The man, paying no attention to her words, realized that the strain of the day and her overwhelming depression of spirits had completely unbalanced her. Her wild laughter suddenly gave way to wilder tears. In a moment he ran to the door to summon the señora, but in the next, remembered that Elsie and the boys would undoubtedly accompany her, and that the woman before him was in no state to be exposed to their uncomprehending stares. Hysterics were new to him, but he had a vague idea that water administered suddenly from a pitcher was the only authorized cure. He seized the pitcher from the wash-stand, began to sprinkle her somewhat timidly with his fingers, and finally ended by pouring a fair amount on her head. It had the desired effect. Gasping, saturated, but dragged back to some sort of control, by the chill current running from her head in rillets over her body, Mariposa sat up. The man was standing before her, anxiously regarding her, the pitcher held ready for another application. She pushed it away with an icy hand. “I’m all right now,” she gasped. “You’d better go. And--and--if I said anything silly, you understand, I didn’t know what I was saying. I meant--that Mr. Shackleton was a _friend_ of my father’s. He’s been very good to me. It gave me an awful shock. Please go.” Barron set down the pitcher and went. He was overcome with pity for the broken creature, and furious with himself for the shock he had given her. The words she had uttered had made little impression on him at first. It was afterward, while he was in the silence of his own room, that they recurred to him with more significance. For a space he thought of the remark and her explanation of it with some wonder. But before he settled to sleep, he had pushed the matter from his mind, setting it down as the meaningless utterance of an hysterical woman. CHAPTER XI BREAKS IN THE RAIN “I had no time to hate because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so simple I Could finish enmity.” --DICKINSON. For two days after her hysterical outburst Mariposa kept her room, sick in body and mind. The quick succession of nerve-shattering events, ending with the death of Shackleton, seemed to stun her. She lay on the sofa, white and motionless, irresponsive even to the summons of the boys, who drummed cheerfully on her door as soon as they came home from school.