“Who’s that? . . . There’s somebody there,” he said. “Oh, my poor head . . . my poor head.”
Eva laid her hand lightly upon his forehead. “It’s all right, dear, don’t worry,” she said.
For a little while he was contented; but then he said again: “There’s someone else in the room. . . . Who is it? He isn’t here, is he?”
Even in this dazed condition he was typically persistent.
“There’s somebody there . . . who is it? You’re keeping it from me. It isn’t fair. Who is it?”
Eva’s voice trembled as she answered. She was listening to her own voice.
“It’s only a friend,” she said.
“A friend? . . . We have no friends.”
“A stranger. A Mr. M‘Crae. A hunter who was lost near here and came to the mission.”
There followed a long silence. She was dreading what would come next. To her relief she found that he was treating it as a matter of course.