No one could have looked at Pierre Radisson's face once--and not have understood.
After that one agonizing cry, Joan flung herself upon her father's breast, sobbing so softly that even Kazan's sharp ears heard no sound.
She remained there in her grief until every vital energy of womanhood and motherhood in her girlish body was roused to action by the wailing cry of baby Joan.

Then she sprang to her feet and ran out through the tent opening.

Kazan tugged at the end of his chain to meet her, but she saw nothing of him now.

The terror of the wilderness is greater than that of death, and in an instant it had fallen upon Joan.

It was not because of fear for herself.