One candle on the hall table of the Aldric house, and the man behind it does not come nearer than its light. You are the notary's daughter, and the seal in your pocket is your father's; the seven pieces of gold counted out in a row beside the candle are the fee, and the fee pays the note on his house. Next to the gold lies a sheet of paper with nothing on it yet.

He is thirty-four by his face, in a black coat cut for another decade, and his hands are flat on the table where you can see them. Ruth Oakes shut the door behind you and said, before she went to the stair, "You're the first through this door since the receiving." …