side of the casing.
For accomplishing the above objects, the present invention provides an electro-acoustic transducer, such as a speaker device or an earphone device. The transducer includes an electro-acoustic transducing unit, such as a speaker unit, for converting input electrical signals into the sound, a casing in which the electro-acoustic transducing unit is arranged and which delimits a back cavity towards the rear side of the electro-acoustic transducing unit, and at least two openings having a sound duct communicating with the back cavity. The sound radiated from the back surface of the electro-acoustic transducing unit is transmitted into the inside of the sound duct thereof to prevent the sound from being again admitted into the inside of the electro-acoustic transducer.
The present invention also provides an electro-acoustic transducer including electro-acoustic transducing means for converting input electrical signals into sound, a casing in which the electro-acoustic transducing means is arranged and which delimits a back cavity towards the rear side of the electro-acoustic transducing means, and a plurality of sound ducts, with the sound ducts having respective one ends communicating with the back cavity and also having respective opposite ends communicating with one another. The sound radiated from the back surface of the electro-acoustic transducing means is transmitted into the inside of the sound duct thereof to prevent the sound radiated from the back side of the electro-acoustic transducing means from being again admitted into the electro-acoustic transducer.
The present invention also provides an acoustic-electrical transducer including acoustic-electrical transducing means for converting an input sound into electrical signals, and a sound duct having at least two openings and adapted for communicating with the rear side of the acoustic-electrical transducing means. The sound duct transmits to the sound radiated from the rear side of the acoustic-electrical transducing means into the sound duct for attenuation to prevent the sound radiated from the back side of the electro-acoustic transducing means from being again admitted into the electro-acoustic transducer.
Other objects and advantages of the present invention will become apparent from the following description of the present embodiments of the invention in conjunction with the drawings.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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USPTO Backgrounds
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Fifa street ginga roulette
http://www.youtube.com/v/R6w7JbIFkn8?fs=1 Thank you for SUBSCRIBING! How to do the Ginga Roulette in football / soccer. This trick is seen in the video game FIFA.Mänguri unistus in category:. FIFA 2005 FIFA 2006 FIFA 2007 FIFA 2008. Ronaldinho Street Soccer 2007 Roulette.
Download - UpdateStar - UpdateStar.com
After interviewing Daniel Cappellaro recently we came back from Oz to catch up with Basildon's own FIFA Street. FIFA 97 was released with. ginga roulette (what.Dungeons dragons dice spinners how to beat any player roulette to.One of casino croupiers fixed a couple of dinner what. 12:30 bst best trade offer wins the roulette tips tricks.
Complete List of Games - PCSX2 Wiki
4.1 Total Street Domination Collect all FIFA Street. first pass back to your goalkeeper just like in any other version of FIFA. Ginga Roulette - 100 style.
GameFAQs Community - oliist
Any interest in a thread for potential skills or skills that would be fun. Will be able to make one tonight as im currently in work. I will say.Formasi terbaik adalah: 4-1-2-1-2 2 inside circle drag elastico hookuspookus roulette.Here is the track list for "Fifa Street 4 Real Life Ep 2 Ginga Roulette Versio" we may collect and you can listen to and download. Buy a cassete.FIFA Street has arrived,. Ginga Roulette, Around The World, Elastico Chop, Freeze 360, Back Heel Air Touch. More FIFA Street on NowGamer: FIFA Street Review.
Obsah. Ovládání: základy útočení. Ovládání: základy
Find and save ideas about Street football on Pinterest. http://www.thehowto.info/ginga-roulette-tutorial-fifa-street-football-soccer/.
Todas As Cartas Raras De Yu-gi-oh warner muster jessica
See more of Klondike Game Fans on Facebook. Log In. This roulette gives the opportunity to win Big and Small Malachite,. Fifa Street $7.Upgrade your browser to the latest version (Internet Explorer 8) or install another browser, like Firefox or Google Chrome.Does a roulette to get the ball away from a. Paulinho is playing like someone outta fifa street. permalink;. Paulinho playing against semi-pro of FIFA. permalink.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Pile-CC
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Modality of treatment and outcome of Helicobacter pylori infection in primary care. An Italian experience.
Aim of the present study was to evaluate the selection and the relative efficacy of H. pylori eradication regimens in primary care setting. Patients referred to our Department, treated for H. pylori infection during the last 6 months, were enrolled during September 1998-July 1999. H. pylori status was assessed by urea breath test and recorded together with information about administered drugs, compliance, side effects. In patients undergone the first treatment course (1863 cases, 45% M, mean age 53+/-14 yrs) the mean eradication rate (ER) was 72%: a double therapy was prescribed in 14% of cases, a triple therapy in 85% and a quadruple in 1%. Maastricht Consensus PPI-based regimens were prescribed in 80% of total cases with a mean ER of 73%. No statistical significant correlation was found between eradication failure and sex, age or administered treatment. In Italy, in primary care setting: 1) first line H. pylori eradication therapies reflect international guidelines; 2) the efficacy of such regimens is lower than the one reported by controlled trials: such data should be kept in mind when pharmacoeconomic evaluations of H. pylori management are drawn.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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PubMed Abstracts
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Healing potential of Anogeissus latifolia for dermal wounds in rats.
Wound healing potential of ethanolic extract of Anogeissus latifolia bark (ALE) for treatment of dermal wounds in rats was studied on excision and incision wound models. HPTLC of the total extract was recorded for the purpose of standardization. Various parameters of incision wound, viz. epithelization period, scar area, tensile strength and hydroxyproline measurements along with wound contraction, were used to evaluate the effect of A. latifolia on wound healing. The results obtained indicate that A. latifolia accelerates the wound healing process by decreasing the surface area of the wound and increasing the tensile strength. Nitrofurazone ointment was used as a positive control. Complete epithelization was observed within 15 days with ALE. Measurements of the healed area and the hydroxyproline level were in agreement. Antibacterial activity of ALE was studied against Gram-positive (Staphylococcus aureus) and Gram-negative bacteria (Escherichia coli, Pseudomonas aeruginosa and Klebsiella pneumoniae) compared to erythromycin and tetracycline. Moderate activity was observed against all organisms. The present study provides a scientific rationale for the traditional use of Anogeissus latifolia in the management of skin diseases such as sores, boils and itching.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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PubMed Abstracts
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dkirschner's Mass Effect 2 (PC)
[March 29, 2011 01:15:08 PM]
Finally finished ME2. Took me over a month, uncharacteristically long for a game the last few months, but things have been busy. My time played was 37-38 hours, and I felt it should have taken me around 30, firstly because I wasted so much time sending probes to get ore, and secondly because I spent time doing every available mission, which was totally unnecessary. I complained about scanning in a previous entry, but after that play session where I scanned for like 2.5 hours, I looked up how much ore I actually needed to upgrade things, and I apparently already had more than enough. I made a rule: No scanning. The game improved 100-fold. Whoever thought sending probes to planets to scan for ore would be fun should be fired.
The second thing up there has to do with the flow of the game and the missions. The game feels very drawn out. I could have finished a week ago, but wanted to complete all my crew's missions and all the extra planet missions. All these missions were fun enough, but largely pointless. You're able to go through the Omega 4 relay basically after you recruit enough of your crew and after you complete the very small number of required story missions that lead to the relay and the Collector attack. The extra crew missions were cool just for fleshing out their personal stories, but they didn't contribute much to the game's main narrative, which I felt was rather thin. The story doesn't move forward much. I feel like it rode the wave from ME1 and is serving as a bridge to the conclusion in ME3 later this year. Oh, well I guess you do get some upgrades from doing extra missions, but it doesn't really matter since the game isn't hard at any point and a lot of the upgrades are hardly vital.
I did successfully pursue a romantic relationship with Tali, but didn't get to see her face. Well, Shepherd did, but I didn't. In pursuing with her, I rejected Miranda outright, and led on Jack for a while until I had to choose between her and Tali, and then from then on Jack yelled at me to "Fuck off!" every time I went into her crawlspace. I liked that there were twice as many crew members as the first game. My favorites were Tali and Jack, which has nothing to do with romantic relationships. Quarians are just really neat, and Jack is, well, Jack. The Asari Justicar was cool too, as was the Drell assassin. Garrus is awesome. Legion was a twist. As far as I remember, the rest were just okay, Grunt, Mordin (though cool ethical story), Miranda, Jacob.
The ending mission through the Omega 4 relay was pretty cool, except like I said, I don't feel like I accomplished too much except set up for ME3. There were no bosses in this game. There was sort of one at the end, but not really, and the boss I thought there would be, surprise, never encountered me directly and I guess I get to face off against him in ME3. Oh and then, at the end, you select crew members to do this and that, and apparently Mordin died for some reason. It looks like it was random from a selection, because I didn't give Mordin any specific instructions or send him to his death. He was with the rest of the crew and just was dead at the end and I don't know why.
So, ME2, by the end, felt like I was just chugging along for no good reason. It was a lot of fun chugging, but I would have liked more outcome, more consequence. Whereas in the first game, I know I had a humongous impact on the entire galaxy, in this one, I don't feel I did much. I saved some human colonies from being turned into Collector food and Human-Reaper hybrid matter. Cool. This is actually my fear with video games these days. There are more and more games coming out, and it seems like more and more of them are good, as in fun and polished final products. Fun and polish is getting easier to do I think. I've got to sift through more, sit and play plain old solid games instead of fantastic ones because there are more and more just plain old solid games. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but it's kind of, I don't know, tiring. I just started Dead Space after this, and I get the same feeling. While it seems really cool, it boils down to a polished horror sci-fi shooter, which I've done quite a few times already. Is dismembering monsters and a unique HUD enough to make me think it's incredible or enough to just make me play it because it's solid? Not sure.
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[March 12, 2011 11:14:36 AM]
Sat down today for a nice chunk of time to play ME2, but ended up being bored out of my mind and actually (gasp!) cut my session short. This was totally unexpected, especially after having already played a while and 100% enjoying it. I'll start with the bad first. Well, first a general note of unease. ME2 is either a streamlined (positive adjective) or dumbed down (negative adjective) successor to ME1. It's probably a mixture of both. But the fact that I can't decide to what degree it's streamlined or dumbed down worries me, mostly because I don't remember finding much anything in need of fixing from ME1. So what the hell did they do to my game?
1. Federal offense level. Scanning planets is horrendous. Really, it's that bad. It's tedious, boring, time-consuming, etc., etc. Here's how it goes down. ME1 version: Select a planet, you automatically fly there, you click 'survey,' and you automatically survey it, mine it, whatever. ME2 version: Fly your ship (click-to-move) to the planet, which uses up your fuel resource (only replenishable at a fueling station, of which there is one (1) per star cluster). Click 'scanner.' Hold right click to go into scan mode. Move the scanner icon over 360 degrees of the planet, slowly and methodically, monitoring a graph of element traces for four useful ores. When the graph starts spiking along any of the four ores, delicately move the scanner to find the peak of the ore deposit, and left click (you're still holding right-click for scan mode) to deploy a probe, which collects your goodies. Each planet takes around 15 probes, and I can hold, as of now, 30 probes. This means that every two planets, I have to fly myself back to the fueling station to buy probes. I quit today when I entered a system with seven planets. That would be 4 trips back to another star system and probably 45 minutes to scan and collect all the minerals. My right wrist and mouse fingers are really tired from holding down that right button. Why can't I just click it once to enter 'scan mode' or something? Why do I have to keep it pressed the entire time? I played about four hours today, one story mission, a couple small missions, and the rest (2.5 hours or so) just scanning planets. I really feel like I wasted my time. Unfortunately, you need the various ores to upgrade anything in the game, so you have to go farm it, and the RPG fan in me likes to upgrade things. I was thinking that I don't want to go back and play it because I know the first thing I need to do is scan this 7-planet solar system.
2. Security breach. ME2 features the 'everyone can do everything' gameplay that makes me feel less unique than my parents and teachers always told me I was. Example 1: hacking. No longer do you need a hacking expert in your party. Now everyone's main character can hack. And instead of actually challenging players with a tiered difficulty mini-game a la ME1, the two minigames for hacking and opening doors are capable of being done with 100% success by a 6-year-old, and 6-year-olds shouldn't be playing this game. There's a simple game of Memory with 10 tiles transposed on a circuit board, and there's a simple game of matching. They are so boring. I finish them all at like 50% time. ME1 had different levels, and the hard ones would get hard! I'd fail and have to use Omni-gel to open them sometimes. There isn't any Omni-gel in ME2 though because there's no inventory and no loot! What have you done to my RPG?!
3. Petty theft. Yes, no loot and no inventory. Now, you select weaponry before the fight, and the only character you can equip is Shepherd. All weapons/armor/upgrades are found lying around levels, in shops, or from talking with crew members. Once you find or buy a pattern, you then have to pay whatever type of ore to research it, and then you can choose that weapon on load-out, or have Shepherd equip the armor (some of each of which give bonuses to the whole party, and some of which are character-specific). Guns also have ammo now, which is plentiful so far on the ground.
4. (Dis)orderly conduct. The tactical features of battles are different. Now you can essentially pause the game, assign individual orders, including cast targets, and then watch the action unfold. So far, this has made the game really easy. Granted, I don't have to use it, but I like it at the same time I dislike it. What this means is that it essentially doesn't matter what class Shepherd is since you give orders to all 3 characters. What I typically do is pause, Shepherd immobilizes enemies with biotics, other character immobilizes with biotics/tech, other character immobilizes with biotics/tech. All characters shoot immobilized enemies. Win. I've died like twice, compared to the many, many deaths in ME1. I could also bump up the difficulty, which I think I might do, because it's just too easy.
Then, I have some other random observations and quick things. Not all missions have maps anymore, which is weird. You just get a directional arrow on the radar, but no map.
The story missions so far are about recruiting a crew, which is neat. I found some Salarian scientist yesterday, then I found Garrus (!) today, which was badass. The story and characters are great again, and I'm very glad for it.
All the above negativity, while annoying (or downright depressing as in the scanning), doesn't mean I dislike the game. The missions are a lot of fun.
Oh, here's the equivalent of an international act of terrorism though. There's no Mako! No longer do you just deploy on planets in the Mako. Driving the Mako around, taking screenshots, and discovering places of interest on planetary surfaces was possibly my favorite thing about ME1, and it's gone here. I've only encountered one extra mission, and I must admit that, though there was no Mako, it was really unique. I detected a crashed ship, and went down to investigate. The ship was hanging precariously on the edge of a cliff. I made my way across it, with new paths opening up as pieces of it fell and crashed down around me, and finally got to the computer so I could download logs and find out what happened. Just then, the whole ship shifted and began sliding off the cliff. The Normandy came just in time to pick me up. Very cool mission, and tense because the ship shifted and groaned the whole time. I hope others will be as unique and make up for no Mako.
Biotics are more useful. Abilities now follow targets. No longer will my force chokes be avoided!
The graphics, lighting, interface, etc. etc. is all very much visually improved. Me like.
To backtrack, my very first impressions of the game upon loading were the EA store, cash exchange for DLC, and achievements. ME2 definitely is part of this new breed of DLC-happy single-player games. But of course there's a store, and of course you can't just buy the DLC. You have to buy EA points or something, and then there are also ME2 points or something, and then you cash in for extra missions and whatnot. The real $ equivalent is relatively high. Achievements also appear all the freaking time in-game. That would be fine, but it's the achievement progress that clutters things. It seems like everything I do, this big Headshot 1/20! and Technology upgrade 3/10! etc. etc. pop up. I don't care! Just let me know if I finish one. I'll look to see what they are if I'm going to worry about completing them.
When you start ME2, you can import an ME1 save file and keep the decisions you made in that game. I started off without the save to see what the default choices were, and it turns out I made two different ones. I reloaded with my save game for continuity (and because my choices are better, duh). It's awesome how the choices I made in ME1 actually carry over. For instance, the fact that I saved the council has been referenced at least 10 times. I'm not sure what happened to my alien Asari lover yet though. I did find Garrus, and Joker is my pilot, and Dr. Chakwas is still there taking care of everyone in the medical bay.
Yep, so I'm just bummed out by how lame my session was tonight with all that planetary scanning. I really hope I just did way too much of it at once and that now there's not much left to do. We'll see, but I doubt I'll feel like playing again soon. I know there's a lot of fun to be had, so I'll get back to it eventually.
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dkirschner's Mass Effect 2 (PC)
Current Status: Finished playing
GameLog started on: Saturday 26 February, 2011
GameLog closed on: Sunday 27 March, 2011
dkirschner's opinion and rating for this game
ME was awesome. I am excited to see how any choices from the first game may impact this one.
-------------------
Not much to say. Very solid game, follows from ME1.
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52 Wn.2d 581 (1958)
328 P.2d 164
ELLA M. WARD, Appellant,
v.
S. DEAN ARNOLD, Respondent.[1]
No. 34503.
The Supreme Court of Washington, Department Two.
July 10, 1958.
McKevitt, Snyder & Thomas, for appellant.
F.L. Stotler (V.R. Clements, of counsel), for respondent.
ROSELLINI, J.
This is an appeal from a judgment entered upon an order sustaining a demurrer to a complaint alleging malpractice by an attorney at law. It was alleged that on July 7, 1953, the plaintiff had employed the defendant to draw a will for her husband, whereby she would be made the beneficiary of the residue of his estate; that the defendant had contacted her husband and ascertained that he desired to execute such a will, and that the defendant had prepared such a will and mailed it to the plaintiff with the following note attached:
"Fill in dates in two places. Have two discreet witnesses (Nurses and doctors dont want to act)
"All three (Babe and the two witnesses) must all be present and sign in the presence of the other two."
According to the allegations, the plaintiff's husband had executed the will, but not in the presence of witnesses, and she had neglected to have the will properly executed because the attorney had advised her that a will was unnecessary and that, by law, if her husband died intestate, she would receive the residue. It was alleged that, when she asked him if he were sure of this fact, he answered affirmatively *583 and stated that it would affect only the amount of inheritance tax.
It was further alleged that the defendant well knew that the plaintiff's husband was the owner of a substantial amount of separate property obtained by inheritance from an estate which the defendant had probated; that the defendant knew or, if possessed of reasonable knowledge and exercising reasonable care under the standards of practice in the community, should have known that, under the laws of the state of Washington, if her husband died intestate, the plaintiff would inherit only half of his separate estate; that the remaining half would pass by inheritance to her husband's brother; that the execution or nonexecution of a will would not affect the amount of inheritance tax payable; and that there was no objection to attestation of a will by nurses or doctors.
It was further alleged that the husband possessed testamentary capacity and was ready, willing, and able to execute the will, but that the plaintiff, relying upon the advice of the defendant that a will was unnecessary and solely because of such advice, failed to have the will properly executed. Finally, it was alleged that the plaintiff's husband, who had been hospitalized at all times since a date prior to July 7, 1953, died intestate on August 17, 1953, and that as a result of his intestacy, property having a fair market value of $15,262.50 went by inheritance to his brother, and that this property would have passed to the plaintiff by will if the same had been executed as required by law, and that by reason thereof, the plaintiff had been damaged in the sum of $15,262.50.
The record does not reveal the theory upon which the trial court sustained the demurrer, but the respondent, in support of the judgment, advances two objections to the sufficiency of the complaint.
[1, 2] One is that the complaint, on its face, shows that the defendant was employed, not by the plaintiff but by her husband. We see no merit in this contention. The complaint plainly states that the defendant's services were engaged by the plaintiff, that the advice was given to her, and *584 that the will with attached instructions was sent to her. The fact that the defendant contacted the husband to determine whether the proposed will expressed his true intentions does not change the relationship alleged. It is not contrary to public policy for one person to engage an attorney to write the will of another, naming him beneficiary. Schirmer v. Nethercutt, 157 Wash. 172, 288 Pac. 265.
To sustain the judgment, the respondent points out that, according to the allegations of the complaint, the erroneous advice negligently given by the defendant was not the sole proximate cause of the plaintiff's loss, and that her own act caused the loss. It is true that, had the plaintiff followed the defendant's instructions, the loss would not have occurred; but the allegation is that her failure to do so was due solely to the defendant's assurance that the execution of the will was unnecessary.
[3, 4] Contrary to the defendant's contention, the law does not require that negligence of the defendant must be the sole cause of the injury complained of in order to entitle the plaintiff to damages therefor. The connection between a negligent act and an injury is not broken by an intervening event which occurs so naturally in the course of events that it might reasonably have been anticipated by the wrongdoer. Theurer v. Condon, 34 Wn. (2d) 448, 209 P. (2d) 311. We see no sound reason, and none is urged, why the degree of causation which must be proved in an action for damages for malpractice should be any different from that required in an ordinary negligence case.
[5] An attorney at law, when he enters into the employ of another person as such, undertakes that he possesses a reasonable amount of skill and knowledge as an attorney, and that he will exercise a reasonable amount of skill in the course of his employment, but he is not a guarantor of results and is not liable for the loss of a case unless such loss occurred by reason of his failure to possess a reasonable amount of skill or knowledge, or by reason of his negligence or failure to exercise a reasonable amount of skill and knowledge as an attorney. Isham v. Parker, 3 Wash. 755, 29 Pac. 835.
*585 [6] The plaintiff alleged that she had employed the defendant as her attorney; that he thereupon gave her erroneous advice which would not have been given had he possessed a reasonable amount of skill and knowledge; that, in reliance upon that advice, she had failed to see to the proper execution of the will; and that, had it not been for this inaction, she would have received some fifteen thousand dollars from her husband's estate. These facts comprise the elements of a cause of action for malpractice. We are of the opinion that the complaint was not vulnerable to demurrer.
The judgment is reversed and the cause remanded for further proceedings.
HILL, C.J., DONWORTH, WEAVER, and FOSTER, JJ., concur.
September 26, 1958. Petition for rehearing denied.
NOTES
[1] Reported in 328 P. (2d) 164.
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FreeLaw
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As semiconductor technology has advanced, the amount and speed of logic available on an integrated circuit (IC) has increased. As a result, ICs are consuming more power. The more power that is consumed, however, the greater the heat that is generated. Conventionally, ICs include devices such as heat sinks to absorb and dissipate heat. A heat sink is an article that absorbs and dissipates heat from an IC using thermal contact. For conventional ICs, heat sinks are thermally coupled to the face side of the die. For flip-chip mounted ICs, heat sinks are thermally coupled to the backside of the die. Heat sinks are typically attached to ICs using a thermal paste. The term “face side” denotes the side of an IC die that receives the bulk of semiconductor processing such that circuitry and interconnect are fabricated on that face side. The backside is opposite the face side of the die.
For a flip-chip IC, for example, the primary heat removal path is through the backside of the die, where a heat sink is attached. Heat is dissipated through several mechanisms, including: (1) vertical heat conduction to the backside of the die and to the heat sink; (2) vertical heat conduction through the die, as well as lateral heat conduction within the base of the heat sink and thermal paste (i.e., heat spreading); and (3) heat convection to the ambient environment. Lateral heat conduction in item (2) depends strongly on the ratio between die area and heat sink base area. When estimating the thermal resistance of a flip-chip package with a heat sink, engineers must account for the spreading resistance (a thermal resistance). The higher the ratio between heat sink base area and die area, the higher the spreading resistance.
The increase in the speed and amount of logic on an IC has outpaced the number and performance of input/output (I/O) connections. As a result, IC die stacking techniques have received renewed interest to address the interconnection bottleneck of high-performance systems. In stacked IC applications, two or more ICs are stacked vertically and interconnections are made between them. One approach to IC stacking involves mounting a second die on the backside of a first die. The stacked IC arrangement is then flip-chip mounted/packaged. A heat sink is then attached to the stacked die or dice.
When a die or dice are stacked on the backside of an IC, the thermal design of the IC may be compromised. For example, if stacked IC dice occupy a total area smaller than the area of the primary IC, there are additional components to spreading resistance. One such component is due to the interface between the primary IC die and the stacked die or dice. Another such component is due to the interface between the stacked die or dice and the heat sink. These additional spreading resistance components lead to poor thermal design and higher junction-to-package thermal resistance. Accordingly, there exists a need in the art for a semiconductor assembly having reduced thermal spreading resistance and methods of making the same.
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USPTO Backgrounds
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Q:
Sorting array of string by numbers
I want to sort an array like the following:
["10a","10b","9a","9b","8a","8b"]
When I call,
a = a.sort {|a,b| a <=> b}
it will sort like the following:
["10a","10b","8a","8b","9a","9b"]
The 10 is a string and is not handled as a number. When I first sort by integer and then by string, it will just do the same. Does anybody know how I can handle the 10 as a 10 without making it into an integer? That would mess up the letters a, b etc.
A:
When I first sort by integer and then by string, it will just do the same.
That would have been my first instinct, and it seems to work perfectly:
%w[10a 10b 9a 9b 8a 8b].sort_by {|el| [el.to_i, el] }
# => ['8a', '8b', '9a', '9b', '10a', '10b']
A:
▶ a = ["10a","10b","9a","9b","8a","8b"]
▶ a.sort { |a,b| a.to_i == b.to_i ? a <=> b : a.to_i <=> b.to_i }
#=> [
# [0] "8a",
# [1] "8b",
# [2] "9a",
# [3] "9b",
# [4] "10a",
# [5] "10b"
#]
Hope it helps.
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StackExchange
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Getting fired when you're 73 years old usually means retirement, especially in a youth-obsessed business like radio.
So when WJMK 104.3-FM abruptly changed formats in June 2005 and kicked Dick Biondi off the air, it seemed the beloved
Chicago DJ was being put out to pasture.
Despite his notorious optimism and Radio Hall of Fame credentials, Biondi admits to worrying about his career for
the first time in his life.
Per the terms of his contract, he continued to do a nightly oldies show on the Internet and HD radio. His audience
shrunk to almost zilch.
"People did listen online," he said, his voice trailing off, "but it wasn't the same."
WJMK eventually pulled the plug on the show in July, firing Biondi after 21 years with the station - a good chunk
of his 56-year radio career.
Fans wrote angry letters and circulated petitions to get him back on the air. Biondi started praying daily to St.
Jude, the patron saint of hopeless causes.
Because of his age, Biondi knew his job options were limited. Radio stations want to target younger listeners,
and his show was old-fashioned. The songs he wanted to play didn't always match those on the new, consultant-driven
playlists.
Still, the "The Wild I-Tralian" wasn't ready to call it quits. He missed the job. Even more, he missed
the people.
"If I didn't get a job, I was going to go to Target and be the person who says, 'Welcome to Target!' because
I love talking to people so much," he said. "(Being a DJ) is all I ever wanted to do."
This fall, a new oldies station debuted as WZZN 94.7-FM, and offered Biondi a multiyear contract for the 9 p.m.
to midnight shift. After a 17-month hiatus, Biondi enthusiastically returned to the public airwaves last month.
His time slot is short and low-profile, but Biondi doesn't mind. He's back behind the mike doing the job he loves.
"That's a great time to be on. People are done with the day ... they can actually listen to the show,"
he said. "Plus, there aren't any bosses around at that hour."
Biondi's not only spinning records again, he's continuing his annual charity toy drive - which suffered last year
because of his on-air absence. He'll do the 32-hour broadcast starting Friday morning from Yorktown Center in Lombard.
For the past 14 years, thousands of people have turned out for Biondi's toy drive, including a priest friend of
his who always brings along oils for last rites.
"In case I don't make it," Biondi said, laughing.
Radio then and now
Radio has changed considerably since Biondi first went on the air in 1950.
Starting out as a small-town DJ in New York, he quickly moved up to the nation's top stations, arriving at Chicago
in 1960 on WLS 890-AM, "The Big 89." His popular show was heard in 40 states and parts of Canada.
Biondi picked much of the rock 'n' roll music that was played and, as a result, influenced the careers of people
like Elvis Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis. He was the first DJ in America to play a Beatles record, "Please Please
Me," and introduced the Fab Four at a few huge concerts.
Besides being one of the country's top DJs, Biondi is also a local legend. In his heyday, people gathered outside
the old WLS studio at Michigan Avenue and Wacker Drive and watched his show live. He recorded a popular novelty
record, "On Top of a Pizza," and spun records at hundreds of sock hops, social gatherings and charity
events across the Chicago area. He worked at WCFL-FM and WBBM-FM before arriving at WJMK-FM to help launch the
oldies station in 1984.
Biondi's off-the-air work is what sets him apart from other DJs and endears him to fans. He is the king of personal
appearances - a job most radio personalities dread - and does dozens a year. Whether it's DJ-ing at class reunions
or doing live broadcasts from new businesses, Biondi happily treks out to these places and hams it up with the
crowd.
"Biondi knows how to work an audience. That's the magic of Biondi," said radio consultant Jeff Schwartz,
who's worked at almost every station in Chicago. "He offers that personal bond. What makes Steve Dahl successful
today? He's personal. Johnny B? He's personal."
At one charity fundraiser, Biondi told the audience if they filled the box with donations, he'd switch clothing
with a nun in the crowd. Ten minutes later, he was wearing a habit.
"They're fun, appearances," Biondi said. "I can't understand why celebrities wear dark sunglasses
and walk around with 12 bodyguards around them. Why would you do that? I love for people to come up and say hello.
Maybe that's the Italian in me."
Biondi's appeal
Longtime fan Stew Salowitz remembers falling asleep listening to Biondi's show while holding his transistor radio
under his pillow. That was in the 1960s in downstate Normal. Salowitz is still a fan today.
"Everybody wants to have some of their youth back. That's why they listen to oldies. It brings back memories.
With Dick Biondi, there are memories spewing all over the place," Salowitz said. "He's doing the same
shtick he did 40 years ago. That's what he knows. That's what he does. And that's what people love him for."
Biondi's family-friendly show has bred a new generation of fans. They're lured by his feel-good sound and unmatched
enthusiasm for the oldies.
"How many times do you think he's played 'Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow' or the original 'Mony, Mony'? And
he still gets fired up to do it," Salowitz said.
As the radio business has changed over the years, becoming more syndicated and generic, Biondi's had to deal with
criticism that his show is outdated and corny. WJMK management sometimes dissed his song choices and programming
ideas.
"One time I said, 'Hey, I can get Chubby Checker to come on and do an interview.' And they said, 'Well, OK,
I guess. But keep it under five minutes.' How are you supposed to talk to Chubby Checker in less than five minutes?"
he said.
That's the only complaining Biondi does about WJMK or the radio business, though. He harbors no bad feelings about
his past. He much prefers to dwell on the positive: funny stories of the good ol' days and touching tales from
listeners. Some of the stories prompt his eyes to well up with tears.
During a recent public appearance, an 18-year-old girl came up to him and whispered in his ear, "I was conceived
while you were on the air."
It's only when Biondi uses phrases like "record hop" do you realize his age.
"Close your eyes and listen to him. Does he sound 73? Andy Rooney sounds his age. Biondi doesn't," Schwartz
said. "The man is younger than most 30-year-olds. He has more energy, more enthusiasm and more passion for
this industry than anyone I know."
WZZN management lets Biondi do his thing. Every night, he brings in and plays an old record from his personal collection,
like "Summer Sun" by Jamestown Massacre or "Midnight Mary" by Joey Powers.
"I played 'Midnight Mary' the other night, and right away I got four calls from people who said, 'I haven't
heard that in years!' " he said.
Despite the challenges of being a golden oldie in today's radio business, Biondi's not worried about his future
anymore.
"George Burns said, 'There's nothing you can do about getting older, but you don't ever want to get old.'
That's how I feel. If you retire, you rust," he said. "With all the DJs that come through this town,
people still remember me? That's the biggest compliment you can give me."
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Friday, April 20, 2012
Friday Nasihah
iving The QuranAwakeningSaba (Sheba) - Chapter 34: Verse 46 (partial)"Say, I exhort you to one thing, that you rise up to God."
Rising up to God is awakening from the slumber of heedlessness and
rising from the difficulty of indifference. It is the first thing that
enlightens the heart of the servant of God with life.
Awakening consists of three things:
The first is the glance of the heart at the grace
and despairing at counting it or knowing its limits, of devoting oneself
to knowing its favour, knowing how careless one is with respect to it.
The second is to examine the transgression,
realizing the danger it involves, preparing oneself to setting it right,
ridding oneself of its noose and asking to be saved by cleansing it.
The third is being alert in recognising the increase and decrease in God's privileges,
to avoid wasting them and pay attention not to hold them back, so that
what has been missed can be set right and what has remained can
flourish.
As to how to recognize the grace, it becomes clear with three things:
the light of the mind, the source of the lightning of the favour and
absorption of the lesson from those who are afflicted with adversity.
As to the examination of the misdeed, it is validated by three
things: glorifying the True One, knowing oneself and, believing in the
threat.
As to discerning the increase and decrease in privileges, it goes by
three things: listening to Science, complying with the requirement of
piety and keeping company with the righteous.
Attaining all of this is by giving up acquired habits.Compiled From:
"Stations of the Wayfarers" - Abdullah Al-Ansari, pp. 42-44
Understanding the Prophet's LifeRacial Equality
Once Abu Dharr, an Arab from the tribe of Ghifar, became
angry with Bilal of Abyssinia, the freed slave of Abu Bakr, may Allah be
pleased with them. The dispute intensified until Abu Dharr in his fury
said to Bilal, "Son of a black woman!" Bilal complained to the Prophet,
peace be upon him, who addressed Abu Dharr saying, "Did you call him a
name reviling his mother? It appears that you still have traces of jahiliyyah [ignorance] in you!" Abu Dharr thought that jahiliyyah
was a kind of sexual immorality or moral deviation and thus said, "At
this old age, O Messenger of Allah?" The Prophet said in reply, "Yes,
they are your brothers." Abu Dharr regretted what he had said and
repented, and out of extreme repentance and humility requested Bilal to
trample his face with his feet. This is the point which marks the line
of demarcation between knowledge and ignorance. In other words, racial equality demarcates the real human civilization and the civilization of the jahiliyyah.
The civilization that does not make one race superior over another,
or one colour over another is the civilization that the noble and
intelligent humans build, and thus conscious noble humanity is pleased.
The civilization which gives superiority to whites and degrades the
black so that only the whites are happy and the coloured are in misery
takes humanity back to the blind and dark ages. "You have traces of jahiliyyah in you" is a description of the jahili
civilization which calls for racial discrimination and this is what
Islamic Civilizations has fought in all fields of life - in the mosque,
in the school, in the court, in the leadership and with friends and foe
alike.Compiled From:
"The Islamic Civilization"- Mustafa Sibai, pp. 66, 67
We know that information is not wisdom. We also know that knowledge is not wisdom. As your knowledge increases, your ignorance becomes larger, or at least your awareness of your ignorance becomes larger.
So the more you know, the more you realize you don't know. What if you
were trying to serve purposes greater than your knowledge - greater than
your comfort zone? This would create genuine humility and a desire to
draw upon help from others - from a partnership or team. Successfully
working with others makes one's knowledge and abilities productive and
necessitates the creation of a complementary team of people who possess
knowledge and abilities that can compensate for and make irrelevant
one's individual ignorance and weaknesses. When information and knowledge are impregnated with worthy purposes and principles, you have wisdom.
Another way of putting this would be that wisdom is the child of integrity - being integrated around principles. And integrity is the child of humility and courage.
In fact you could say that humility is the mother of all the virtues
because humility acknowledges that there are natural laws or principles
that govern the universe. They are in charge. We are not. Pride teaches
us that we are in charge. Humility teaches us to understand and live by
principles, because they ultimately govern the consequences of our
actions. If humility is the mother, courage is the father of
wisdom. Because to truly live by these principles when they are contrary
to social mores, norms and values takes enormous courage.Compiled From:"The 8th Habit" - Stephen R. Covey, pp. 295-297
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Cristian Indrieş a pus bazele unei fabrici de mezeluri în 2011, în locul unei brutării. Producătorul din Brad a pariat corect pe reţeta de virşli şi alte bunătăţi cu gustul nemodificat de adaosuri alimentare artificiale, iar acum vinde peste 30 de sortimente.
„Despre Virşli se spune ca erau preferaţii lui Avram Iancu. Reţeta datează încă de pe vremea dacilor, însă producătorii locali o păstrează cu sfinţenie şi în zilele noastre. Şi are în continuare succes. Se produc aproape 700 de kilograme de virşli pe săptămână”, relatează Raluca Popa, reporter Digi24.
„Facem şi virşli cum se fac, din vită şi oaie şi porc, şi virşli numai din capră 100%. Am ştiut că e concurenţa mai mare, ca în orice domeniu, dar am plecat cu alte gânduri, să facem aşa cum se face acasă, să lucrăm numai cu carne 100%”, spune Cristian Indrieş, producator de virşli.
După cum e lesne de înţeles, ingredientul secret nu poate fi dezvăluit. Însă am aflat că după ce carnea este tocată şi condimentată, cârnaţii sunt „hiţuiţi” pe lemn de fag, pentru a prinde aroma de fum: „Procesul de hițuire practic înseamnă coacere. Se coc cu foc sub ele. Când se pun în afumătoare ele au culoarea cărnii, sunt albe. Iar culoarea asta e numai din foc, fără coloranţi”.
Cunoscătorii nu ratează nicio ocazie de a cumpăra deja celebrii virşli care au dus faima zonei.
„Sunt tradiţionali, fără E-uri, chimicale”, spune un client din Câmpina.
„Aici se consumă cel mai mult, la noi în judeţ şi în judeţele limitrofe se ştie cel mai mult”, mai spune producatorul de virşli.
Cu alte cuvinte, virşli înseamnă acum un brand culinar al oraşului Brad. Renumele cârnăciorilor hunedoreni a ajuns însă în toate colţurile ţării.
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Sports
Hockey
Garrett Meurs of Ripley recently ran a hockey school Kincardine from Aug. 12 to 16 where he taught kids the skills of hockey. Meurs who recently signed an entry level contract with the Colorado Avalanche in March is ready to move forward with his career after playing four successful years with the OHL Plymouth Whalers. Meurs (right) with one of his hockey school kids, seven-year-old Chris Martins who came all the way from Plymouth, Michigan for the week long hockey school.
Ripley native Garrett Meurs who recently signed an entry level contract with the Colorado Avalanche in March is ready to move forward with his career after playing four successful years with the OHL Plymouth Whalers.
Meurs said he will be attending the Colorado Avalanche rookie camp on Sept. 6 and is hopeful he will play games in the NHL, but will look to play a strong season for the Avalanches' AHL affiliate Lake Erie Monsters in Cleveland.
“Things are going good leading up to the hockey season. I've been working out all summer and now that it's getting closer to Colorado rookie camp, I'm on the ice everyday,” said Meurs. “I'm hoping to play this year in the NHL as well as with the Lake Erie Monsters. The rookie camp usually consists of fitness testing, a lot of skating and scrimmages and then after that the main camp starts. I'm excited about moving forward with my hockey career.”
Meurs said playing for the Plymouth Whalers was a good experience that he said will help him in his pro career and he said he's excited about what type of team the Avalanche are putting out this year.
“My time with Plymouth was really good because I learned a lot from the coaches during my time there. It was just a great organization to play for. Last year in the playoffs with the Whalers was good experience because we made it out of the second round and it taught me a lot on how much work it takes to get there,” said Meurs. “Colorado has a young team this year with a lot of potential and over the last few years they have built up a lot of good talent. They have a good base to work at and I would love to be up there playing.”
One of the things Meurs has been doing to keep busy on the off-season is running a hockey school which started on Aug. 12 and went to Aug. 16. He ran the school with help from Kincardine Bulldogs general manager Doug Kennedy and head coach Jeff Alcombrack. The school took place at the Kincardine Davidison Centre and was a full day of on and off ice activtieis for a group of 50 kids aged from five to 14. Meurs said the skills included power skating, puck handling, shooting and passing skills and scrimmages to end the day off.
“We have kids from Lucknow, Wingham, Kincardine, Ripley and even one that came all the way from Plymouth, Chris Martin,” said Meurs. “Chris and his family came up from Plymouth for the week. I met Chris and his family at a function and we just became attached since that.”
Meurs said working the camp has shown him how important teaching skills to kids at an early age is.
“I enjoy teaching the kids because it's always nice to transfer my skills over and teach kids the importance of things like skating and puck handling,” said Meurs. “I find skating is the most important skill to learn first and I make sure they are keeping a good stride and make sure everyone is using proper technique.”
Meurs said he has also learned a lot about coaching from Kennedy and Alcombrack.
“I have learned a lot from them especially about coaching because they have a wealth of information, which has given me a different perspective on how the game is played and taught.”
Meurs said he is ready for his upcoming hockey season and said it was a pleasure being able to teach the younger generation the skills of the game.
“It reminds me of going to hockey school when I was younger and learning from the older guys,” said Meurs. “Watching the kids develop out on the ice there reminds of myself when I was growing up and it puts a smile on my face.”
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Eoin Morgan’s one-day England career has been led by an attacking mindset both as a batsman and as captain.
Photograph: Stu Forster/Getty Images
Eoin Morgan is a liar, a bluffer and an outsider. They are three of his greatest qualities. In the last three years Morgan has developed into a captain of rare brilliance, with a style that resembles the great Michael Vaughan. Both brought fresh eyes and independent thought to an apparently impossible challenge – beating Australia, in Vaughan’s case, and winning a World Cup in Morgan’s.
Unlike Vaughan, Morgan has never really been taken to heart by the public. It’s hard to be certain what constitutes public opinion these days, but theere is a strong sense that plenty of England fans still think the team would be better without Morgan. An alternative take is that the whole thing falls in a heap without his leadership, and that he does not get anything like the credit he deserves. He probably needs to win the 2019 World Cup for that to happen, yet it shouldn’t be contingent on that. In changing the DNA of English cricket, Morgan has already achieved something extraordinary.
Since the last World Cup, England have gone from pitiful stragglers to awesome pace-setters. They are the most exciting one-day team in the world, and much of that is down to a captain who dragged them kicking and screaming into the 21st century only 15 years late. He’s the miracle worker nobody bothers to thank.
It’s not easy to discuss Morgan objectively. He’s been this writer’s favourite player since 27 September 2009, when he dumped South Africa out of their own Champions Trophy with a thrilling assault. It was all so different: unorthodox, unfettered and un-English. Nobody had played one-day cricket like Morgan did in the first 18 months of his England career, when he produced a series of outrageous match-winning innings.
His batting does not stand out as it once did, mainly because everyone else now bats like him, but his leadership does. Most captains are judged by what they do in the field or off their own bat; it’s rare for somebody to have such a profound influence on all the other batsmen. After the 2015 World Cup Morgan created a culture in which batsmen could express themselves and trust their instinct without fearing the consequences. To paraphrase an old Mike Brearley quote about Sir Ian Botham: the sky is not England’s limit, it’s their target.
Morgan departs for a duck during the 2015 World Cup defeat to Bangladesh. Photograph: Shaun Botterill/Getty Images
In the third game of their one-day series against New Zealand in 2015, England batted first and were bowled out for 302 in 45.2 overs. They lost the game and the old school chuntered about how they had wasted 28 deliveries, as if it would have been worthier to plod grimly to 171 for nine just so long as they used all 50 overs.
When he was asked about it after the match, Morgan went on the counter-attack: he said he was proud of his team and that they were totally committed to a change of mindset. He did not give an inch. “We got 300 on the board – we were aiming for a lot more, which is the important part,” he said. “As long as we set the standards really high we’ll win more games than we lose playing in this manner.” Since that game, they have won 37 and lost 14.
It takes a lot of strength to challenge received wisdom as Morgan has done, especially in the modern world. In hindsight, it was always going to take an outsider to change the culture of England’s one-day cricket. Though Morgan’s Irish background is a big part of that, it is not as important as his fiercely independent nature. Few players have such courage of their convictions.
Morgan has an open mind, and has learned a lot from playing in T20 leagues around the world, but he also knows when to close it. He is decisive when it comes to filtering advice, and has a rare certainty that allows him to take decisions that are unpopular or unconventional: not touring Bangladesh as captain because of security concerns, leaving himself out of a T20 series decider against South Africa, taking a month off in the middle of the season. Morgan doesn’t care about perception, faux outrage, what people are saying on social media or any of the nonsense that makes so many of us compromise our beliefs to avoid a bit of hassle.
You may not agree with all of Morgan’s decisions. But in an age of groupthink, it is refreshing to see somebody so intent on doing what they think is right rather than being seen to do what others think is right. And if he wants to fool around with a dildo on Jos Buttler’s stag do, that’s exactly what he’ll do.
It’s difficult to know too much about a dressing-room you’ve never been in, but Morgan gives the impression of being like a cool teacher – somebody who can join in the fun without compromising their authority. You suspect most of the players would vouch for his man-management skills. The performances of Adil Rashid in particular reflect the skilful, sympathetic way he has been handled. Morgan helped an erratic, fragile leg-spinner become the second highest wicket-taker in ODIs since the last World Cup.
Morgan’s use of attacking options like Rashid make him almost a must-watch captain. The middle overs are rarely boring while he is scheming. He sets booby traps for opposition batsmen, backs his hunches, has attack as the default option and generally behaves as England captains are not supposed to in one-day cricket.
He also gives the impression of being in complete control. Sometimes he is; sometimes he isn’t. This is an area where Morgan does care about perception. He knows so much of international sport is about bluff, and he has worked extremely hard to develop one of the better poker faces in world cricket. This was one of Vaughan’s greatest strengths – he was inscrutable under the most extreme pressure in the field, and Steve Harmison called him “the best liar I ever met” for his ability to make the team feel confident at all times.
Even if Morgan was not scoring a run, he might be worth his place as captain. Yet his ODI form is actually better than ever. Since the revolution began in 2015, Morgan has an average of 43 and a strike rate of 95. Anyone not happy with those numbers needs to watch a video of England’s one-day cricket from 1993-2015 at their earliest convenience.
Morgan’s problem is that his form tends to be either volcanic or glacial, and those who do not rate or warm to him tend to only remember the latter. It doesn’t help that, when he’s out of nick, he can look pretty terrible. But then when he’s in form, he makes six-hitting look like the easiest thing in the world. Morgan has hit more sixes for England in international cricket than anybody else, a whopping 215. He has entertained us royally for the best of the decade, and he is a fiercely impressive captain. What’s not to love?
Well, he was born in Ireland. It shouldn’t matter, but we all know how birthplace can affect the levels of affection towards England cricketers. He also makes little attempt to fit in. Morgan doesn’t play the game – and we don’t just mean first-class cricket. He does not court popularity or do the public-relations dance that modern society demands.
The things that make Morgan such a good captain, from his cool detachment to his disdain for received wisdom, aren’t necessarily conducive to winning popularity contests. Not that he will care about that. As long as he continues to do things his way, England will win many more games than they lose.
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Ringwood North, Victoria
Ringwood North is a suburb of Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, 24 km east of Melbourne's Central Business District. Its local government area is the City of Maroondah. At the 2016 Census, Ringwood North had a population of 9,832.
It is bounded on the south by Loughnan, Warrandyte and Wonga Roads (these roads flow into one another continuously). Glenvale Road forms the westernmost boundary in the southern part of the suburb, with the Warrandyte-Ringwood Road forming the western boundary at the northern end of the suburb. The eastern and northern boundaries follow property lines, rather than roads.
Ringwood North Post Office opened on 9 August 1920, in the then rural area.
Ringwood North has its own shopping centre and also has plenty of parklands and reserves nearby without being excessively rural, like Wonga Park or Warrandyte. Its roads feature a happy medium between the sterile, parallel streetscapes of Ringwood and the circular, 'contour-line' style streets found in neighbouring Park Orchards.
Ringwood North is a surprisingly hilly area, which is especially evident around the aptly named Loughnan's Hill area and the infamously steep Glenvale Road. Glenvale Road also happens to mark the boundary between Ringwood North and Donvale and also the boundary between Maroondah and Manningham. It was the scene of a major car accident several years ago, in which a Holden HQ one-tonne utility carrying a large load of bricks overturned upon making its descent. Glenvale Road is also home to an 80-year-old Tudor house of famous heritage.
Education
Government primary schools in Ringwood North are:
Mullum Primary School
Ringwood Heights Primary School
Ringwood North Primary School
Catholic schools in Ringwood North:
Holy Spirit Community School
Sport
The suburb has an Australian rules football team, the North Ringwood Saints, who compete in the Eastern Football League.
The suburb also has a cricket club, the North Ringwood Bulls, which takes part in the Ringwood and District Cricket Association.
Notable people
Notable people from North Ringwood include Nick Malceski, Pat Cash, Fifi Box, V8 Supercar driver Steven Johnson and the O'Donnell family; Gary and Kelvin (footballers) and sisters Shelley and Wendy, both of whom represented Australia and Victoria in netball.
North Ringwood Football Club has also provided VFL players: Gary O'Donnell, Dean Bailey (past Coach of AFL club Melbourne), Paul Salmon and Terry Cahill, to VFL/AFL club Essendon over the last few years, as well as Peter Banfield, a past player with the Brisbane Bears and his brother David, who was captain and coach of Box Hill for many years.
See also
City of Doncaster and Templestowe - the former local government area of which Ringwood North was a part
City of Ringwood - the former local government area of which Ringwood North was a part
References
External links
North Ringwood FC official homepage
Category:Suburbs of Melbourne
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Wikipedia (en)
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1. Introduction {#sec1}
===============
Medicinal plants offer a real substitute in developing countries for the treatment of human and animal ailments \[[@B1]\]. Ethnomedicine is often the single easily reached and affordable therapy available. The world market for herbal medicines based on traditional knowledge is now estimated at US\$ 60 billion \[[@B2]\]. Plant-based traditional medicine plays a key role in the development of novelties in drug discovery \[[@B3]\].
Pakistan has a rich medicinal plants history having more than 600 plants being used traditionally for medication \[[@B4]\]. The majority of the medicinal plants are confined to northwest regions of Pakistan due to the presence of Himalayas, Karakoram, Sulaiman, and Hindu Kush mountain ranges \[[@B5]\] that lie in association with Pak-Afghan border. Both countries Pakistan and Afghanistan share almost 2,500 kilometers of boundary, called Durand Line, which was demarcated in 1893 following an agreement between the British Empire and the Afghan king \[[@B6]\]. The Durand Line separates*Pashtun*ethnic group in the Pak-Afghan border areas. Culturally, Pashtuns represent the majority of the populace of Afghanistan and also have significant population in Pakistan. The local language of southeastern Afghanistan and northwestern Pakistan Pashtun ethnic group is*Pashtu* \[[@B7]\]. The majority of the northwest areas of Pakistan living in the proximity to border region are rural in nature with high illiteracy rate and greatly depend on medicinal plants for primary health care and for generating income. In Pakistan, various ethnobotanical studies have been conducted in the different regions \[[@B38], [@B22]\] (Akhtar et al. \[[@B22]\]; Mussarat et al. \[[@B44]\], Hassan et al. \[[@B46]\]; and Begum et al. \[[@B45]\]). Most of the ethnobotanical studies in Pakistan have documented just the uses of medicinal plants. Almost no studies have been documented on detailed ethnomedicines preparations in the border region villages. The current research is the first effort to provide a thorough overview on the ethnomedicines employed by conventional healers and their detailed appliance in the region. This research will offer baseline data for more comprehensive studies on effectiveness and security of these preparations, as well as the potential applications in the communal health system. Moreover, the region is very rich in medicinal plants due to its conductive climate but this area has never been touched so far. Therefore, it is imperative to document the vegetation and detailed home-grown information of people about medicinal plants of this area before it is lost due to changing cultures. The purpose of this study is to assess traditional medicinal plant knowledge specifically with regard to the traditional healer\'s demographic characteristics such as gender, age, and source of income and to document the knowledge and the uses of medicinal plants used by the traditional healers in the Hangu region, Pakistan, to provide baseline data for future pharmacological and phytochemical studies by the application of ethnobotanical indices.
2. Material and Methods {#sec2}
=======================
2.1. Study Area {#sec2.1}
---------------
The present study was conducted in Hangu district located in north of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Pakistan, near the border region with Afghanistan ([Figure 1](#fig1){ref-type="fig"}). Hangu is situated at 33.53 North latitude, 71.06 East longitude, and 858 m above the sea level comprising a total area of 1,097 km^2^ and total population of 314,529 \[[@B8]\]. The dominant vegetation in the study area is*Acacia modesta*,*Olea ferruginea, Dodonaea viscosa*(L.) Jacquin,*Acacia nilotica* L.,*Periploca aphylla* Decne.*, Melia azedarach,*and*Morus alba.* The temperature of the area rises gradually from the month of January to June and then slowly turns down up to December. The summer season is modest and warm but June and July are the hottest months. The mean highest temperature is 8.8°C and mean lowest temperature is 7°C in the months of December and January. This district also produces wheat and maize as major crops. The area is rural in nature and the majority of the population is illiterate and they are also deprived of modern health services; hence the locals rely on medicinal flora of the region for the healthcare and to balance their low earnings as well \[[@B9]\]. The inhabitants mostly rely on timber for fuel purposes due to lack of modern fuel resources \[[@B8]\].
2.2. Data Collection {#sec2.2}
--------------------
Field work was carried out from October 2012 to October 2013. Data was collected by making total eight frequent visits to the study area in four different seasons. Total 250 informants were recommended by knowledgeable elders, local authorities, and development agents. Out of 250, we have randomly selected 55 (34 men and 21 women) out of the total identified key informants. The selected informers were local inhabitants of the area aged between 20 and 89 years. Ethnobotanical survey was taken to gather information on traditional plants utilized by the local healers for the treatment of human ailments in the district following standard methods \[[@B10], [@B11]\]. The survey was done by using proper semistructured interviews and group discussions as well. A checklist of questions was prepared in English language for undertaking interviews and discussions. The questionnaire contained no strict questions and informants were allowed to speak spontaneously and without pressure. Key questions about medicinal plants were on local name of a particular medicinal plant, types of disease treated, mode and method of remedy preparation, parts of the plants used, use of fresh or dry plant parts, use of single or mixture of plants for remedy preparation, mode of administration, and dose requirement. Sociocultural information about informants was also collected during interview. The informants were interviewed in their local language*Pashto*. Ethically written acceptance was collected from the main office of the district and also from the head person of the village. The purpose of the present study was also explained to each informant in order to remove their hesitation and to encourage them that their knowledge will be a great contribution in the scientific literature.
2.3. Specimen Collection and Identification {#sec2.3}
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The reported medicinal plants were collected from natural vegetation and home gardens during the field walks and habits of the plants were listed. The collected voucher specimens were taken to the Herbarium of Kohat University of Science and Technology, Kohat, Pakistan. Specimen identification and confirmation were undertaken by using Flora of Pakistan and taxonomic experts. Specimens with their label were stored at the Herbarium of Kohat University of Science and Technology, Kohat, Pakistan.
2.4. Data Organization {#sec2.4}
----------------------
The collected ethnobotanical data were entered into Excel spreadsheet 2007 and summarized using graphical statistical methods such as percentages. The habit of the plants was categorized into three categories, that is, herbs, shrubs, and trees. The part used by the healers for the preparation of ethnomedicines was grouped under 11 classes, that is, leaves, whole plant, root, fruit, bark, and so forth. Human ailments treated in the study area were categorized into 18 categories like gastrointestinal, dermatological, skeletomuscular, antidiabetic, and so forth. Route of administration was divided into oral, dermal, and nasal. The basic categorization using questionnaire data regarding informants\' sex, age groups, educational status or literacy rate, and occupation was also carried out.
3. Data Analyses {#sec3}
================
3.1. Informant Consensus Factor (Fic) {#sec3.1}
-------------------------------------
For the analysis of the general use of plants, factor informant consensus (Fic) was used to highlight plants of particular cultural relevance and agreement in the use of plants. Informants\' consensus within a community and between cultural groups indicates which plants are widely used and thus aids in the selection of plants for pharmacological and phytochemical studies \[[@B12]\]. In order to use this tool, illnesses were classified into categories, as plants with high Fic are likely to be more pharmacologically efficient as compared to plants with low Fic \[[@B13]\]. Fic values lie between "0.00 and 1.00". Fic values are always greater when single or few plants are documented to be used by large number of respondents to cure a specific disease, while low Fic values give an indication that informants do not agree over which plant to use \[[@B14], [@B15]\].
The Fic can be calculated using the formula as follows: $$\begin{matrix}
{\text{Fic} = \frac{\text{nur} - \text{nt}}{\text{nur} - 1},} \\
\end{matrix}$$ where Fic = informants consensus factor, nur = number of use citation in each category, and nt = number of species used.
3.2. Fidelity Level (FL) {#sec3.2}
------------------------
Fidelity level is useful for identifying the key informants\' most preferred species used for treating certain ailments. The medicinal plants that are widely used by the local people have higher FL values than those that are less popular. Fidelity level shows the percentage of informants claiming the use of a certain plant species for the same major purpose. This is designed to quantify the importance of the species for a given purpose. Before calculating the values of FL all of the ailments that were reported are grouped into major classes \[[@B17]\]. FL value was estimated using the formula FL = Ip/Iu × 100, where Ip is the number of respondents who reported the utilization of medicinal plants for a specific main ailment and Iu is the total number of respondents who mentioned the same plant for any ailment \[[@B16]\]. It is assumed that those medicinal plants which are plants that are used in some recurring manner for the same disease category are more likely to be biologically active \[[@B13]\].
3.3. Direct Matrix Ranking (DMR) {#sec3.3}
--------------------------------
DMR \[[@B10], [@B11]\] was used to compare the use diversity of given plant species based on the data collected from the respondents. Total eight informants were selected for the collection of DMR data. Selected informants were asked to assign use values (5 = best, 4 = very good, 3 = good, 2 = less used, 1 = least used, and 0 = not used) to each species. The values (average scores) given to each medicinal plant were summed up and ranked.
4. Result and Discussion {#sec4}
========================
4.1. Medicinal Plants Reported {#sec4.1}
------------------------------
The study revealed 67 medicinal plant species belonging to 55 genera and 39 families consisting of 65 angiosperms and 2 gymnosperms in Hangu district ([Table 1](#tab1){ref-type="table"}). The investigated region has a rich diversity of medicinal plants and provides a conductive habitat and ideal climatic conditions for their growth as shown by the presence of 67 medicinal plant species. The majority of the medicinal plants reported were herbs (43%) followed by shrubs (30%) and trees (27%). The high usage of herbs in the study area could be an indication of their abundance and it might also be due to the fact that they are easily accessible near household and might have high effectiveness in the treatment of ailments in comparison to other growth forms \[[@B18]\]. The common use of herbs for medicinal purposes is also reported from other parts of the world \[[@B19], [@B20]\]. The dominant families in the study area were Asteraceae and Solanaceae represented by the highest number of species (4 species each, 6%) followed by Euphorbiaceae, Moraceae, Oleaceae, and Lamiaceae (3 species each, 4.47%). Other families with low number represented by 2 species each Amaranthaceae, Acanthaceae, Alliaceae, Poaceae, Papilionaceae, Zygophyllaceae, Arecaceae, and Rhamnaceae, while the remaining 22 families had only single species representation. The wider utilization of species from dominant families like Asteraceae and Solanaceae might relate to the presence of effective bioactive ingredients against ailments \[[@B21]\]. Our results are in line with other ethnomedicinal studies conducted in other regions of Pakistan \[[@B22], [@B23]\] where traditional healers mostly use Solanaceae and Asteraceae members for the preparation of ethnomedicines.
4.2. Common Ailments in the Study Area {#sec4.2}
--------------------------------------
Traditional healers use 67 medicinal plants for the treatment of a variety of disorders in the studied region. These were grouped into 18 major disease categories like gastrointestinal, dermatological, antipyretic, blood disorders, and so forth. The natives of the region use total 25 plant species for gastrointestinal disorders followed by 13 for dermatological infections. The results are in agreement with other studies conducted in other parts of Pakistan and other countries \[[@B24], [@B25]\]. The use of a large number of medicinal plants for the treatment of gastrointestinal and dermatological ailments in the region could be due to the high occurrence of these problems in the study area due to bad hygiene, fuel wood smoke inside houses, and other factors like water and air pollution \[[@B26]\]. Informant consensus results have also shown a high degree of consensus for gastrointestinal and dermatological (0.87 each) ailments, which were followed by blood disorder like diabetes (0.84) ([Table 2](#tab2){ref-type="table"}). The highest plant use citation was for gastrointestinal (200) followed by dermatological ailments (100). High Fic value gives an indication that these diseases are more prevalent in the Hangu region that might be due to the poor socioeconomic and sanitary conditions of the people. According to Heinrich et al. \[[@B14]\], high Fic values are very useful in the selection of specific plants for further search of bioactive compounds. The medicinal plants that are widely used by the local people have higher FL values than those that are less popular. The present study revealed 20 medicinal plants having high FL value. FL values in this study varied from 1.0% to 100%. The study determined 3 plant species (*Acacia modesta*,*Caralluma tuberculata,* and*Withania somnifera*) with a FL of 100% followed by 7 (*Allium sativa* L.,*Mentha arvensis* L.,*Mentha longifolia* L.,*Cannabis sativa*L.,*Punica granatum*L.,*Morus alba,* and*Morus nigra* L.) species with more than 90% and less than 100%, which might be taken as a signal of the excellent curative potential of the plants ([Table 3](#tab3){ref-type="table"}). All these plants that reported higher FL values are not only being frequently used in study region but also in other regions of the Pakistan \[[@B38], [@B41]\]. These plants possess different phytochemicals responsible for their therapeutic actions.*Withania somnifera* contains compound withanolides, which are believed to account for its extraordinary medicinal properties \[[@B42]\].*Caralluma tuberculata* contains pregnane glycosides, flavones glycosides, and other phytochemical responsible for its antidiabetic and anticancer activities \[[@B43]\]. It is understood that plants used in recurring manner are more phytochemically active \[[@B11]\]. High FL value plants might be selected for further chemical screening to investigate the bioactive compounds responsible for their high curative potential \[[@B27], [@B28]\].
4.3. Ethnomedicinal Preparations {#sec4.3}
--------------------------------
Traditional healers mostly use leaves (40%) of the plants followed by whole plant (28%) and fruits (19%) for the preparation of different ethnomedicines. The current investigation showed ([Figure 2](#fig2){ref-type="fig"}) that leaves (40%) are the most collected plant parts for medicinal purposes. This might be due to easy availability and containing high amount of chemicals and could be easily extracted and used in different forms but it needs biochemical analysis and pharmaceutical screening to cross-check the local information. Use of leaves of plants does not cause damaging effect on the plant life cycle as compared with other parts like roots and flower, and so forth. Due to good rainfall conditions about eight months in the year, the leaves remain green and abundant for most of the months. Our findings of the frequent use of green leaves in the preparation of remedies corroborate the results of \[[@B29], [@B30]\]. Traditional healers are involved in preparation of 110 recipes preparation and the major modes of ethnomedicines preparation in the studied region were decoction (20%), powdering (20%), crushing (12%), extracting juice (10%), and so forth ([Figure 3](#fig3){ref-type="fig"}). Decoction and grinding of medicinal plants for the preparation of ethnomedicines could be due to their high effectiveness for the curing of various ailments. According to Deeba \[[@B31]\], decoction, grinding or crushing, and boiling methods are the most commonly followed methods for the extraction of active compounds. Monotherapy preparations using single medicinal plant were found to be more abundant in comparison with herbal concoction that was prepared by mixing two or three species; for example, healers take equal amount of extract of onion bulb and mint and mix them for the treatment of cholera. Another example is taking 70 gm dried leaves of wild mint and 30--40 g of "bishops" weed and grinding them together and 10--12 gm of common salt is also added to them and taken for the treatment of gastric problem and stomach pain. The use of mixture of plants has recently been shown to increase the effectiveness of the herbal medicine \[[@B32]\]. Out of total 110 ethnomedicines, 91% were prepared by using fresh plant materials, whereas 9% were prepared using dried parts ([Table 1](#tab1){ref-type="table"}). The high usage of freshly prepared ethnomedicines is an indication of the high abundance of medicinal plants in the surrounding areas to be harvested anytime. These findings are in line with other studies conducted in other areas \[[@B33], [@B34]\]. The other reason behind the repeated use of fresh plant material could be due to the fact that the drying process contributes to the loss of volatile oil and sometimes due to the fact that high temperature protein becomes denature. Higher use of fresh plant material on the other hand is not a sustainable practice as it may threaten the plants due to recurrent harvesting.
4.4. Route of Administration and Dosage {#sec4.4}
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The current survey revealed that most of the plant remedies are taken orally and topically in the investigated region while only single recipe is taken through ear ([Table 1](#tab1){ref-type="table"}). As mentioned earlier, gastrointestinal and skin problems are common in the region and that might be the reason why the majority of the plants are being used orally and topically while some of the plants are being used through ears. Ethnomedicines are taken along different types of additives generally called vectors like honey, salt, sugar, milk, desi ghee, and wheat flour for the purpose of increasing flavor and to reduce the astringent taste of the remedies. This means that since traditional medicines could have sour or bitter tastes in most cases, the additives reduce such tastes and may even improve the efficacy of the medicine. The measurements used to determine the dosages are not standardized and depend on the age and physical appearance of the patient, sociocultural explanation of the illness, diagnosis, and experience of individual herbalist \[[@B35]\]. Mostly the treatment of the patient is completed within a single day or couple of days. When the patients did not show any indication of improvement from their sickness following treatment completion, they were recommended to modern health centres in urban area for further examination by the physician.
4.5. Multipurpose Medicinal Plants and Threats to Their Extinction {#sec4.5}
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The results of the DMR implementation on multipurpose medicinal plants enabled us to recognize which of the multipurpose plants are more under stress in the area and the causes that threaten the plant ([Table 4](#tab4){ref-type="table"}). Accordingly,*Olea ferruginea* ranked first,*Morus alba* ranked second,*Melia azedarch* ranked third, and*Acacia modesta* ranked fourth while*Acacia nilotica* ranked fifth. These multipurpose species are basically trees and therefore these species are facing great pressures as the local people are unsustainably harvesting these species for a variety of purposes. The factors responsible for the declining of these species abundance in the area were their overharvesting for agricultural tool, construction, fodder, and fire wood purposes. Beside these major threats, locals of the region also use these plants for handicrafts manufacturing. Free grazing is the common practice in the area. Before the commencement of winter, the grasses are harvested, dried, and put into a stake. The harvesting is done collectively, and then during the bare and cold months of winter, these are fed to the domestic animals. Fuel consumption per home in the studied area is often considered more than the consumption on feeding and other requirements because of severe winters. Thus, the results require urgent conservation strategies to save the declining population of multipurpose plant species in the study region. References \[[@B36], [@B37]\] have also stated the identical pattern of maximum exploitation of multipurpose medicinal plants for uses other than their traditional medicinal importance in southeastern Ethiopia. Traditional healers mostly use the whole plant of these multipurpose species or individual roots ([Table 1](#tab1){ref-type="table"}) of some species for the preparation of ethnomedicinal recipes and this is an unsustainable practice as compared to leaves. Therefore, there is a dire need to take necessary steps for the conservation of these species before their extinction.
4.6. Indigenous Knowledge Associated with Gender, Age, and Socioeconomic Status of the People {#sec4.6}
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Among the 55 informants, 34 (61.81%) were male and 21 (38.18%) were female ([Table 5](#tab5){ref-type="table"}). It is witnessed that males had better knowledge regarding ethnomedicines than females. The reason behind that men have well indigenous knowledge than women might be due to the fact that the men are usually favoured in the shift of the knowledge; however, in many cultures women are responsible for the family\'s health. The highest number of informants aged above 40 years. The result shows that traditional knowledge is prevalent among the community members; however, it is under threat of transferring to the younger generation to come. The decreasing rate of transfer of indigenous knowledge might be due to the lack of interest among the younger generation to learn and practice it, which might be attributed to the ever increasing influence of modernization \[[@B38]\]. Almost half of the respondents interviewed were illiterate (45.45%), whilst most of those with an education had merely primary (29.09%) which reflect the unavailability of standard educational institution in the area ([Table 5](#tab5){ref-type="table"}). Literate people in the study area were found to have less knowledge of medicinal plants as compared to illiterate ones as the former are more likely to be exposed to modernization as also revealed by studies conducted elsewhere \[[@B38], [@B39], [@B40]\]. The inhabitants of the study area are not very well off due to less literacy rate and therefore they are heavily dependent on medicinal plants for a variety of purposes in order to compensate their income.
5. Conclusions {#sec5}
==============
The present study has recorded 67 medicinal plants used for the treatment of a variety of human ailments in the rural area near Pak-Afghan border region. In the study area herbs constituted the highest proportion of medicinal plants to be utilized. Mostly the leaves of the plants are harvested for different ethnomedicines preparation. Decoction and powdering are the most common methods of drug preparation and remedies are mostly taken orally in the studied region. A high number of plants have been reported to treat gastrointestinal and dermatological problems. The medicinal plants in the region are also facing some threats like unsustainable collection method of some plants, collection for fuel wood, for construction, and for fodder, and agricultural tools. For sustainable utilization of medicinal plants and to avoid further loss, the District Agricultural Office needs to team up with the local people, by providing the community with planting materials of the most threatened and preferred medicinal and multipurpose species so that they can grow them in their home gardens. Moreover, the documented medicinal plants with high degree of consensus can serve as a basis for future investigation of modern drug.
The authors are thankful to the Deanship of Scientific Research, King Saud University, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, for funding the work through the research Group project No RGP-VPP-210. The authors are thankful to the local people for sharing their valuable indigenous knowledge.
Conflict of Interests
=====================
The authors declare that there is no conflict of interests regarding the publication of this paper.
Authors\' Contribution
======================
Muhammad Adnan and Akash Tariq have designed the research project. Imran Khan conducted the field work and wrote the draft of the paper. Akash Tariq has equally contributed in writing the paper with Imran Khan. Muhammad Adnan, Naser M. AbdElsalam, and Riaz Ullah provided comments on the draft and helped in finalizing the paper. All the authors read and approved the final paper.
{#fig1}
{#fig2}
{#fig3}
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Medicinal plants and their preparation methods and administration.
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Scientific names Local names Families Habit Part used Medicinal uses Herbal formulation Administration Dosage
------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------ ------------------------------------------------ ---------------------------------- ------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Acacia modesta*Wall. Palosa Mimosaceae Tree Gum, leaves Backache Gum and powder of fresh leaves of *Acacia modesta* are mixed with wheat flour and desi ghee and make *Halwa* that is used for backache. Oral As needed
*Acacia nilotica*(L.) Delile Kikar Mimosaceae Tree Whole plant Narcotic Extraction of fresh root and leaves are taken as alcohol (*Sharab*). Oral As needed
Aphrodisiac Four grams of gum is taken as paste with water. Oral Once a day
Earache About 30 flowers are heated in 10 mL mustard oil and filtered. Through ear Two to four drops for 5 days
*Allium cepa*L. Pyaaz Alliaceae Herb Leaves Antipyretic Equal amount of extract of onion bulb and mint are mixed and used against cholera. Oral One teaspoon of this mixture is taken per hour for a period as needed.
Skin infection Poultice of onion bulb is used against abscesses. Topical Two times a day for one week
*Allium sativum*Linn. Ugga Alliaceae Herb Leaves, roots Blood disorders Small pieces of *Allium sativum* are chewed to reduce blood pressure. Oral Twice a day
Gastrointestinal The powder of leaves and roots are also used against stomach problems. Oral As needed
*Aloe barbadensis*Mill. Zarpati Aloeaceae Herb Leaves Veterinary (gastrointestinal) Two leaves are made spineless and each one is divided lengthwise into 2 or 3 slices. These slices of leaves along with common salt are given to the animals for stomach disorders. Oral Three doses after every 48 hours period
*Amaranthus viridis* L. Sarkoomal. Amaranthaceae Herb Leaves Gastrointestinal Leaves are crushed with sugar and taken along with black tea for curing constipation. Oral Four times a day
Skin infection Poultice of leaf is prepared along with mustard oil for the treatment of abscesses. Topical As needed
*Anagallis arvensis* L. Dhabbar Primulaceae Herb Whole plant Rheumatism The whole plant is crushed into powder after drying. Two gm of the powder with 5 gm of wheat flour is mixed for the treatment of rheumatism. Oral Once a day for a week
*Cannabis sativa* L. Bhaang Cannabaceae Herb Leaves, flowering tops, and seed Narcotic The fruit and leaves are used as narcotic, commonly called "*Charas.*" Oral As needed
Veterinary The decoction of seeds is given to cattle for increasing milk. Oral As needed
*Caralluma tuberculata*R.Br Pawany Asclepiadaceae Shrub Whole plant Antidiabetic and anticancer Whole plant is dried, powdered, and taken with water. Fresh plant is directly eaten by diabetic patient and is very effective in cancer treatment as well. Oral Once a day
*Cuscuta reflexa* Roxb. Chum bud Cuscutaceae. Herb Stem and seeds Wound A paste of the plant powder in butter is prepared and is externally applied for wounds. Topical As needed
Skin infection The whole plant is crushed and then boiled in 8 liters of water for an hour. It is filtered and the patient is advised to take a bath with this decoction without using soap for scabies. Topical As needed
*Carthamus oxycantha* Co.Cr. Spena zagai Asteraceae Herb Seed oil Jaundice Seeds are collected, dried under shade, and ground to obtain powder and taken to treat jaundice. Oral 1 teaspoon of powder is taken twice a day for 3-4 weeks
Skin infection Few drops of honey are added in seed powder to make paste. This paste is applied on the face. It is effective to remove white spots of skin. Topical As needed
*Citrus sinensis* Malta Rutaceae Shrub Fruit, leaves Gastrointestinal Fruit is eaten for reducing constipation. Oral 2 fruits per day
*Cynodon dactylon*var. *coursii* (A. Camus)\ Wakha Poaceae Herb Whole plant Wounds The paste made of fresh leaves is applied on cuts and bleeding wounds. Topical As needed
J.R. Harlan and de Wet
Piles Same as above Topical As needed
Gastrointestinal Juice of the plant is given in diarrhea. Oral Twice a day
Antipyretic Same as above Oral Twice a day
*Dalbergia sissoo* DC. Shawa Papilionaceae Tree Whole plant Piles 70 gm of young leaves of buds are crushed. One glass of water is added to it and strained. The strained decoction is taken daily. Oral Taken daily for 10 days
Jaundice Same as above Oral Taken daily for 10 days
*Datura stramonium* L. Tora torii. Solanaceae Herb Whole plant Earache The juice of flower is useful for earache. Oral As needed
Narcotic Seeds and leaves are smoked for their narcotic action. Oral As needed
*Dicliptera bupleuroides* Nees. Somni Acanthaceae Herb Whole plant Skin infection Poultice is used for scabies. Topical Once a day
*Digera muricata* (L.) Mart. Tandola Amaranthaceae Herb Whole plant Gastrointestinal Juice is extracted from the whole plants and used as laxative. Oral As needed
*Dodonaea viscosa* (L.) Jacquin Zetawoni Sapindaceae Shrub Leaves Rheumatism The leaves are warmed and kept on joints to relieve pains. Topical Once a day
*Eriobotrya japanica* (Thunb.) Lindl. Lokat Rosaceae Tree Fruit Chest problems Fruit is taken directly to treat cough. Oral As needed
*Eucalyptus lanceolatus* Dehnh. Lachi Myrtaceae Tree Whole plant Gastrointestinal Leaves and bark are boiled in water. Filtrate and decoction are used for abdominal pains. Fruit is added to green tea and taken as antiemetic. Oral Twice a day
*Euphorbia helioscopia* L. Katta saarai Euphorbiaceae Herb Leaves Gastrointestinal Mature leaves (5 g) are mixed with 3 spoonfuls of sugar to prepare recipe to treat constipation Oral Twice a day
*Euphorbia hirta* L. Chapa tray. Euphorbiaceae Herb Whole plant Diabetes Leaves juice is taken for diabetes Oral As needed
*Fagonia indica* Burm.f. Mazgha Kai. Zygophyllaceae. Herb Aerial parts Blood purifier Extract of aerial parts is used Oral Thrice a day
Skin infection Same as above Topical Thrice a day
Diabetes Same as above Oral Thrice a day
Antipyretic Half kg of the whole plant is boiled in 2 liters of water; patients with hepatitis are advised to take bath with this decoction. Topical Thrice a day
*Ficus carica* L. Inzeer Moraceae Tree Fruit Piles Two to four fruits are soaked in water or milk at night and used in the morning on empty stomach. Oral Daily for 10 days
*Ficus elastica* Roxb. ex Hornem. Rubber Plant Moraceae Tree Leaves, Bark Antipyretic Leaves and bark are crushed and taken along honey in small quantity to reduce fever. Oral Once a day
*Ficus religiosa* L. Peppal Moraceae Tree Whole plant Vomiting Decoction of bark is used. Oral As needed
*Foeniculum vulgare* Mill. Soonphf Umbelliferae Herb Seeds and roots Gastrointestinal Take sonf with white zeera, grind it, and use after meal; it is good to remove ulcer and stomach pain Oral As needed
*Fumaria indica* (Hausskn.) Pugsley Khatee soii. Fumariaceae Herb Aerial parts Blood purification Two kg of aerial parts is dried under shade and crushed to obtain powder; 2-3 gm powder with one glass of water is taken. Oral Twice a day for one week
Jaundice Same as above Oral Twice a day for one week
Gastrointestinal Juice of fresh parts is used as laxative. Oral Once a day for four days
Antipyretic Juice of fresh parts is used to reduce fever. Oral Once a day for two days
*Jasminum humile* f.kensuense Zeet chumbeli Oleaceae Shrub Flower, root, and latex. Skin infection Flowers and roots are boiled to make paste and rub on skin for treating pimples. Topical Twice a day for one week
*Jasminum officinale* L. Chumbeli Oleaceae Shrub Whole plant. Gastrointestinal Decoction of leaves and roots are prepared and used as anthelmintic. Oral Once a day
Kidney problems Crushed leaves are mixed with flour and taken along water to treat kidney stones. Oral Twice a day for one month
*Justicia adhatoda* L Shna Baza Acanthaceae Shrub Leaves Diabetes Half kg of fresh leaves of this plant is extracted with 500 mL water and used against diabetes. Oral 10 mL of extract is used twice a day
Blood purification Same as above Oral 10 mL of extract is used twice a day
Chest infection Leaves and flowers are plucked, dried under shade, ground to obtain powder; 50 gm of this powder is mixed in 15 mL of honey. Oral Half teaspoon twice a day for 15 days
Skin infection Half kg leaves are boiled in 4 liters of water and decoction is used. Oral Twice a day
*Lathyrus aphaca* L. Jee Wareen Papilionaceae Herb Seed and flower Skin infection Decoction is used for skin problems. Topical As needed
*Malva neglecta* Wallr. Panderak Malvaceae Herb Whole plant Kidney problems Roots are taken and boiled in 2 glasses of water and after boiling when 1 glass of water remains, it is taken for kidney stones. Oral Once a day for 40 days
*Melia azedarach* L. Tora Draka Meliaceae Tree Whole plant Diabetes Powder of seeds is used. Oral As needed
Gastrointestinal Fruit is ground and its juice is mixed with oil and taken as anthelmintic. Oral As needed
*Mentha arvensis* L. Podeena. Lamiaceae. Herb Leaves Gastrointestinal 70 gm dried leaves of wild mint and 30--40 gm of bishops\' weed are ground together and 10--12 gm of common salt is also added. It is used for gas problems and stomach pain. Oral Thrice a day after meal
Vomiting Tea of dried leaves is taken to stop vomiting. Oral As needed
*Mentha longifolia* L. Venalai Lamiaceae Herb Leaves Gastrointestinal Decoction of leaves is used as carminative. Oral As needed
*Monotheca buxifolia* (Falc.) A. DC. Gorgola Sapotaceae Shrub Fruit, stem Skin infection Poultice is used against skin infection. Topical As needed
*Morus alba* L. Toot Moraceae Tree Fruit, leaves Gastrointestinal Crushed leaves are taken along honey to treat diarrhea. Oral Twice a day
*Morus nigra* L. Tor Toot Moraceae Tree Fruit, leaves Kidney problems Fruit is directly eaten as diuretic. Oral Twice a day
*Nannorrhops ritchiana*. (Griff.) Aitch. Mazzari Arecaceae/Palmae Shrub Leaves Gastrointestinal Crushed leaves are used as carminative. Oral As needed
Veterinary Fresh leaves are given to animals as purgative. Oral As needed
*Nerium oleander* L. Gand derai Apocynaceae Shrub Leaves Dental pain\ The fresh leaves are washed and crushed, and then 3 cups of water are added. The filtrate is given to the patients suffering from dental pain. Oral Twice a day for 5 days
Wound
Poultice of leaves is applied externally to reduce swelling. Topical Twice a day
*Olea ferruginea* (Sol.) Steud. Kawwaan Oleaceae. Tree Fruit, leaves,\ Dental Decoction is used for toothache. Oral The decoction of fresh leaves is kept in the mouth at night till recovery.
seeds, and bark
Rheumatism The oil extracted from the fruits is used as massage in the treatment of rheumatism. Topical As needed
Skeletomuscular Same as above Topical As needed
*Otostegia limbata* Benth. Spin azghai Lamiaceae Shrub Whole plant Throat infection 50 gm fresh leaves are ground and 3-4 teaspoons of water are added to it. This mixture is filtered through a cloth and is given to the patient suffering from mouth gums and throat pains. Oral As needed
Wound Crushed leaves are applied for curing of wounds. Topical Once a day
*Oxalis corniculata* L. Tokee pi. Oxalidaceae Herb Leaves, root Gastrointestinal Juice of leaves and roots are used against stomach problem. Oral As needed
*Peganum harmala*L. Spin nali Zygophyllaceae Herb Seeds Spiritual The smoke from burning seeds and leaves is believed to be devil repellent and also used as protection against evil eyes.
*Periploca aphylla* Decne. Barada Periplocaceae Shrub Stem, bark, and latex. Gastrointestinal Branches and flower are dried under shade, ground to obtain powder, and taken along water for constipation and stomach ulcer. Oral 2--4 gm of is powder twice a day
*Phoenix dactylifera* L. Khajoor Arecaceae Tree Fruit, leaves Gastrointestinal Take four dried khobani and three khajoor and keep it in milk and boil it. After cooling take it on an empty stomach with 1 teaspoon of isapagul; it is good for controlling constipation. Oral As needed
Sex power Same as above Oral As needed
*Pinus roxburghii* Sarg. Nakthar Pinaceae Tree All aerial Dental Juice is extracted from fresh leaves and bark by grinding. This is mixed with water and taken for toothache. Oral Twice a day before meal and at bed time
Gastrointestinal Similarly, the bark and leaves of *Pinus* are dried and crushed, and then the powder is dissolved in cold water and taken for diarrhea. Oral Twice a day before meal and at bed time
Skin infection Leaves of the plant are boiled and the extract is obtained and taken before meal as remedy for scabies. Oral As needed
*Pistacia chinensis* Bunge. Shenai Tree Whole plant Gastrointestinal Powdered galls fried with ghee are given internally in dysentery. Oral Once a day
Skin infections The stem gum is added to the mustard oil, warmed, and mixed. The prepared poultice is then applied to the ruptured heels at night. Topical At night for once
*Plantago lanceolata* L. Gwayo zhabe Plantaginaceae Herb Whole plant Dental Leaves are crushed and kept in mouth to relieve toothache. Oral As needed
Gastrointestinal Seeds and fruits are drunk as purgative and laxative. Oral As needed
Skin infections Fresh leaves are crushed for athlete\'s foot. Topical As needed
*Plantanus orientalis* L. Chenar Platanaceae Tree Whole plant Gastrointestinal The peel of the fruit is dried, soaked, and ground. The powder so formed, called "Narsaway," is mixed in small quantity in a cup of curd and is used for dysentery. Oral Twice in a day till recovery for the treatment
*Punica granatum* L. Anar Punicaceae Shrub Fruit, bark Gastrointestinal The fruit pericarp is dried, powdered, mixed with sugar, and used for diarrhea and dysentery. Oral As needed
Chest infections The fruit pericarp is mixed with tea and is given for whooping cough. Oral As needed
Blood purifier Fruit is directly eaten. Oral As needed
*Rumex dentatus* L. Reen zakai Polygonaceae Herb Leaves Sex enhancer Decoction of leaves is used. Oral Once at night
Skeletomuscular Same as above Oral As needed
*Ricinus communis* L. Raanda Euphorbiaceae Shrub Seeds, leaf, bark,\ Gastrointestinal The small quantity of oil is rubbed on the abdomen, which is slowly and gradually absorbed through sweat glands to release constipation. Topical Twice a day for one day
and root.
*Sageretia thea* (Osbeck) M.C. Johnst. Mamoti Rhamnaceae Shrub Fruit, roots Jaundice The extraction of roots is used as cooling agent in jaundice. Oral Once a day
*Saccharum spontaneum* L. Shaat Poaceae Herb Whole plant Chest infection Juice of whole plants is mixed with milk for the treatment of cough. Oral Twice a day for two days
*Solanum incanum* L. Tarkha Mowtngee Solanaceae Shrub Leaves and roots Kidney problems Decoction of leaves and roots are used to break kidney stones. Oral As needed
*Solanum villosum* Miller. Koot soab Solanaceae Herb Whole plant Kidney problems Decoction of leaves and roots are used to break kidney stones. Oral As needed
*Sonchus arvensis* L. Kroo Konai Asteraceae Herb Whole plant Wounds The whole plant is crushed to form a paste. The paste is applied as a poultice on wounds and boils. Topical As needed
*Silybummarianum* (L.) Azghai Asteraceae Herb Leaves, seeds, and flowers head Antipyretic\ Seeds are collected, dried under shade, and roasted in vegetable oil. Roasted seeds are ground to obtain powder. This is used to treat hepatitis. Oral Half teaspoon of this powder is taken thrice a day for a month
Jaundice\
Liver problems
Same as above Oral Same as above
Same as above Oral Same as above
*Taraxacum officinale* F.H. Wigg. Asteraceae Herb Leaves, root Jaundice 20--30 gm dried aerial parts are boiled in 1 liter of water for 15--20 min to which 15--20 gm sugar is added. This decoction is filtered and used against jaundice. Oral Half cup is given twice a day
Diabetes Half kg dried aerial parts are boiled in 2 liters water and decoction is filtered and used for diabetes. Oral One cup of this decoction is taken twice a day
*Terminalia arjuna* L. Combretaceae Tree Bark, fruits, and leaves Cardiovascular Fruits and leaves are ground to make powder and mix with essential additives. Oral Once a day
*Vitex negundo* L. Marmandi Verbenaceae Shrub Leaves, root, stem, and seeds Gastrointestinal 60 gm dried seeds of this plant, 30 gm Bishop\'s weed, and 2-3 teaspoon of common salt are ground together to powder. Oral As needed
Antipyretic Same as above Oral As needed
Jaundice The decoction of leaves is used for jaundice. Oral As needed
Kidney problem The seeds are ground to obtain powder and are taken with water for kidney stone. Oral Half spoon once a day
*Withania somnifera* (L.) Dunal Kapyanga Solanaceae Herb Leaves, roots, and seeds Kidney problems The decoction of leaves is taken to break kidney stones. Oral As needed
*Ziziphus mauritiana* var.*abyssinica*(Hochst. ex A. Rich.) Fiori Bera Rhamnaceae Tree Fruit, root, and leaves Gastrointestinal The decoction of fruit and bark is taken with a cup of milk to treat constipation and dysentery. Oral As needed
*Ziziphus nummularia* (Burm. f.) Wight and Arn. Karkata *Rhamnaceae* Shrub Fruit, leaves Gastrointestinal Powder of fruits and leaves are used to treat constipation. Oral Thrice a day for 2 days
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######
Fic values of traditional medicinal plants for treating human ailments in district Hangu.
S. Number Disease categories Nur Nt Fic
----------- -------------------------- ----- ---- ------
1 Gastrointestinal 200 25 0.87
2 Dermatological 100 13 0.87
3 Skeletomuscular 7 2 0.83
4 Blood disorders 58 10 0.84
5 Chest infections 24 7 0.73
6 Jaundice 14 7 0.53
7 Ear nose throat problems 12 3 0.81
8 Antipyretic 32 7 0.80
9 Narcotic 3 2 0.54
10 Sex power 8 3 0.71
11 Kidney problems 22 7 0.71
12 Wounds 3 2 0.54
13 Rheumatism 9 3 0.75
14 Veterinary 9 3 0.75
15 Dental 12 4 0.71
16 Piles 9 3 0.75
17 Liver problems 7 1 1
18 Cardiovascular 9 1 1
######
Fidelity level value of medicinal plants commonly reported against a given ailment.
Number Medicinal plants Ailments lp lu FL value %
-------- ------------------------- ------------------- ---- ---- ------------
01 *Acacia modesta* Skeletomuscular 19 19 100
02 *Caralluma tuberculata* Antidiabetic 19 19 100
03 *Withania somnifera* Gastrointestinal 26 26 100
04 *Allium sativum* Blood pressure 18 19 94.7
05 *Mentha arvensis* Gastrointestinal 23 25 92
06 *Mentha longifolia* Gastrointestinal 23 25 92
07 *Cannabis sativa* Narcotic 11 12 91.6
08 *Punica granatum* Blood purifier 21 23 91.3
09 *Morus alba* Respiratory tract 19 21 90.4
10 *Morus nigra* Respiratory tract 19 21 90.4
11 *Oxalis corniculata* Gastrointestinal 17 19 89.4
12 *Fagonia indica* Dermatological 17 19 89.4
13 *Fagonia indica* Blood purifier 26 30 86.6
14 *Ricinus communis* Pregnancy 06 08 75
15 *Olea ferruginea* Dermatological 12 16 75
16 *Olea ferruginea* Sore throat 11 15 73.3
17 *Justicia adhatoda* Skeletomuscular 07 10 70
18 *Cuscuta reflexa* Dermatological 11 16 68.7
19 *Ziziphus nummularia* Antidiabetic 06 10 60
20 *Sageretia thea* Antidiabetic 08 14 57.1
######
DMR score of fifteen key informants for eleven medicinal plants species with additional uses besides medicinal value.
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Use\ *A. modesta* *P. chinensis* *D. viscosa* *D. sissoo* *M. azedarach* *M. alba nigra* *O. ferruginea* *F. religiosa* *P. roxburghii* *A. nilotica* *Z. mauritiana* Total Rank
diversity
--------------- -------------- ---------------- -------------- ------------- ---------------- ----------------- ----------------- ---------------- ----------------- --------------- ----------------- -------- -------
Agricultural\ 2 0 3 0 4 5 5 0 1 5 0 **25** **4**
tool
Construction 0 4 0 5 5 5 5 5 4 3 2 **38** **3**
Fodder 5 3 0 0 0 5 3 3 0 0 4 **23** **5**
Fire wood 5 3 5 3 5 4 5 4 3 5 3 **45** **1**
Medicine 5 3 3 3 4 5 5 2 3 3 3 **39** **2**
Total **17** **13** **11** **11** **18** **20** **23** **14** **11** **16** **12**
Rank **4** **7** **9** **9** **3** **2** **1** **6** **9** **5** **8**
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Based on use criteria (5 = best; 4 = very good; 3 = good; 2 = less used; 1 = least used; and 0 = no value).
######
Gender, age group and literacy level frequencies, and occupation of the interviewed people in the region.
Total Percentage
------------------------ ------- ------------
Gender
Male 34 61.81
Female 21 38.18
Age groups
20--29 2 3.63
30--39 3 5.45
40--49 7 12.72
50--59 7 12.72
60--69 15 27.27
70--79 12 21.81
80--89 9 16.3
Educational attainment
Illiterate 25 45.45
Primary 16 29.09
Middle 10 18.18
Secondary 2 3.63
University 2 3.63
Occupation
Females
House wives 19 90.47
Primary teacher 2 9.52
Males
Shopkeepers 10 29.4
Farmers 13 38.2
Labours 6 17.6
Primary teachers 5 14.7
[^1]: Academic Editor: Rainer W. Bussmann
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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PubMed Central
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Clowns can be dangerous, in some cases very dangerous.
Just consider three of the politicians who have ridden to fame on the bandwagon of Brexit, Britain’s self-ejection from the European Union. Each of them has used the trick of sanitizing egregious ideas by appearing to be engagingly clownish and eccentric.
First there was Nigel Farage whose United Kingdom Independence Party, UKIP, whipped up the wave of anti-immigrant hysteria that was decisive in swinging the referendum that narrowly triggered Brexit in 2016.
Farage has retreated from his role in UKIP but can now be found happily mingling with right-wing nutters from Europe to Australia, regarded as a model of how to play the card of white supremacy without actually using those words. Farage groomed his own disarming persona in the classic pose of a grinning, beer-swilling pub-loving everyman taking on the British ruling class and winning.
Second came Boris Johnson, a brilliant self-promoter who moved from being the mayor of London to the upper ranks of the Tory party and cynically chose to use Brexit as a path to becoming prime minister at any cost. That came unstuck when Prime Minister Theresa May appointed him foreign secretary, a role that, instead of demonstrating his gifts, exposed his inner shallowness, and he now lurks on the fringes, still dangerous but far less credible as a challenger.
Now there is the newest, and youngest, of them, Jacob Rees-Mogg, who is the most skillful dissembler of them all. As May enters a perilous period in which she attempts to sell her party on her Brexit deal with the European Union, Rees-Mogg is leading a move to remove her with a formal motion of “no confidence”—so far lacking sufficient backers, but a nakedly hostile intent.
Rees-Mogg originally came to notice because of his shameless pose as a slightly deranged young toff, campaigning for election with his former nanny as company, tailored always in the most formal of double-breasted suits, barbered like a Harry Potter cohort and speaking in a clipped, condescending way. But the numerous Little Englanders in the Tory party buy his blend of erudition and lofty life style, as well as his aversion to abortion and same-sex marriage.
I can reveal that he is not the first Rees-Mogg to try to influence a change of prime minister. As it happens, I knew another, his father William Rees-Mogg.
This Rees-Mogg was deputy editor of the London Sunday Times. In the fall of 1963 the standing of the then-prime minister, Harold Macmillan, had been severely weakened by his poor handling of the year’s great political scandal, the Profumo Affair, in which the defense minister shared a mistress with a Russian spy. Macmillan fell ill and, while he was in hospital, consented to give way as party leader and prime minister. (No national election was required, the party made the choice.)
“ We must be mad, literally mad, as a nation to be permitting the annual inflow of some 50,000 dependents…it is like a nation busily engaging in heaping up its own funeral pyre. ” — Enoch Powell
I headed up the paper’s investigative reporting team and we found out that Macmillan had already secretly arranged his own succession. The party vote was a sham. But who was this successor?
William Rees-Mogg had close ties to a younger faction in the party but he was unable to uncover the name. With a colleague I went to 10 Downing Street to see a source we had who was very close to Macmillan. He gave us the name.
It was a Tuesday. Getting a great political scoop on a Tuesday when you work for a Sunday newspaper is just about the most maddening thing that can happen to a reporter. It would not keep. The change of prime ministers would take place on the Friday. The first person I delivered the scoop to was Rees-Mogg. He turned a deathly pale and, with an intake of breath, said, “This is outrageous. It must be stopped.”
Rees-Mogg wrote the paper’s editorials (in longhand) and saw himself as a major influence on the future of the Tories. Macmillan had chosen Sir Alec Douglas-Home, certainly an unexpected and capricious choice, a member of the landed gentry of unspectacular gifts—but, in the circumstances, the one candidate able to reconcile opposing groups.
Rees-Mogg did not agree and was serious about stopping it. He set up a midnight meeting that included some of Macmillan’s cabinet who had not been told of the choice. Their choice was a patrician party elder, Rab Butler.
Butler had a reputation as a progressive, but was fatally stained by his behavior in June 1940, when Winston Churchill was new to office in the country’s darkest hour. Butler, as an undersecretary to the foreign minister, Lord Halifax, was linked to a plot among appeasers to replace Churchill with Halifax, who still thought a deal could be made with Hitler.
The old guard of the Conservative party—and the Churchill family—had never forgiven Butler. He was, in effect, forever blackballed as a possible leader.
Rees-Mogg did not think this would stick, but it did. Home became prime minister.
But there is a long tail to this story, taking it all the way to Brexit. Rees-Mogg’s midnight cabal met at the house of a junior cabinet minister, Enoch Powell.
Powell was another in the line of erudite eccentrics. He appeared as the epitome of the unbending English gent, even on the hottest of days wearing a three-piece suit and a Homburg hat, always with glacial composure, skin parchment white, the only warning note a hard glint in the eye. He prided himself on his scholarship, a translator of Herodotus, admirer of the richness of ancient Greek civilization.
His career motored on without gaining particular notice until a night in April 1968 when he delivered a speech that has since become notorious as a harbinger of a revival of open racism. Powell was responding to complaints from constituents that immigrants from the Caribbean and Asia were competing for jobs and changing the culture of neighborhoods.
“We must be mad, literally mad,” Powell declared, “as a nation to be permitting the annual inflow of some 50,000 dependents… it is like a nation busily engaging in heaping up its own funeral pyre… as I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding. Like the Roman, I seem to see the River Tiber foaming with much blood.”
It became known as the “river of blood” speech and Powell neither disowned nor apologized for it. “It is a subject that found me: I didn’t go looking for it,” he said, and framed his allegiance in the cause in the same way that, decades later, Farage would echo: “The discrimination and the deprivation, the sense of alarm and resentment, lies not with the immigrant population but with those among whom they have come and are still coming.”
But ugly racism in Britain long preceded the 1960s’ wave of immigrants.
Before World War I there was a strain of extreme and cranky nationalism that pursued the phantom of an international conspiracy of Jewish financiers. (Just as George Soros has been used, with the help of Facebook, as code for a similar conspiracy.)
These propagandists included the Roman Catholic novelists and pamphleteers, G. K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc. The playwright Bernard Shaw called them “Chesterbelloc,” a two-headed monster. Behind their hysteria was a struggle between old money and new, the established English gentry and the risen Edwardian plutocracy. Their basest sin was to find a scapegoat for their prejudice in a simple-minded anti-Semitism.
Between the wars this strain of anti-Semitism fused with the formal fascism of those Britons, and there were many, who fell under the spell of Mussolini and Hitler. This movement peaked in Sir Oswald Mosley’s British Union of Fascists and the Anglo-German Friendship League.
Pressure from these sources reached the British cabinet even after war was declared against Hitler. A group of eight Conservative peers (not those gathered by Lord Halifax) blamed the war on Jewish-controlled newspapers, and wanted to appease the Nazis. Churchill swiftly rejected them, but the sentiment did not disappear. It lay dormant, like an incubating virus.
It finally broke the surface again in the early 1960s, long before Powell made his speech.
The catalyst was a group named the League of Empire Loyalists, founded by A. K. Chesterton, a cousin of the novelist G.K. and formerly a founder member of Mosley’s fascists. Initially the League was seen as a minority crackpot faction of the Conservative party, resenting the party’s abandonment of empire, but in 1962 one of the League’s organizers, a thug named Colin Jordan, quit to form the British National Socialist Movement.
It seemed like an obnoxious but lame-duck rerun of Mosley, with the Nazi uniforms and the old Nordic chant: “The only basis for Britain’s future greatness is Aryan, predominantly Nordic blood. It is the first duty of the state to protect this blood.”
In fact, the state’s response was to slap Jordan in jail for leading a paramilitary movement. His surviving lieutenants learned the lesson. They moved with less noise and more purpose toward a new target, immigrants.
By 1966 several splinter groups, plus the League of Empire Loyalists, merged into a new bloc named the National Front. Front members went to Germany for reunions of ex-members of Hitler’s S.S. The Germans referred to the Front’s leader, John Tyndall, as the Fuhrer.
By the 1970s, helped on its way indirectly by Powell’s hate-mongering (the Conservatives had always had a small rump of racists for whom Powell suddenly found himself a hero, almost like a lost leader), the Front had around 10,000 members and was able to win up to 20 percent of the vote in local elections where immigration was an issue.
Unconscious of his implied nostalgia, an ageing Sir Oswald Mosley dismissed the Front as “dwarfs masquerading in the uniform of dead giants.”
And, indeed, the Front never broke out of its hardcore base and, until Nigel Farage appeared, Britain appeared to be successfully evolving into a multi-cultural nation without succumbing to dreams of a lost imperial role and an imagined racial purity.
Farage, Johnson and Rees-Mogg have all tapped into a toxic nostalgia in which the European Union was cast as a kind of polyglot monster that subjugated a once-glorious British apartness—wanting to restore the moat of the English Channel as the line between them and “the other.”
Sometimes Johnson has sounded like a retired colonial administrator with a tin ear: running for mayor he referred to blacks as “piccaninnies with watermelon smiles”, and more recently, resenting President Obama’s alarm at the Brexit campaign, talked of Obama’s “partly Kenyan heritage” and suggested that this was tied to a hostility to the British empire. But, as usual with Johnson, these remarks were not the accidental words of a buffoon, but deliberate signals to attract the far right.
Rees-Mogg doesn’t need to use that kind of language. Dubbed “the honorable member for the 18th century” he understands the appeal of his shameless atavism, and never mind that this automatically attracts all the bigots who, like Enoch Powell, think the island race lost its way as soon as it gave up its whiteness.
This egregious trio are not just clowns. They are really pernicious con-artists seeking self-advancement over decency.
The joke is, if there is one, that nobody can ever really define the national heritage that they so casually invoke. It begins somewhere in the fluvial bloodbaths where Angles first mixed with Saxons and gave a name, Anglo-Saxon, to a race that colonized the island, survived a Roman invasion but succumbed to the Normans. In this there is supposed to be a spring of racial purity. There is no shrine to mark it, no Mount of Olives. The mists of folklore obscure it. Perhaps it is not a time or a place at all, but just something felt in the fantasy of a lost world that never really existed.
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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OpenWebText2
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Tony Terlazzo
Anthony Terlazzo (July 28, 1911 – March 26, 1966) was an Italian-born American weightlifter. He was America's first weightlifter to win an Olympic gold medal, which he had done in 1936. He also won a bronze medal at the 1932 Games. While winning the 1936 gold medal Terlazzo set Olympic records in the total, at 312.5 kg (687.5 lbs), and in the snatch, at 97.5 kg (214.5 lbs).
Terlazzo won two world (1937–38) and 12 national titles, which remains the highest number for any American weightlifter. Between 1935 and 1938 he set five ratified world records: three in the press and two in the clean and jerk.
References
Category:1911 births
Category:1966 deaths
Category:American male weightlifters
Category:Olympic weightlifters of the United States
Category:Olympic gold medalists for the United States in weightlifting
Category:Olympic bronze medalists for the United States in weightlifting
Category:Weightlifters at the 1932 Summer Olympics
Category:Weightlifters at the 1936 Summer Olympics
Category:Medalists at the 1936 Summer Olympics
Category:Medalists at the 1932 Summer Olympics
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tomekkorbak/pile-curse-small
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Wikipedia (en)
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The SA Government has announced a Royal Commission into nuclear energy. In the first in an NM series, Rob Parker, president of the Australian Nuclear Association offers suggestions for six areas of focus.
Keep Spending, Mr Swan
If Wayne Swan wants to live up to the Finance Minister of the Year title, he should stop promising to deliver a surplus the next budget, writes Ben Eltham
Wayne Swan's budget surplus is in peril. Dark clouds have gathered over the global economy, especially the rich economies on either side of the Atlantic. There's a looming sovereign debt crisis in Europe, the US is bouncing along the bottom of an economic contraction that has now lasted half a decade and Japan is still recovering from its devastating earthquake, tsunami and nuclear meltdown. All this adds up to slower world growth — which will inevitably take some of the heat out of China's booming economy on which so much of Australia's resources wealth is based.
At home, many parts of the Australian economy are themselves struggling, notably manufacturing, which is clearly contracting and shedding jobs in the process. We're not headed for a recession on current indicators, but Swan has a problem: the economy is slowing down, and that is going to crimp tax revenues at the very time the Government needs them to pick up. Swan himself recognises the issue, as he told Australian reporters gathered outside the ceremony in Washington where he received his prize as Euromoney magazine's Finance Minister of the Year award.
"We're determined to come back to surplus but I just make the observation that these events globally have an impact upon global growth, that has an impact upon domestic growth that has an impact on revenue collections and or course it makes it tougher to come back to surplus," said Swan.
"But I want to make it very clear we are determined to come back to surplus. That's what we've said we will do and we're determined to do."
But is that what he should do?
The Government's entire economic policy has been built around a rapid return to surplus next year, after the comparatively small deficits racked up in 2008-11 as the government spent up to keep the economy out of recession.
Of course, the economy did stay out of recession, largely thanks to the prompt and effective stimulus policy.
Ordinary Australians may not realise it, but compared to Europe and America, Australia is unusually blessed with high-quality economic policy-makers. Glenn Stevens at the Reserve Bank and Ken Henry at the Treasury made a huge contribution to our future prosperity with their sound advice to Swan during the crisis, but it was Swan and Kevin Rudd's determination to back this advice that enabled Australia to execute a textbook economic turnaround.
Let's just remind ourselves that our economy is still growing and that unemployment is just above 5 per cent. Despite some serious early job losses in the mining industry (giving the lie to the myth that Australia was saved by our mining industries — we weren't), prompt action by the Government kept consumer spending at reasonable levels and put spare capacity to work in the construction sector with a much-needed infrastructure boost to our nation's primary schools.
Euromoney's Eric Ellis has been chronicling the attacks on Swan in Australia with some amusement. "Surrounded by the consumer baubles that wealth brings, grumpy Australians don't seem to appreciate how good they've had it," he wrote this month — and it's hard to disagree.
Unfortunately for Labor, voters here seem to take a very different view of their own finances to the government's. Many Australian families groan under the weight of huge mortgages taken out to buy houses they can barely afford. But they simultaneously abhor the Australian Government's tiny budget deficit of $22 billion, or around 1.5 per cent of GDP. Australia's debt will peak at something under 8 per cent of our gross domestic product, a manageable burden in any sense of the word.
But, as with so many other issues, the Gillard Government has found itself out-maneuvered by a nimble Opposition prepared ruthlessly to attack Labor's supposedly profligate ways. Tony Abbott and Joe Hockey may struggle to make their own election costings add up, but that hasn't stopped them from repeatedly tearing at Labor's fiscal credibility with their ominous prediction that Labor will never return a surplus while in government. It doesn't help, either, that two of the Government's most prominent policies are taxes. As a result, many voters seem to have taken on board the message that Labor is a wasteful government and a poor manager of the economy.
Wayne Swan's long-term plan to address the credibility issue has been to promise a surplus in 2012-13. To say he and the government are desperate to return a surplus next year is rather to understate matters. Returning to surplus is essentially Labor's single and entire fiscal policy goal for this term, and the threat of not achieving it must be truly terrifying for a Treasurer who already has plenty to keep him up at night.
Bear in mind that the current fall in government spending is already the fastest correction from a recession since Treasury began to keep records. The government's plan to rapidly return to surplus is slicing perhaps two full percentage points off growth this financial year. The broader economy would certainly be in a healthier state if the drop-off in Canberra's spending was slightly less rapid.
After all, the issue of whether Australia should turn in a surplus next year is entirely political. From a purely economic standpoint, it would be far preferable to keep fiscal settings roughly as they now and to let the budget return to surplus a year later, in 2013-14. Indeed, the Commonwealth Bank's Ralph Norris said precisely this in a speech yesterday. But that would constitute another broken promise for Labor, and the Opposition would be understandably cock-a-hoop.
So Labor may very well decide to cut deep and hard in the budget next May in order to show some kind of surplus. For political purposes, almost any amount would do, even in the few hundred million dollars.
It won't be easy. We won't know the full fiscal situation until the mid-year economic and fiscal outlook papers are released later this year, but on every indication, the budget deficit looks to be widening.
So by April next year, Wayne Swan and Penny Wong will be faced with some tough choices. Remember that the government has already squeezed many of its departments hard, capping spending increases at 2 per cent a year and enforcing an increased annual efficiency dividend, which requires all government departments and agencies to slash 1.5 per cent off their spending every year. This means that the government won't easily be able to find billions in nips and tucks here and there.
A more likely scenario is that significant cuts will have to be made to one or more national spending programs, such as defence, family tax benefits or the private health insurance rebate (which Labor has been trying to means test for years, but has been stopped from doing so by the Senate).
Swan's upcoming tax summit offers some equally unattractive possibilities, such as raising taxes or eliminating tax loopholes in areas such as superannuation, capital gains tax or negative gearing. Tax concessions in these areas cost tens of billions, but Labor would not be relishing the prospect of yet another battle over taxes in the run-up to the doomsday election of 2013. Slashing spending would also further damage the domestic economy at a time when confidence is low.
On the other hand, Swan could simply leave the budget in deficit another year. If he really wants to live up to his new title as Finance Minister of the Year, he should be able to explain the policy to the Australian public.
This article ignores the off budget spending (eg NBN) that is crowding out the market. The government needs to exit the arena and take the pressure off interest rates, the dollar, wages and debt.
It also ignores the fact that the northern hemisphere is having a debt crisis. Taking on more debt here in Australia is exactly what we should not be doing. Nothing we could do spendingwise would be sufficient to protect us from the global effects of what the US and Europe are going through.
Ben, you talk about billions of dollars as it were change in the pocket. The amount of money that is wasted in this Country is astronomical. Tax in this country is out of hand. The dual Government (Federal and State) in itself wastes more money than some small economies.
When Swan instructs cuts to departments, it is usually to the front line staff who actually give public service, it is never to the middle or upper middle management who have been promoted beyond their capabilities. The insulation debacle highlighted this. There was nobody to oversee its implementation.
Until we get our feet back on the ground and cut out all forms of corruption (mates rates) the plebs of this country will continue to see their standard of living eroded.
Bill Hartigan
Ben Eltham does not appear to realise that it isn't a budget surplus in a specific year that is as important as the overall level of all Governments' borrowings.The total of all Governments' borrowings, State and Commonwealth, is now $500 billion. Some $100 billion of this is owed by Government Owned Corporatios (Utility companies, railways etc. which nominally at least have the capacity to service their debt from the income of their businesses. Unfortunately, the balance of the borrowings has been applied to the provision of "free" services such as Health, Education , Roads, police etc which are not only unable to directly fund their debt but which demand recurrent expenditure as the demand for these services is ongoing. THEY must be financed by the taxpayer , either now at much greater cost in the future. The use of Government borrowing in this manner,competes with the private sector raising their costs of borrowing, and forcing borrowers overseas, raising the interest rate and the exchange rate and reducing the tradeable sectors competitiveness. The lower,interest free regime ,supported by Government Guaranteed Bondsis the root cause of the financial disaster facing Europe and the USA. The right approach for all Australian Governments right now is to work on lowering debt as quickly as possible and principally by cost cutting in Government administration , particularly while the Labor market is tight and when immigration targets can be cut to minimise unemployment. It would make a lot of sense to curtail expernditure on the NBN and the Carbon dioxidetax, until the global circumstances stabilise and debt is controlled
Cost cutting in Government administration. (What and how much?)
Get rid of "free" services. (To what extent?)
Limit immigration.( By how much, close the borders?)
Curtail expenditure on the NBN. (No future proofing?)
No ETS until global circumstances stabilise (When is that?)
No debt. (Keep it in the coffers?)
Simplicity par excellence. Sorry mate, back to the old drawing board!
This scheme looks pretty similar to the one Howard employed and we know now how many of the important measures that should have been implemented were sacrificed on the altar of government self promotion and self indulgence. Government debt for political reasons only was largely shifted to the private sector. Despite the GFC we are slowly addressing the neglect of that era.
yes, the states have racked up a fair bit more debt than the Commonwealth.
But are they in over their heads? Of course they aren't. Not even the ratings agencies think so. Even Queensland still retains AA+ rating, despite a hundred billion dollar debt-financed infrastructure program and being hammered by the floods. As for the government-owned corporations, they seem to have no trouble lifting their prices to service their debts, as electricity consumers in Qld and NSW are discovering.
Arguing that the NBN is crowding out infrastructure investment seems to have little connection to the facts .... there are hundreds of billions of dollars of mining investment locked in and just today, in the very industry that the NBN will operate in, Telstra has announced a big new wireless broadband project.
"Tax the Rich" followed by "Keep on Spending"? One begins to think you are being deliberately mischievous!
I assume in your comments above you are talking about the same ratings agencies that were rating tranches of CDO debt AAA briefly before it became apparent that investors would be taking losses of principal? (If so we should agree to never use ratings of evidence of anything other than the immense gullibility of humans)
The fundamental question is whether it makes sense for Australian Govts to be putting themselves in a position where they are reliant on foreign debt given the global crisis in sovereign credit? Ratings don't matter one iota if you can't raise funding period.
The additional issue for the Aussie Govt (on top of the States borrowings) is the several hundred billion or more they might have to tip into the Australian banking system to keep it afloat if China slows down and foreign lenders start to worry about our capacity to repay.
Having said that I certainly agree with the premise that whether or not we return to surplus in 2012/13 is neither here not there. Labor painted that corner for themselves and it was pretty silly since it was always going to be only a few hundred million to a billion or so either way and the outcome was never going to be in Wayne Swan's control.
The more important point is how we are going to quickly get ourselves in the position where we are generating surpluses of significance (say $50b) so that we can remain a sustainable economy rather than ending up as a carcass for the capital markets to feast on. The situation in Europe has proven the fallacy of relying on a sovereign's ability to tax in order to repay their creditors.
Ben, if we had competent economic managers, management and media in Australia, our cities would export more than they import. They don't Ben, they don't. Our cities are a future eating hemorrhage of cash, never seen again, as it sails offshore.
Our immigration policies would be economic based not welfare based. That is, the only valid reason for immigration ought to be how a candidate migrant would assist Australia to be more competitive in the globalised economy.*
Australian farmland and mines would be reserved for Australians only. Domestic housing likewise.
Our transport infrastructure would be built ahead of need rather than 30 years or so, behind the need.
And finally, Australia would be a creditor nation [these exist] rather than a debtor nation. If you have to focus on what your credit rating is you are truly a loser.
This is what Australia's economic spin doctors have done to our country. Ohh so keen to drive us to debt.
* At the moment, we have a body politic corrupted by building, development, and retail sleazes, who can fairly argue that they own whole political parties. These are the sleazes who have dictated our bloating immigration policies.
"The amount of money that is wasted in this Country is astronomical". (cheep one liner - proof?)
"The dual Government (Federal and State) in itself wastes more money than some small economies". (cheap one liner - proof?)
"Cuts to departments". (where and by how much?)
"The insulation debacle." (speedy GFC measure worked well, apart from abuse by contractors by breaching of clearly defined OH&S regulations)
"Cut out all forms of corruption". (cheap one liner - proof?)
What it boils down to is "put up or shut up". If you can't, let's put it down to useless whinging. QED
@Compass1312 posted Wednesday, 28 September 11 at 2:50PM
"I am sick of watching our tax dollars frittered away when they can be put to much better use".
You are totally right. You nailed it. Sleazes, sleazes everywhere. You fit right in!
You are in fact a glowing example of the quintessential armchair critic everyone should avoid to emulate!
Another one of your perfect "sleazy" contributions. Well done!
It seems to me that YOU are the armchair critic. You have tried to completely undermine any and all points put forward without any input whatsoever. If you want proof go and look for it yourself, like most people do. This is a forum for comments not diatribes.
The insulation program worked well if you ignore the shoddy installation, deaths, Govt disregarding advice and the several hundred million spent on the audit afterwards to work out how badly the jobs had been done. Of course you also need to ignore the question of whether it was a dopey scheme in the first place.
One thinks of Monty Python and the Romans when they hear these types of arguments.. "Yes but apart from that, they've done a good job"...
This fellow Swan trading under the nom de plume World's Greatest Treasurer still hasn't worked out that government spending is an overhead charge on the community. Any organisation that spends more than it earns goes broke, except government in the short term, they being the sole providers of paper money to add to the pool.
Governments sooner or later will comprehend that all they are there for is to provide the services the general populace want of it. (And defend us from evil) Quite apart from any goods and services the private sector is prepared to provide. The same populace permit governments to tax them for reasonable purposes. The populace will eventually see thru' ill-conceived vote-winning "free" give aways with jobs for the boy mates, and wasteful overhead spending, and condemn them to failure.
How much economists' fiat money has been printed during the GFC by our now infamous Plastic Note Printing works and added to the economy to keep Australia's head above water? If Oz goes under it will all come out in the wash.
I just wonder how many posters here have made the effort to look at ALL the legislations and policies so far implemented by the current government. Suspending momentarily any emotional lopsided rants and hyperbole and instead focusing on what has already been achieved since 2007. I mean realistically going through the list and honestly acknowledging the things that have been done. Conjuring up the negatives always comes easy. Looking at the positives takes effort which some people are simply not willing to make.
Being no apologist for this or any government but I would suggest for the sake of an enlightened discussion a balanced viewpoint would be helpful. Once the fundamentals are established the focus could than shift to future directions.
It's just getting a bit boring having the some people here trotting out the same, often very skewed arguments. Signing off, back to work!
@GocomSys, as usual, you don't deal with the facts.
The facts pertaining to Sussex St, property developers, etc, are well known. Hence the slag "Sussex St Sewer". A total donation domination of a political party if you ever needed one. Still, no negative evidence is allowed to pass @GocomSys eyes.
You don't actually work in the sewer - do you @Gocom? Is that the problem?
No, couldn't possibly be. Not even the sewer would take you on. Surely?
Meanwhile, you fail [again] to deal with the guts of my argument.
That we haven't had competent economic management.
We haven't had competent national leadership.
We have structurally stuffed our economy via a deliberate, spin driven, confusion of "population growth" with sustainable, investment and reinvestment driven, productivity driven, "growth".
We have bloated our economy with welfare dependent dormitories of consumers, motivated by "what Australia can do for an immigrant" - and ignored the very real cost of warping our nation's economy via the irrationally motivated bloating of one element of an economy - initially labelled "labour", now "consumer" - that could be summed up as "what an immigrant can do for Australia".
The lasting cost of this mismanagement is our collective future. The ownership of our nation. The control of our future. This is the cost. A total dependence on overseas capital and overseas nation states to band aid the permanent damage done by quisling political parties getting their orders via greedy special interest groups.
Our economy is of our own making.
Few countries in history have had the flexibility and means to do the right thing for its future generations.
The fact that we have ignored sensible, logical advice [see early productivity commission reports], and taken this low, low road is unforgivable.
You know, it is pointless ignoring the fact that Australia remains a democracy, not some Keynesian autocracy, and so criticising the views of the Australian voter, as if the voter should be co-erced into some populist politically correct economic Keynesian views, like the current autocracy ruling Europe, is not very productive.
Gillard was voted in because she promised not to introduce a carbon tax and she promised to bring the budget back into surplus by 2013.
Our future fund is being pilfered in a vain attempt to b/s the Australian public that these promises are being met and she has downright b/s us all about the carbon tax from the very beginning.
In the meantime your piece talks of our wonderful Mr Stevens. Did you know that Mr Stevens is paid 5 times ( 500% ) more than Mr Bernanke. Why? Is he really worth that salary? I think we're being ripped off, but then, who actually owns that Central Bank? Who really is his boss?
Mr Glen Stevens is paid twice as much as the governor of the European Central Bank, Mr Trichet - why? What magic has that Womble performed for us? What productive enterprise has he brought about for the Australian voter?
Nothing.
We need a change of guard amongst our economists Ben.
By the way, have you seen the latest action figure for the Keynesian kid?
Even those policies which have not been blatant failures - eg reversing work choices, stimulus - are matters of serious philosophical debate and can hardly be counted as "successes" by any independent observer.
To be honest I am happy for you to make suggestions but I struggle to think of anything off the top of my head that this Government could clearly count as a policy success. I can think of two much need reviews which they initiated - Tax Reform (where disregarded almost every single recommendation) and State Grants (assuming this ever sees the light of day) - but I am struggling beyond that.
I can't speak for others but I am more than happy to consider the positives. I am just struggling to find them.
This user is a New Matilda supporter.gooniePosted Thursday, September 29, 2011 - 17:15
Frank from Frankston, look up "bullionism" on Wikipedia.
On other matters, billions of dollars *is* pocket change in the context of the government budget. Australia's gross domestic product is now 1.3 *trillion* dollars.
That's right
1,300,000,000,000 dollars.
Government expenditure represents about 25% of that, so about 325 billion dollars.
That's
325,000,000,000 dollars.
In that context, restricting waste to a few billion dollars wasted annually would not only be acceptable, it would be a remarkable achievement.
To take an example from the private sector, BHP Billiton is generally regarded as a relatively conservative, parsimonious company. But they managed to waste 3.6 billion dollars on the Ravensthorpe nickel mine. Is anybody screaming for BHP management's head? Nope, because it's accepted that a certain level of waste will happen, and the overall management of the company has been reasonably good recently.
Fair points Goonie. Also highlights how trivial the production of a billion dollar surplus is. Allowing only 10pc margin for conservatism, future capex and to cover the unexpected (eg Queensland floods) would give 30b surplus as the benchmark upon which a treasurer could claim he'd done a good job.
Partly because of the obscene rorting and wastage of the stimulus program (insulation bats and schools halls). Blind Freddy could tell you that school halls are not an education revolution, and that the wastage of the insulation bats program would have been hugely reduced if customers had to pay even 25% of the cost. I accept the need for haste in the early days of the GFC, but these programs should have been scaled back and re-evaluated the second that the height of the panic eased. This has tax payers fuming, and rightly so.
2. "Australia’s debt will peak at something under 8 per cent of our gross domestic product, a manageable burden in any sense of the word."
Really? How much confidence do you have in this predicted maximum debt level and our ability to painlessly repay it, in the same paragraph as you discuss how increasing world turmoil and uncertainty has blown away last year's forward revenue estimates and you egg on Swan to keep spending?
The collective intelligence of the voting public should be listened to in this instance - they know the world outlook is uncertain to bad for the next decade, they remember the pain of cutbacks to pay off the government debt of the Keating years, and they know that 'stimulus jobs' are temporary and expensive, and Greece is showing everyone how real and painful sovereign default can be. Thank goodness Swan is smart enough to hear the people's concern - a pity that he won't have the ticker to pull it off though.
The moral of the story: Keynesian stimulus might be good as a temporary stop-gap measure, such as for traditional economic cycle crashes (6mth-1yr) or panic situations. For the prolonged structural problems faced by the West now though, we will run out of money before the slump ends - time to start asking hard questions about about the new world order and how to promote growth without government 'pump-priming'.
<cite>
How much confidence do you have in this predicted maximum debt level and our ability to painlessly repay it, in the same paragraph as you discuss how increasing world turmoil and uncertainty has blown away last year’s forward revenue estimates and you egg on Swan to keep spending?</cite>
Lots. No Australian federal or state government has ever defaulted on its debt. Australia's public debt repayments are trivial. Australia spent $6.3 billion in servicing federal debt in 2009-10, the last year for which full AOFM figures are available. We spend more on private schools than this.
You hit the nail on the head. Without Govt pump priming we won't see growth going forward. So the Greens will get their wishes and it won't take a carbon tax to do it
Unfortunately because Govts have pumped so hard over the last decade or so to keep their growth dream alive we have some serious payback to account for first. It's going to be a tough decade or so coming up as the Govt fueled credit expansion finally goes into reverse. Of course they won't let the reversal come without serious efforts to kick the can down the road but the situation in Europe and the US shows the futility of such efforts.
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