“Something terrible has happened!” she said agitatedly. “That is why I am like this. You’re afraid to tell me what it is. But I must know. Nothing could be so bad as not knowing anything. It is unendurable not to have any identity. Don’t you understand? I am empty inside here. The me is gone!”
He arose and stood beside her bed. “I ask you to trust me,” he said gravely. “I am the only doctor available. If you excite yourself like this only harm can come of it. Everything is all right now. You have nothing to fear. People who lose their memories always get them back again. If you do not remember of yourself I promise to tell you everything that has happened.”
“I will try to be patient,” she said dutifully.
Presently she asked: “Is there no one here but us? I thought I remembered a woman—or did I dream it?”
Stonor called Mary in and introduced her. Clare’s eyes widened. “An Indian woman!” their expression said.
Stonor said, as if speaking of the most everyday matter: “Mary, Miss Starling’s memory is gone. It will soon return, of course, and in the meantime plenty of food and sleep are the best things for her. She has promised me not to ask any more questions for the present.”
Mary paled slightly. To her, loss of memory smacked of insanity of which she was terribly in awe—like all her race. However, under Stonor’s stern eye she kept her face pretty well.
Clare said: “I’d like to get up now,” and Stonor left the shack.
Nothing further happened that night. Clare ate a good supper, and a bit of colour returned to her cheeks. Stonor had no reason to be anxious concerning her physical condition. She asked no more questions. Immediately after eating he sent her and Mary to bed. Shortly afterwards Mary reported that Clare had fallen asleep again.
Stonor slept in the store-room. He was up at dawn, and by sunrise he had everything ready for the start up-river.