Then he went on, through a pass with hills that mounted into the sky like lock-armed sentries and made him feel as small as an ant under their steep shadows. He followed the road, to where he could not tell, for there were no signposts and his memory failed him.
Finally, he stood on the heights where lush green moorland stretched out as far as the eye could see. An unchanged place, he soaked it in, recalled galloping his horse across it and rescuing a lone woman from a pair of ruffians. The sun settled and a gloom fell over the land.
He said aloud, “Darkness will never overcome light.” Tonight it was true enough, for a multitude of stars brightened in the heavens as moonlight lit his way.
His throat tightened, and he coughed with such force that his eyes watered. He held his handkerchief up to his mouth and wiped his lips clear of spittle. Blood stained the rag, dark gore that made him shiver with dread. Time would not hold back for him. What he had come to do had to be done quickly.
The north winds strengthened. With them came fog. The chill seeped through his coat and touched his skin beneath it. The cold made him shiver, and he longed to find sanctuary.
“A stranger am I in a strange land,” he murmured. “Aid me, Almighty Father. Find me shelter in this place.”
He moved on until a frail yellow light flickered in the distance. Making his way toward it, he turned up the collar of his coat and held it tight around his throat—against the harsh wind. Darkness deepened and he put out one hand before him as if blind, searching, reaching ahead, finding his way through bands of moonlight along the road.
The light grew larger and when he realized it was a small lantern set inside the window of a house, he hurried toward it. At the door, he knocked and it creaked open. An old man, candle in hand, nightcap upon his head, peered out. “Who is it? What is it you want?”
The weary traveler dragged off his hat. “I am in need of shelter, sir. May I sleep in your barn?”
The man held the candle higher. “We’ve but a small stable for our milking cow and horse. You are welcome to it.”
“God bless you, sir. A bed of hay shall be a warm comfort.” He turned to go.
“Are you hungry?” the man asked.
“I’ve no want for food. Only a place to lay my head.”
“It is no bother if you are. We’ve bread and cheese to give.”
A woman drew up behind the old gentleman and said to the traveler, “Wait here, sir,” and hurried away. She returned with a sack and handed it to the sojourner. “I shall fetch a jug of cider, for you, sir, and bring it out to you with a blanket.”
“I am grateful,” he said, and stepped away to the small stable where he ate his bread and cheese in silence and laid his head into a heap of hay to sleep.
When John Faye stepped inside his humble little barn with his wife Ella trailing behind him, he raised his lantern and saw the stranger in its light. Ella handed him the blanket she carried over her arm. “The man is exhausted and no doubt ill.”
“Come, together we must help him inside to a bed and a warm fire.”
“I shall not be a burden to you,” the traveler said.
“Come now, sir,” Faye replied. “No burden is one such as yourself in need. You should have said you were ill. We would never have sent you to spend the night in this drafty place.”
He put his arms beneath the traveler’s armpits and helped him stand. Through the door they went and he was laid down in a room beside their kitchen. “You are fevered, sir,” the woman said. “But just a touch. I’ll have you right in no time.”
“You need not be so kind to a stranger.”
“Strangers may be angels unawares, sir,” she replied with a broad smile and kind eyes. “Kind we both shall be, for it is the Lord’s commandment. We shall take care of you until you are on your feet and able to go on.”
He slipped into sleep. Ella dabbed his forehead with a damp cloth. “I wonder his name,” she said to her husband.
“Time will tell.” He pulled off his spectacles and wiped his eyes.
“He wears a strange coat, John. I’ve never seen the likes, have you?”
“A military coat, but