That evening, Peter could not bear to let Harriet out of his sight. After dinner, when his usual manners would have forced him to allow her some peace, he found himself instead dragging her from country paths to cobblestone walks, all across the Colleges. His conversation flew from topic to topic without a breath between.

They walked endlessly around the gardens at Magdalen, weaving in and out of the tiny paths and broader walkways. Their steps echoed against the stone walls. Farther from the buildings, they wandered too near the bases of the willow trees, nettles clutching at Harriet's stockings.

The moon rose and sparkled on the moisture in the air. It was an invigorating night, and yet Harriet felt only a sickly tension. The weight of the dog-collar was heavy under her buttoned dress. She felt a deep reluctance to let Peter part from her, and found herself stupidly relieved every time he forged into a new topic of conversation.

It was as he began anew on a twentieth conversational topic that he stepped into moonlight, and she saw clearly the strain on his face. You idiot, she berated herself bitterly. Will you only pleasantly grant him company when your own safety is at stake? Am I truly so heartless as to let him worry so profoundly for my well-being, but grant him no love in return for his care? Her head spun with her frustration and an unexplainable anger.

Enough is enough, she decided. She pulled her arms to herself and shivered theatrically. At a break in his story, she murmured, "Peter, I truly appreciate your concern...but I do think we can safely go to bed."

He raised a surprised eyebrow, temporarily silenced, his ruse laid naked. She was quickly ashamed.

"Really. I'm sure that our poison pen is fast asleep," she continued. Of course she was not sure at all. Was she just being stubborn? She was and they both knew it. But she couldn't bear to lean on him so unjustly. Better to be on my own to face whomever, she thought fiercely, than to keep him awake past all ...feeling...

She saw the worry in his eyes but he let her go. He walked her back to her hall in Shrewsbury, still attempting to gab merrily, neither one of them paying the slightest attention to his chatter. Then he stood, uncertain, and hating himself for not being able to guarantee her safety.

"Goodnight, Peter," she whispered, and went inside. He was left staring at the door in a deeper state of frustration than he remembered feeling in a long time.

Peter returned to town, and tried to settle in with a book; but relaxation eluded him. He found himself pacing the tiny library. He brushed off Bunter's concerned questions - nothing could ever be hidden from Bunter in any case, but tonight Peter sought solitude regardless of whether company, or aid, was available. His head buzzed unpleasantly with thoughts of Harriet on her own, dog collar or no. The air seemed quite repressive in the rented rooms.

He had barely been home fifteen minutes when he had his overcoat back in his hands.

"I suppose that I'll take a stroll around the gardens, you know. Don't wait up, old chap."

"Indeed, sir," replied Bunter, and let him go with warmed gloves.

Peter sat alone in the garden at Magdalen. It was already colder than when he had left Harriet an hour before, and his breath made ghostly wisps as he tried to calm himself. Dammit, old boy, he thought, why are you so worried tonight? She will be fine. She will be fine, but you will work yourself into another of your damn fits.

But...

...she looked at me today...

...as though her defenses are changing...

Can it be possible?

He felt his heart quicken again, and he gulped air to try and calm himself. A stray night-flying bird fluttered incuriously past him, not stopping to chat. He looked down and saw that his gloved hands were obsessively twisting his walking stick against the flagstones. Can it be possible? he thought again, and looked up at the dark sky. Can she be healing?

Will she love me?

The stone walls echoed strange murmurs back to him, but he had never received an answer before and didn't expect one now. He sat there a long time, breathing in the cold.

He walked back on a path that led him past the Shrewsbury grounds, half- bitterly amused by his own obsessiveness. But he hoped it would cheer him to walk past and hear nothing out of the ordinary. Of course it would be quiet. Of course they were all in bed, where he should rightfully be.

Preferably, someday, he would be in hers...

Whew! He cleared his throat and felt sheepish at his own presumption, and yet the frank thought did cheer him. He felt his steps lighten just a little and almost chuckled at his brazenness. You may be pushing forty- five, old man, he thought, and be funny-looking in addition, but nothin' can stop a man from dreaming...

He did grin then, and felt distinctly better.

Until he heard the commotion from inside.

Voices raised in fear and panic, footsteps slapping against stone floors. He had turned around before he could think, and flew through the gates towards the sound.

From the courtyard he looked first to Harriet's window. It was dark and silent. She was clearly safe in her bed.

He allowed himself to slow a little, and suddenly thought if he would be intruding to run recklessly to the rescue in this unknown situation. Perhaps there would be more poison letters for Harriet asserting that he was always there to save her...perhaps the Dean would look askance at his male presence in the quad at this hour...

No, there had been too much danger and fear already, he decided. There had to be an end to this nasty situation and soon, and damn caution. He sped up again with a little hop and turned a corner towards the voices only to run hard into the Dean herself.

She stepped back from him in alarm. She looked stunned, with hair half-held with bobby pins and a terrible, fearful look on her face. He swallowed the genteel apology he had begun and grasped her gently by the shoulders, giving her an inquiring look.

"I heard the noise, and thought I'd come 'round.?"

"Oh, Lord Peter," she gasped, breathing hard. "I'm off -- to phone -- a doctor -- Har- Miss Vane's -- been attacked -- she's up there," she turned and gestured vaguely towards the stairs. "In Miss DeVine's room-"

She looked back at him. He had gone absolutely white.

"Go," she urged him. With one last look to ensure that she was able to get to a phone, he was gone.

Miss DeVine's door was the only source of light in the long dark hall. Through it he could see a strange and gruesome tableau, like figures in some long-forgotten and obscene crèche.

Harriet lay crumpled on the floor in a pile of broken glass. Dons in dressing-gowns busied themselves around her, performing tasks they were not used to. Miss Hillyard, wide-eyed and frightened, was feeling Harriet's limbs for broken bones. Miss Lydgate held a cloth to a bloody wound at Harriet's hairline. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Miss DeVine lying on the couch, her hand on her heart, eyes closed, with another don whose name he did not know fanning her face and feeling her pulse.

Harriet lay completely still and white under Miss Lydgate's touch. Her eyes were closed, her body curled fetally. Bruises were already forming on her face and neck, and on her hands. Blood ran down her face and soaked into the red carpet below her forehead. Peter had never felt so helpless even as he bent to help.

"I'm so sorry, Lord Peter," murmured Miss Hillyard. "But I think she may be all right. It may just be a nasty blow to the head."

"Yes, of course," he answered back, not noticing that he was speaking. He took Harriet's hand in his. It was ice cold. He swallowed back his terror and squeezed her hand gently, willing her to respond. She did not. "What happened?" he forced himself to ask.

"Miss DeVine found her here. I don't know why Harriet was here, but the lights were unscrewed and it took us a few moments to get them back on. It was quite a shock for Miss DeVine - I do hope the doctor arrives very quickly.

"We don't know how long Miss Vane was lying here," she continued. "I'm quite worried about that gash. Try to get her to respond, my Lord..." She stood and moved to the couch and Miss DeVine.

Peter nodded, feeling dizzy. His throat seemed completely blocked. He took the blood-soaked cloth from Miss Lydgate and held it in place. He felt Harriet's warm blood seeping against his fingers and fought the urge to panic. "Harriet, my dear..." he whispered. "Harriet... Harriet... stay with me..." Did her eyes flicker a little, or was it his imagination?

No, there it was again. "Harriet," he said a little louder. "Harriet, my dear, Harriet, look at me. Open your eyes. Come on. We need to see you in there. Open your eyes, my dear."

She heard him, he was sure. Her lips pressed against each other as if in puzzlement, and her eyes seemed to be searching behind their lids. He stroked her hand and kept talking. "Harriet, that's right, I see you there. Open your eyes, Harriet. No, don't try to move - " he said quickly as her hand strained against his fingers. "Don't try to move, Harriet. Lie still. Just let me see your eyes, Harriet. Let me see that you are all right."

It was taking far too long for help to arrive. He looked up in sudden frustration and tersely whispered to Miss Lydgate, "Where is that doctor? If he does not arrive in five minutes I will take them both to hospital myself."

Harriet made a small noise in her throat - and suddenly, totally unexpectedly, began to thrash under Peter's hands. He gasped and struggled to hold her still. "Harriet, my love," he whispered, not thinking how he must sound. "Harriet! Dearest! Shhh! You're all right!" She struggled against him, hard. He scooped her close to him and tried desperately to keep her from hurting herself further. Harriet's eyes were open wide but unseeing, a look of panic on her face. Her hands scrabbled against his front as she desperately tried to escape. His shirt and hands grew stained with blood as he tried to cradle her against his chest, rocking awkwardly in a crouch on the floor.

Time slowed for Peter as adrenaline rushed. Anguished and grieved, he could only hold her against him and wait for her to come to her senses or exhaust herself, whichever it would be.

"Harriet..." he murmured, "Harriet, it's me, we're here, you're safe..."

It seemed as though she fought him for an eternity, but later Miss Hillyard would tell him it had only been a few desperate seconds of fighting before Harriet's struggles slowed. Her body slumped against Peter's. He could feel both their hearts pounding.

He kept talking to her, hoping she was hearing him. "Harriet, that's right, it's all right."

He sent a furtive look to Miss Hillyard and Miss Lydgate who crouched beside him.

"What was that?" gasped Miss Hillyard. "what was that? What happened?"

"Shhh," said Peter, peering anxiously into Harriet's face as she blinked. Miss Lydgate offered him a supporting hand and he gratefully took it, easing himself down to a more comfortable position on the floor while still cradling Harriet.

"Harriet, stay with us. Help is coming. Can you - that's it, my dear, that's it!" he crowed joyously as her eyes came to focus on his. "Hello my dear!" he purred. "You've had rather a knock on the head, I'm afraid, but it will all be all right soon."

Harriet blinked again and moved her head against his hand. "Shh, shh," he urged her, frightened. "Don't be moving your head, Miss Vane. It's not all put to rights as of yet."

Harriet murmured, "P...Peter?"

His name! It sounded odd and lovely. He felt utterly surreal.

"Yes, my dear, I'm here. I'm here. You're going to be all right, do you understand me? Just hold still for a few more minutes and then either a doctor will be here," he looked worriedly towards the door where no doctor was forthcoming, "or I will be carrying you to St. Joseph's myself."

Harriet frowned. "Sorry..." she whispered. "Should've...stayed..." Blood ran from the saturated gauze down her face, mixing with a tear that had pushed out of her eye. He swore and awkwardly tried to wipe it with his free hand, but it only smeared. "Shh," he murmured back. "Nothin' at all to be sorry about. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful story for me when you don't have this nasty little headache anymore."

Harriet's eyes closed. "Harriet? Harriet?" he called to her. He felt suddenly and dreadfully lost at sea.

"Harriet? Come back to me, Harriet. Open your eyes again, m'dear. We need you here." But there was no response.

"Dammit" - he was close to losing composure completely - "that's it. I'm taking her to hospital." He was just scooping her up when the doctor came barreling in the door.

Harriet lay in the hospital bed and Peter sat hunched in a chair next to her. He knew that unless they were blind, the entire school now knew of his feelings for Harriet -- but there was nothing to be done about it. He simply could not let her lie here and fight for her life alone.

It had been two days - or three? He hadn't noticed them passing. Miss DeVine was going to be fine, and had already left the hospital. Peter had scarcely left Harriet's side except when Bunter managed to persuade him to take a brief walk to stretch his legs. Harriet was now fully bandaged and the blood had been rinsed from her face, but she had not regained her senses since that moment in Miss DeVine's room.

Peter thought briefly that if she did not regain them soon, he was going to lose his.

He watched her breathe, and waited, turning the dog-collar over and over in his hands.