Between pain and rage he could not answer her; and thinking that he was near to a collapse, she ran for water and bathed his face, and gave him a little of the 269 precious whisky that remained in her flask. After that he lay quiet, and she went to her preparations for the night.
The vale now lay in deep blackness, impenetrable walls of it beyond the red circle of firelight. The cliff made a dim, dark line against the blue-black sky; the forest on the other side a ragged tracery. The stars were few, and far. A low breeze murmured among the pines, and swept softly, but very cold, across the meadow. Marion began to feel the chill; and having wrapped Philip’s blanket tight around him, and spread over him the leather coat she had found in his bundle, she heaped more wood on the fire, and sat down before it, with her blankets around her, and her rifle at her side, to watch and wait.
She was very tired, but she dared not lie down to sleep. A long time she sat there, glancing now and then at Haig, where he lay very still, and oftener out into the blackness. But drowsiness gradually overcame her, and her head sank forward on her uplifted knees.
She was awakened by a terrifying cry that rang shivering across the valley. She started to her feet, and listened. It must have been a dream, she thought. No! There it was again––a cry that started low, like a child’s peevish wail, and ended in a piercing scream. She grabbed up her rifle, and stood peering into the darkness.
“Don’t be afraid!” said the voice of Haig from the edge of the firelight. “It’s only a bobcat. He’ll not come near the fire.”
“Thank you––Philip!” she answered. Then, with a nervous laugh: “It did frighten me, though!”
She stood a moment, still listening. But the cry came no more.
“Aren’t you sleeping?” she asked softly.
“No.”