"You're more beautiful than she ever was, Miranda."

She turned to look at him. "Do you really think so?"

"Let me show you." He led her to the dressing table mirror, being careful to remain to the side so that she couldn't see that he had no reflection. "Look. And tell me what you see."

Miranda gazed at the reflection of her blonde hair and blue eyes. "I'm not sure who I see," she whispered, raising those eyes to his. "I don't know who Miranda du Bois is. But when I'm with you, it doesn't matter. I just want to be with you. In your arms." She took a step toward him.

Frightened by the sudden need in himself, Barnabas opened the door. "Let's go

downstairs. I'll show you some of the house-"

"Barnabas?"

He tensed, knowing that his sudden withdrawal had confused her. "No, Miranda. If I held you now, I would only hurt you."

"You would never hurt me." She placed a hand on his arm. "I need you to hold me. Just for a moment."

Her request was so like one so long ago, just after she had removed the curse from him in 1840, that he was unable to resist and drew her into his arms. "Just for a moment," he repeated. Having her there, where she belonged, was like the culmination of some impossible dream.

"I feel so safe here. It's as if I've always belonged in your arms."

"Perhaps you do."

"I wish I could stay here forever," she sighed.

There was a way, Barnabas thought, brushing her hair from her neck. It would be so simple. So easy. And once done, she would once again be his Angelique. As the last strands of hair fell away, Willie's voice reached him from the doorway. "Barnabas, you're needed downstairs."

Straightening, Barnabas sent the other man a look of grat.i.tude. "Thank you, Willie. Will you take Miranda to the parlour and pour her a gla.s.s of port? I'll join you shortly," he told her.

Julia was bent over a microscope when he entered the makeshift lab. "Willie said you wanted to see me?"

"I may be onto something here. I knew I was close when you made me stop my research."

"How soon will you know?"

"By tomorrow evening." She began straightening some slides. "Is Miranda with Willie?"

"You know."

"I know that Quentin brought her here, and why. Don't be angry with Willie,63.

Barnabas. He's just concerned, that's all. Afraid that you'll do something foolish."

"Meaning what?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" she asked, holding his gaze now.

Barnabas looked away. "No. No, you don't."

"She may be Miranda right now, but subconsciously, she's still Angelique. When she does start to remember, it could be in bits and pieces - or all at once. Either way, it's going to be a severe shock. And it will be worse if you've - confused her. For both of you."

The hesitation wasn't lost on him. "I'll try not to. Will you be much longer?"

"Another two hours, at least."

"I'll see you later, then. I'm going to walk Miranda back to Collinwood and see Amy."

"Amy was right about this portrait," Miranda said. "The man who sat for this one and the man who sat for the one at Collinwood could be the same man. You must get very tired of people saying that."

"Not at all. Are you ready to go?"

"Must I?"

"Yes," he said firmly but gently.

"Then I'm ready."

Miranda's sleep was disturbed by dreams that night. Strangely vivid dreams of a tropical paradise where she and Barnabas walked and fell in love, content and happy -until the arrival of a dark haired beauty. Barnabas spent more time away from her with Josette, and when he told her of his decision to marry Josette, she had accepted his decision. With his departure from the island, Miranda woke to bright sunshine outside her window. She was convinced that the dream had been more than just the influence of Barnabas' story. It had been too real. The only thing she couldn't recall was her name in the dream. Barnabas hadn't even mentioned the name of the woman who even-

tually married his ancestor. As she began to dress, she noticed that the marks on her neck were fading.

Julia replaced the telephone receiver and looked at the notes before her. The date which Miranda had appeared at Henri du Bois' private clinic was barely a day after the accident in which Angelique had reportedly been killed. Dr. du Bois was sure she had walked quite a distance, and she had been suffering from shock and exposure. The elderly physician had grudgingly admitted that he hadn't tried very hard to discover his patient's ident.i.ty, since she had borne a strong resemblance to his recently deceased daughter. The study door opened.

"Oh. Excuse me, Doctor. I didn't know anyone was in here." Miranda started back out.

"Don't go, Miranda. I was hoping you'd come in."

"You were?"

"I'd like to ask you a few questions. Mrs. Stoddard has told me your story. I'm not sure if anyone has mentioned it, but I'm a psychiatrist, and I've handled cases like yours before."

"I understand."

"I just spoke to Dr. du Bois. He sent his regards, by the way. He told me what he tried, but I'd like to try some of them again, if you don't mind."

"I'd welcome any help, Dr. Hoffman."

"Tell me the first thing you remember."

"I remember walking, no, stumbling along a road. It seemed I had been walking forever. Suddenly I came up on a building. It looked so warm and welcoming, I went inside."

"There are no memories prior to that?"

"I'm - not sure, Doctor."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the airport in New York. I know I'd been there before. And - Collinsport."64.