Norah’s heart thumped heavily. For a moment she fought with the longing to run back—back from this strange, silent place—back to Daddy. Then she gulped down something in her throat, and giving herself an impatient shake, she went resolutely across the clearing to the tent and peeped in.
The interior of the tent was as neat and homelike as when Norah had seen it first. The quaint bits of furniture stood in their places, and the skins lay on the floor. But Norah saw nothing but her friend’s face.
The Hermit was lying on his bunk—a splendid old figure in his dress of soft furry skins, but with a certain helplessness about him that brought Norah’s heart into her mouth. As the flap of the tent lifted he turned his head with difficulty, and looked at the little girl with weary, burning eyes that held no light of recognition. His face was ghastly white beneath the sunburnt skin, which was drawn like parchment over the cheekbones. A low moan came from his dry lips.
“Water!”
Norah cast a despairing glance around. An empty billy by the old man told its own tale, and a hurried search in the camp only revealed empty vessels.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” said Norah, sobbing.
Afterwards she could not remember how she had got down to the creek. Her blouse was torn, and there were long scratches on her wrists, and she was panting, as she came back to the sick man, and, struggling to raise his heavy head, held a cup to his lips. He drank fiercely, desperately, as Norah had seen starving cattle drink when released after a long journey in the trucks. Again and again he drank—until Norah grew afraid and begged him to lie down. He obeyed her meekly and smiled a little, but there was no comprehension in the fevered eyes. She put her hand on his forehead and started at its burning heat.
“Oh, what’ll I do with you!” she said in her perplexity.
“Do?” said the Hermit with startling suddenness. “But I’m dead!” He closed his eyes and lay very still. “Dead—ages ago!” He muttered. A second he lay so, and then he turned and looked at her. “Where’s the child?” he asked. “I must go to him; let me go, I tell you!” He tried to rise, but fell back weakly. “Water!” he begged.
She gave him water again, and then bathed his face and hands, using her handkerchief for a sponge. He grew quieter, and once or twice Norah thought he seemed to know her; but at the end he closed his eyes and lay motionless.