Scarcely a moment had elapsed after Hallie’s last scream when she sprang sobbing into Marion’s arms. Without a question regarding the cause of her fright, the older girl gathered her up and went racing down the mountain. It was a headlong flight. Now they were in danger of a plunge down the steep slope, and now, having stepped upon a round pebble, Marion rolled twice her length to land against a stout sapling that saved them from dashing over a cliff. Yet, somehow, at last they found themselves safe in Marion’s room, seated by the fire, with the door securely bolted behind them. Then, and only then, did Hallie cease her sobbing to sit staring round-eyed at the fire.
“What frightened you?” Marion asked.
“A man,” the little girl shuddered.
“Did he try to catch you?” Marion was eager now. She was sure she could describe that man.
“No. He only stood and stared at me.”
“Then why were you afraid?”
“He was a very ugly man, and—and it seemed like I had seen him before in—in—” she hesitated, “maybe in a bad dream.”
“Oh!” Marion was excited. Perhaps here was a clue to the little girl’s lost identity. Perhaps she had seen the man before in that other life lived before the blow on her head.
“If only I could find that man, perhaps he could tell me,” she told herself. Yet she knew right well that nothing could induce her to return to the mountain that night to search for him.
“Did he say anything?” she asked after a moment’s silence.