Someone is pounding on the door. I have fallen asleep under Juliet again on the sofa, and she is snoring lightly, face upturned. Our books have fallen to the floor, and I can see from here I have lost my place again. My leg is numb. I make effort to roll myself from under her, but I am clumsy with waking, and she tumbles over me into the sofa with a grunt. I stand up and try to shake sense into my leg.

"You've lost your place again," she says from the cushions. She is prone and soft, with a sleepy eye on me. There is someone pounding at the door. It does not occur to me that it is the front door, the unused door. I manage to limp there, and open it.

Outside in the moon's light is a ghost. He is tall, impossibly tall, with a drawn face that makes him look taller. He looks old in years and old in life. He is wearing white clothes: an older but smart looking coat, a bone shirt, rumpled white slacks. His skin is whiter still, and he hair is so light as to be nearly white, helped by the glim of the moon. He stands surprised still in a pose of knocking, making a murmer of a sound with his lips. I rub my eyes.

"Marco," he says. He drops his arm as he says it, breaking the spell. I see he is trembling a little. "I need to see Marco."

I do not know what to do with him. I have never seen him before, and such complete strangers are rare up here in these hills. I test the feel of Marco's home, to see if it is made tense by this man. I am made as mute by him as he is by me, and I wonder if I am dreaming. There is a clatter behind me; Juliet has gone to the kitchen to make tea. I am willing to bow to her judgement. "Come in," I tell him. "There's tea. Come in." He moves to me to take my hand, and holds it as if for strength. I lead him to the kitchen.

I have only managed to seat the man at the table when Marco comes in through the study door. "Jacobo!" The man has only enough time to stand before Marco has gathered him in his arms. Marco is happy to see him, and I am glad of that. Juliet is puring the tea. Marco steps back and grips the man's shoulders. He makes Marco look like a happy child.

"Jacobo," he says. He searches his face. "What is the matter?"

Jacobo starts to shake harder, and sits down again.