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"A few days ago, Tony brought a beautician to Farthy and talked me into doing it. He thought looking brighter would make me feel better about myself."

"Tony had you do this?" I saw the concern in his face.

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"How has Tony . Mr. Tatterton, been these days? I haven't seen him for a while."

"Strange. He's forgetful and he confuses things." "Confuses? Like what?"

"He often mixes me up with my mother, my grandmother . even my great-grandmother Jillian."

"How do you mean?" He leaned forward in his chair, his graceful hands clasped together, his arms resting on his knees.

"He talks to me as though he's talking to one of them, mentioning things I wouldn't know or remember."

He gazed at me, that look of concern firmly planted in his face. "How long will you remain here at Farthy?"

"The intention was for me to remain until I was fully recuperated, but I told Drake today that I want to go home and recuperate there." All the pent-up feelings of being imprisoned, of having been tormented by a cruel nurse, and now living with Tony, who moved from one world to another, flooded over me, "I do!"

"Then you should go. If you're not happy here, if you're not comfortable, you'd better go," he said, but so intensely, his eyes so determined, that I suddenly felt very frightened,

"Who are you. . . really? You know too much about this family to be a mere employee."

He sat back again and gazed at me for a long moment, My heart was pounding now, for I knew I was right.

"If I tell you, will you keep the knowledge locked away, for it is very important to me that few, if any, people know. I am happy here living an anonymous life, protected by the maze. My solitude is very precious and important to me. I am happy living with my memories and my work, which, as you can see, can take up a great deal of my time." He paused and said, very sadly, "It's the life I've chosen for myself. I didn't think I would live this long, anyway."

"Why not? You're not very old."

"No, I'm not very old, but when I was younger, I was sickly and I had dreams I would die very young . . I wouldn't live past thirty. But I did. Death refused to claim me. I don't question why; I go on, doing what I do, living this quiet life, content with what I have. In a way I've made peace with myself, with all ray fears and sorrows. My past is like an old wound that's healed; I don't want to do anything to open it up again." He fixed his eyes on me, his soft, warm eyes, which urged me to trust him.

"So . . . can you keep a secret as important as this one?"

"Oh yes," I assured him.

"I think you can. I don't know why I should feel this way, but l trust you . . just as I would trust . . my own daughter, had I gotten married and had a daughter."

"My mother always taught me to respect what is precious to other people, even though the same things may not be precious to me."

"She would tell you that."

"There, you see. You knew her too well to be a mere employee."

He smiled.

"I should have remained in the shadows, Annie. I should have known you would see the truth." "What is the truth?" I waited, holding my breath. "I am not Troy Tatterton's assistant; I am Troy Tatterton."

Strange how Troy's revelation didn't shock me as much as it should have, for everyone had told me of his death and spoke of him as long gone. Yet it was as if I had somehow always known.

"When Rye Whiskey sees you, he probably thinks he's seeing one of his spirits," I said.

"Rye." He smiled. "I'm not sure what he thinks, but I suppose you're right."

"But now that you have told me the truth about who you are, will you tell me why you have let everyone believe you are dead and gone?" I asked.

"Has anyone ever told you the circumstances of my supposed passing?" He eyed me carefully after he asked.

"I've learned a little here and there; I learned the most from Rye Whiskey, but I don't know how much of what Rye tells me is true and how much is in his vivid imagination. I know you rode a horse--Jillian's horse--into the sea and were never seen or heard from again."