I know not what brought me from my sewing to the window. Perhaps it was the constant tapping on the panes; the endless rain of England, beckoning me to watch it paint the landscape in watercolor.

As I stood and gazed upon the beauty of nature's artistry, I noticed that two eyes stared back at me from 'neath the canopy of night. Squinting, leaning forward, nose to glass the eyes stayed true to their target, and as my vision grew accustomed to the darkness, a nose, a mouth, a shock of hair beneath a tri-corn'd hat.

He was revealed to me, little by little, as if a curtain of rain were parting. Strong chin and charcoal eyes, his stature that of health and prosperity.

A lady (barely a woman) should have gasped or run to fetch a footman to interrogate this brash stranger, question his intentions, and inform him that the storm must have put him off his path, advise him that he stood on my grounds, and yet...

My eyes and his were sealed; a key to a lock, not yet turned. He did not smile, nor bow, nor did he make any motion to come forward or retreat, but stood there still. Transfixed.

I cannot tell you how long I stood there, though time seemed to stretch out like an endless bolt of silk coming from a loom, until I felt an overwhelming need to seek him out and ask his name.

I turned, rushing through the hall and entry, and through the front doors, out into the teeming rain and over the foot bridge to where I had seen him. Trying to see where he had gone to as the storm lashed against me, turning my gown to a tight-fitting layer of plaster: a statue standing in the grass, looking upon the spot where he had been, as if upon a sacred object, blinking rapidly against a mixture of the rain and my own tears of disappointment.

Where could he have gone to, so quickly?

I stood stock-still in the pouring rain, seeking out a dream.

My maid ran out, calling my name, holding out a blanket to wrap around my shoulders, and lead me back, as I looked over my shoulder, eyes searching every shadow and finding nothing.

Finally, dressed in my night clothes, I sat before the hearth watching the sparks dance, and then deeper, into the charcoal eyes of the fire.