"Have I ever seen you before? I seem to know you," she asked, distress on her face.
"Pray God not, ma'am," he said.
"What is your name?"
"You'd better not know."
For a moment, in a storm of gratitude and emotion, his mind trembled on the verge of self-revelation. His face worked uncertainly.
"I cannot say what I want to," he said at last, as if restraint denied him almost any expression at all. "This is a debt, ma'am. If ever, in any way, I can repay, I will. But there's no way of letting you know what you have done for me."
For a moment his eyes held hers. Then he turned away, and she watched him stride across the clearing and disappear among the trees.
CHAPTER VI
In her sleep Mary heard the rumble and groan of the wagon as it ground its way along the rough tracks and crashed over the undergrowth. She awakened to hear the yelping of dogs, the lowing of cattle, sounds of men's voices in the clearing. For a moment she believed that her mind was still hovering in the troubled state of dreams. Then Donald's voice calling her struck through the drowsy uncertainty. Trembling, she sprang out of bed and threw Davey's red shawl about her shoulders. She lighted the dip in a bowl of melted fat and put it on to the table.