But the Indian woman only smiled, and crossing the room brought over the tray and placed it upon the edge of the bed.
"Soup," she said. "Eat. Good."
Rising on her elbow Madeline dipped the spoon into the dish and tasted the broth. It was certainly pleasant after the horrible stuff which had been tossed before her on that dreadful journey. Seeing that her patient was doing justice to the food she had brought, the Indian woman again smiled and left the room.
A few minutes later the long-bearded, white-haired man entered. His tall commanding figure was drawn to its full height, and to Madeline he seemed like a veritable giant. Sad grey eyes, somewhat faded, gazed into hers from beneath beetling brows. Little did Madeline know that those same eyes had for forty years faced death unflinchingly many a time in the far Northland. Swiftly the visitor crossed the room and stood by her side.
"I am so glad you are better."
It was a soft, low voice which spoke, accompanied by a slight accent of embarrassment. The speaker did not appear to be perfectly at ease, and this Madeline noted.
"I am feeling stronger now," she replied, holding out to him a firm white hand. "This soup has done me much good. Won't you sit by my side, for I wish to ask you some questions? There, that's better," she continued, as he quietly obeyed.
"Do you feel strong enough to talk?" questioned the man. "You are very weak."
"But I must talk," Madeline pleaded. "Oh, please tell me how I came here, and what has happened to Donnie. Is he safe?"
"I can tell you but little. You were brought here early this morning by two men, but I saw nothing of any boy."