She was shuddering against his breast.
"It—it must have been a dream," she said. "It—it frightened me. But it was so terrible, and I'm—I'm sorry, John. I didn't know what I was doing."
"What was it, dear?" insisted Aldous.
MacDonald had drawn very close.
Joanne raised her head.
"Please let me go back to bed, John. It was only a dream, and I'll tell it to you in the morning, when there's sunshine—and day."
Something in MacDonald's tense, listening attitude caught Aldous' eyes.
"What was the dream?" he urged.
She looked from him to old Donald, and shivered.
"The flap of my tepee was open," she said slowly. "I thought I was awake. I thought I could see the glow of the fire. But it was a dream—a dream, only it was horrible! For as I looked I saw a face out there in the light, a white, searching face—and it was his face!"