Wells carried Nell to his cabin where she lay for hours with wan
face and listless languor. She swallowed the nourishing drink an old
Indian nurse forced between her teeth; she even smiled weakly when
the missionaries spoke to her; but she said nothing nor seemed to
rally from her terrible shock. A dark shadow lay always before her,
conscious of nothing present, living over again her frightful
experience. Again she seemed sunk in dull apathy.
"Dave, we're going to loose Nell. She's fading slowly," said George,
one evening, several days after the girl's return. "Wetzel said she
was unharmed, yet she seems to have received a hurt more fatal than
a physical one. It's her mind--her mind. If we cannot brighten her
up to make her forget, she'll die."
"We've done all within our power. If she could only be brought out
of this trance! She lies there all day long with those staring eyes.
I can't look into them. They are the eyes of a child who has seen
murder."
"We must try in some way to get her out of this stupor, and I have
an idea. Have you noticed that Mr. Wells has failed very much in the
last few weeks?"
"Indeed I have, and I'm afraid he's breaking down. He has grown so
thin, eats very little, and doesn't sleep. He is old, you know, and,
despite his zeal, this border life is telling on him.
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