and open. There was a little blood on the edge of the white sheet, too, and more on the sleeve of her cheap-looking white gown, where she'd thrown one arm back in her sleep. The front of her gown was pulled askance and slightly torn, and one of her breasts was bare almost to the dark nipple. I saw all this in a frozen instant, and my heart seemed to stop beating inside me. Then I reached down and drew the sheet gently over her nakedness, as if covering a child for sleep. I couldn't think of any other motion, at that moment. A thick sob filled my throat, a rage I didn't yet quite feel.
"'Helen!' I shook her shoulder gently, but her face did not change. I saw now how haggard she looked, as if she were in pain even in her sleep. Where was the crucifix? I remembered it suddenly, and looked all around. I found it by my foot; the narrow chain was broken. Had someone torn it off, or had she broken it herself in sleep? I shook her again. 'Helen, wake up!'
"This time she stirred, but fretfully, and I wondered if I might somehow harm her by bringing her to consciousness too quickly. After a second, however, she opened her eyes, frowning. Her movements were very feeble. How much blood had she lost during this night, this night when I'd been sleeping soundly in the next corridor? Why had I left her alone, then or on any night?
"'Paul,' she said, as if puzzled. 'What are you doing here?' Then she seemed to struggle to sit up and discovered the disarray of her gown. She put her hand to her throat, while I watched in a speechless anguish, and drew it slowly away. There was sticky, drying blood on her fingers. She stared at them, and at me. 'Oh, God,' she said. She sat upright and I felt a first hint of relief, despite the horror in her face; if she'd lost a lot of blood, she would've been too weak for even that much action. 'Oh, Paul,' she whispered. I sat down on the edge of the bed and took her other hand in mine and gripped it hard.
"'Are you completely awake?' I said.
"She nodded.
"'And you know where you are?'
"'Yes,' she said, but then she put her head down over her bloody hand and broke into harsh low sobs, a horrifying sound. I had never before heard her cry out loud. The sound went through my body like a wave of bitter cold.
"'I'm here.' I kissed her clean hand.
"She squeezed my fingers, weeping, then tried to gather herself. 'We must think what - is that my crucifix?'
"'Yes.' I held it up, watching her carefully, but to my infinite relief there was no sign of recoil in her face. 'Did you remove it?'
"'No, of course not.' She shook her head and a leftover tear rolled down her cheek. 'And I don't remember breaking it. I don't think they - he - would dare to, if the legend is accurate.' She was wiping her face now, keeping her hand carefully clear of the wound on her throat. 'I must have broken it while I slept.'
"'I think so, judging from where I found it.' I showed her the spot on the floor.
'And it doesn't make you feel - uncomfortable - to have it near you?'
"'No,' she said wonderingly. 'At least, not yet. ' The cold little word made me catch my breath.
She reached out and touched the crucifix, at first hesitantly, and then took it in her hand. I let out my breath. Helen sighed, too. 'I fell asleep thinking about my mother, and about an article I would like to write on the figures in Transylvanian embroidery - they are famous, you know - and then I didn't wake until now.' She frowned. 'I had a bad dream, but my mother was mixed all through it, and she was - shooing away a great black bird. When she had frightened it away, she bent over and kissed my forehead, as she used to when I was a little girl going to sleep, and I saw the mark' - she paused, as if thinking pained her a little - 'I saw the mark of the dragon on her bare shoulder, but it seemed to me just a part of her, not something terrible. And when I received her kiss on my forehead, I was not so afraid.'
"I felt