She had been conscious and had drifted into unconsciousness several times. She had tried, she recalled that later, to get to the couch, but her aching head had driven the impulse into oblivion. She had fallen back on the floor. Then, again, she roused and there was blood––near her. Not much, but she had not noticed it before, and she must have fainted. Again, she could remember thinking of Noreen, of the others; and the necessity of keeping forever hidden the thing that had happened.
But again Mary-Clare, from exhaustion or faintness, slipped into silence, and so Noreen found her!
The child went swiftly into the still cabin and knelt beside her mother. She was quite calm, at first, and unafraid. She took the dear head on her lap and patted the white cheek where the little cut had let out the blood––there was dry blood on it now and that caused Noreen to gasp and cry out.
Back and forth the child swayed, mumbling comforting words; and then she spoke louder, faster––her words became wild, disconnected. She laughed and cried and called for every one of her little world in turn.
Uncle Peter!
Aunt Polly!
Peneluna! And then Jan-an! Jan-an!
As she sobbed and screamed Mary-Clare’s eyes opened and she smiled. At that moment Jan-an came stumbling into the room.
One look and the dull, faithful creature became a machine carrying out the routine that she had often shared with others on the Point.