“What is your name?”
“Martin Stonor.”
“And that uniform you are wearing?”
“Mounted police.”
She raised herself a little, and looked around. The puzzled expression deepened. “What a strange-looking room! What am I doing in such a place?”
To Stonor it was like a conversation in a dream. It struck awe to his breast. Yet he forced himself to answer lightly and cheerfully. “This is a shack in the woods where we are camping temporarily. We’ll start for home as soon as you are able.”
“Home? Where is that?” she cried like a lost child.
A great hard lump rose in Stonor’s throat. He could not speak.
After a while she said: “I feel all right. I could eat.”
“That’s fine!” he cried from the heart. “That’s the main thing. Supper will soon be ready.”