Claire Part 31

"And you, you the woman, deeper, more vitally s.e.xed, more complete in your memory of the past, more true in your record of it, less a sport, more a true seeker and knower of life--you, the embodiment of it all, memory, instinct, fear, pa.s.sion, tenderness, hate--cunning, strong, wise, far-seeing, and altogether mistress of the whole brute world, mistress of everything in life and destiny save death. You, too, worn out by struggling to live more fully, but not until your l.u.s.t for life has sent children out to carry on the struggle.

"Oh, Claire, it is you the woman, demanding at any cost that your child live, who gives us our great knowledge, our beauty, our selfishness, and our strident s.e.x, our pain."

Claire caught her breath and sobbed: "Lawrence, Lawrence!"

"Yes," he went on, "that is the end of it all. I see it now. You, unknown to yourself, demanding your child, stung to fear of death without it here in the wilderness, you love me--I know it, you love me.

And I--I love you. It was that which drove you to speak as you did. I see. I love you!"

She sank down on the pillow beside him. In her heart was a great relief which carried her away in a flood of tears. Lawrence talked on unheeded by her. He had made everything clear, and she was utterly happy.

When Philip came in he found her sitting quietly, in her eyes a deep, calm peace that filled him with wonder.

He smiled at her, thoughtfully, and remarked: "Well, Claire, you look happier than you have for months."

"I am," she said simply.

They did not carry on the conversation. He was satisfied that it was love for him which made her so distant, and he was content to wait until she should be his wife. He sat by the fire, watching her earnestly, and she was too deep in her new-found joy even to think of him or of her promise to him.

TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK. Don't forget this magazine is issued weekly, and that you will get the continuation of this story without waiting a month.

Claire

by Leslie Burton Blades

THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO

_BY A BLIND AUTHOR_

This story began in the All-Story Weekly for October 5.

CHAPTER XVII.

ANGLES OF A TRIANGLE.

It was well into April before Lawrence was able to walk again. His convalescence had been slow, and he was still very weak. They had planned to start out by the end of April, but they were compelled to postpone the journey until the middle of May. Philip was fired with impatience. He wanted to get out to a priest and be married to Claire.

She, on her part, was glad of the delay. She dreaded the hour when she should have to tell Philip that she would not marry him. Her joy in her love for Lawrence was too great, however, to allow for much thought about the matter.

She looked back upon her yielding to Philip as upon a terrible nightmare, but she still liked him and could not bring herself to limit the intimate ways which had sprung up between them. He did not imagine, therefore, that there had been any change in her.

Claire had never told Lawrence of what he had said during his illness, but her treatment of him was very different from what it had been before. He had come out of his illness with a calm a.s.surance of his future, and he knew that he loved Claire. He did not know her feeling, but as soon as he should be well he meant to tell her of his love once more.

The days pa.s.sed in quiet serenity. Outside the cabin the plateau flowed under the pines into green and white and gold with dark patches of blue flowers that filled Claire's heart with song. The lake was open and glistened in the warm sun, while fish leaped in it, sending up sparkling rainbow drops. Claire took to wandering along the sh.o.r.e with Lawrence or Philip, or both, talking gaily all the while. She never mentioned her husband, it was only of their return to civilization that she spoke and of the great time the three of them would have in celebration. They laughed agreement with her words.

As Lawrence grew more and more like himself there came a time, however, when Philip could not but see that Claire was giving the artist a tenderness, a sweetness of companionship, and a carefully guarded joy which he had never known. It was impossible for him to say to himself longer that it was only her nursing manner.

He took to watching her eyes, and again and again he caught them filled with a deep light which they had never held for him. He now realized that he had always feared Claire might love Lawrence, that he had feared it even on the day of her confession. A fierce desire of possession gripped him, and he swore to have this woman as his wife, in spite of Lawrence, in spite of herself, if need be. It was this last frame of mind which gained in constancy until he became a danger to Claire's happiness.

She saw it in his dark expression, and her heart cried out against herself for the time of weakness. Then a great doubt would a.s.sail her.

Lawrence had never spoken of love since he had regained his consciousness, and she wondered if, after all, his talk had been mere delirium, without basis in his normal mind. She determined to find out, and then tell Philip the frank truth. She was sure that he would receive it as a gentleman should, and let her moment of weakness pa.s.s forgiven.

She went over all their experience together, and she came to feel that, in any case, she could never live with him. Even though Lawrence did not care, she told herself, she could go out into the world and find her place.

One evening she came into the house and found Philip alone, sitting darkly over his book. She felt sorry for him, and, wanting to leave him friendly memories, if she could, she walked quietly over to him and laid her hand on his shoulder.

He looked up and smiled faintly, though his face remained clouded.

"Philip," she said, "you look worried!"

"I dare say I do," he returned quietly, but there came into his eyes a fierce light that frightened her.

"Why should you?" she asked.

"Claire!" He stood up and faced her. "I do not know what you think of Lawrence. I do not know what he thinks of you. I do not care. I will tell you one thing. You lay in my arms yonder and said that you would be my wife. If you did not mean it"--he hesitated--"then you are scarcely the type of woman to be allowed to live. Don't lead me to suspect that such is the case."

Claire gasped, realized her situation, and for the moment was carried beyond all power of speech. She sank in a chair and stared at him. Then, suppressing her rising fear, she said calmly: "Philip, would you have me yours against your will?"

His eyes flashed fire at her.

"Would you say you wanted to be mine and not mean it?"

"No," she faltered, "I--I might have meant it then."

"Does your heart change with the pa.s.sing breeze?"

She was feeling panicky. Her throat was dry and hot.

"I hope not," she said faintly.

"Bah! Does it?" he demanded.

"No," she said, even more faintly.

"Very well. You lay in my arms there and told me you would be my wife.

Years ago, before you came into my life, another woman played with me.

You shall not. I do not know what has happened to bring about the change in you. It cannot alter my will. You are mine by your own lips. It is best for us both that I hold you to your promise. When we go out of this place to a priest you shall become my wife. You dare not be untrue to yourself!"

She was afraid to answer him. His dark, threatening face told her that he was beyond reason, and she sank wearily back in her chair. In her heart she was determined never to be his, but her lips played her false.

Despite her will they whispered submissively, "Very well, Philip. I understand."

He laughed aloud. "What in Heaven's name made you act like that, Claire?" he asked, once more kindly and agreeable.