Whatever she
was--orphan or waif, left alone in the world by a murdering band of
Sioux--an unfortunate girl to be cared for, succored, pitied--none
of these considerations accounted for the change that his power over
her had wrought in him.
"You're not strong," he said, as he put her down.
"Was that it?" she asked, with just a touch of wonder. "I used to
wade--anywhere."
He spoke little on the way back up the brook, for he hesitated to
tell her that he must return to his camp so as to be ready for
important work on the morrow, and not until they were almost at the
cabin did he make up his mind. She received the intelligence in
silence, and upon reaching the cabin she went to her room.
Neale helped Larry and Slingerland with the task of preparing a meal
that all looked forward to having Allie share with them. However,
when Slingerland called her there was no response.
Neale found her sunk in the old, hopeless, staring, brooding mood.
He tried patience at first, and gentleness, but without avail. She
would not come with him. The meal was eaten without her. Later Neale
almost compelled her to take a little food. He felt discouraged
again. Time had flown all too swiftly, and there was Larry coming
with the horses and sunset not far off. It might be weeks, even
months, before he would see her again.
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