Sleepless in the cold grey dawn, awakened with a dream (entering the Roman arena to deliver a package, "for the good of the order," as we say in business, then slain), Tutor stands at the casement window in the Priest's nook behind the altar in the chapel. Below he can see the ancient, now overgrown garden, once a "hortus inclusus" with roses; now, untended, full of weeds. Built long ago, under another dispensation, the garden had a fountain (now dilapidated) for birds, and a statue, pocked by erosion and pollution, of the blessed virgin, on a pillar of stone. The mossy fountain is filing with rain. The Virgin cemented to her pillar cants ten degrees off center, where the earth shifted under the pediment. "Blessed Mary, Mother of God," prays Tutor, "You who are entirely without sin, who intercedes for us all; you, Blessed Mother, as you stand forgotten in this cold rain, who prays for you? Whatever you wish for us all, I pray for that. Through your being, grace, and patience please guide me with Audrey that she may own, rule, and save all creation, if only between two beats of her heart, as she lies sleeping this moment in hope. Raise what is low in me; humble what is proud. Make me your stepping stone, and hers. The first shall be last; the last shall be first. I pray this in your name for what streams through you, even now as at the hour of our death and at world's end.