me and the light, his head turned toward the window. He was so still that he might have been carved out of wood. Something in the close-cropped black head was familiar to me, but I did not dare to let my imagination run astray. Suddenly he turned, and I caught my breath. It was Harry Rayburn. Harry Rayburn in the flesh.
He rose and came over to me.
"Feeling better?" he said a trifle awkwardly.
I could not answer. The tears were running down my face. I was weak still, but I held his hand in both of mine. If only I could die like this, whilst he stood there looking down on me with that new look in his eyes.
"Don't cry, Anne. Please don't cry. You're safe now. No one shall hurt you."
He went and fetched a cup and brought it to me.
"Drink some of this milk."
I drank obediently. He went on talking in a low coaxing tone such as he might have used to a child.
"Don't ask any more questions now. Go to sleep again. You'll be stronger by and by. I'll go away if you like."
"No," I said urgently. "No, no.
"Then I'll stay."
He brought a small stool over beside me and sat there. He laid his hand over mine, and, soothed and comforted, I dropped off to sleep once more.
It must have been evening then, but when I woke again the sun was high in the heavens. I was alone in the hut, but as I stirred an old native woman came running in. She was hideous as sin, but she grinned at me encouragingly. She brought me water in a basin and helped me wash my face and hands. Then she brought me a large bowl of soup, and I finished it every drop! I asked her several questions, but she only grinned and nodded and chattered away in a guttural language, so I gathered she knew no English.
