Claire Part 40

He stopped abruptly. Her tone had filled him with dread wonder.

"What is it, Claire?" he whispered.

She stood a moment, silently looking at him.

He straightened and stepped toward her, "What is it?" he demanded.

She swayed unsteadily and sank into his arms, sobbing, her body wrenched with the agony.

"Take me outside," she whispered fearfully.

He lifted her and carried her out into the sunlight.

She sat down on the ground and wept bitterly, while he sat silently beside her, seeking to comfort her with his arms.

At last she said in an awed tone: "Lawrence, he is dead. Killed by his own blow--with his own knife. But I might have done it. I--I thought of it."

She remembered the touch of the knife in her hands, the sight of Philip's blood seeping out around his own body.

"It is terrible," she moaned. "I--I might have done it."

Her lover's hands tightened spasmodically. His face went white, then became normal again. She watched him, hypnotized. Would he tell her that she was as good as a murderer, that he could not love her now?

He wet his lips, then suddenly laughed aloud. Claire could have screamed at the sound. She clutched his arm and shook him.

"Stop it!" she commanded. "What is it, Lawrence?"

He stood up and lifted her beside him.

"I must have a drink," he said calmly.

She stared at him, then brought him some water from beside the cabin. He drank it easily, but with some pain. Finally he dropped the cup at his feet.

"Life is a wonderful thing, Claire."

She was still too shaken to do aught but gaze at him.

"What now?" she asked at last, falteringly.

He heard the fear, half anguish and half hope, in her voice, and suddenly he caught her to him and cried buoyantly: "What now? Life, Claire, life! We have the whole world before us. It was my life or his.

I am glad it was not mine." He smiled. "Well, we have staged the great animal stunt. I have fought for the possession of life."

She let her head fall on his shoulder.

"Then--then I am not repulsive to you?" she choked.

"Repulsive! Why?" His voice was full of wonder.

"I--I thought of murdering him," she whispered.

"Claire," he answered tenderly, "human beings think many things they don't and can't do. That is part of our old heritage. But let's get away from here, Claire. Staying here won't do either of us any good. What is done is done. We cannot help it. Very well, then the best thing to do is to forget it. Shall we start?"

She stepped back and looked at him. He was all energy, clear-countenanced, free, frank, and normal.

"Yes, I am ready."

She stooped and took up her pack from beside the door. He took his and threw it over his shoulder. Hand-in-hand they started forward and out toward civilization.

CHAPTER XXI.

INTO THE SUNLIGHT.

All that day they talked little. Both were occupied with their own thoughts. Lawrence was dreaming of his work, his future with Claire, and the home that was to be. Claire was pondering Lawrence's words, "Human beings think many things they don't and can't do." To her these words had been both a great comfort and a startling awakening. Almost instantly had returned an idea which she had thought forever gone, and all day it kept growing.

That night they camped beside a stream under great trees where tiny blue flowers winked up at them from the deep gra.s.s. After supper they sat beside their fire dreaming. At last Lawrence took her in his arms, and she laid her shoulder against his.

"Lawrence," she said thoughtfully, "isn't it strange how little we know ourselves when we think we know most?"

"Yes, I sometimes think we are nearer folly then than at any other time."

"Do you know what I have been thinking to-day?"

"No. But I know what I have been thinking." He drew her tight, laughing.

"I have thought of you, always you, my wife to be."

She patted his hand tenderly.

"I can scarcely wait till we get out, Claire."

"I know, dear."

They listened to the purling of the stream and dreamed.

Days followed in uneventful sequence. Each brought them nearer to the railroad, towns, and escape. Lawrence was freely merry. At times Claire was caught in his gaiety, but more and more often he noticed that she was quiet. He attributed her silences at first to the charming strain of diffidence he had learned to know as part of this woman, but gradually he grew fearful lest all was not well.

"If she wants me to know, she will tell me," he thought.

She seemed to divine what he was thinking, but she did not speak. She wanted to be sure of herself before she said anything. Lawrence's words came again and again, and each time they brought with them a stronger feeling that there was yet one thing they must do. This feeling increased as they neared the town toward which they journeyed. The night came when they were more than ever silent.

"To-morrow," Lawrence said at last. "To-morrow we reach civilization.

Oh, Claire, Claire, with civilization come you, home, our real life!"

She moved uneasily. There was a sudden overwhelming sense of her need, and she resolved to tell him everything.