“Nothing,” said the woman. “I heard nothing— unless it was the wind in the trees.”
She drew away from him. The dogs whined and slunk close to the box. Across the Barren came a low, wailing wind.
“The storm is coming back,” said MacVeigh. “It must have been the wind that I heard.”
III
IN HONOR OF THE LIVING
For a few moments after uttering those words Billy stood silent listening for a sound that was not the low moaning of the wind far out on the Barren. He was sure that he had heard it— something very near, almost at his feet, and yet it was a sound which he could not place or understand. He looked at the woman. She was gazing steadily at him.
“I hear it now,” she said. “It is the wind. It has frightened me. It makes such terrible sounds at times— out on the Barren. A little while ago— I thought— I heard— a child crying—”
Billy saw her clutch a hand at her throat, and there were both terror and grief in the eyes that never for an instant left his face. He understood. She was almost ready to give way under the terrible strain of the Barren. He smiled at her, and spoke in a voice that he might have used to a little child.
“You are tired, little girl?”
“Yes— yes— I am tired—”