Claire Part 41

"Lawrence," she began, "to-morrow we do reach civilization, and I--I am finding out things about myself."

He knew she was going to tell him what troubled her. For an instant he was filled with terror lest she say she could not love him after all.

Perhaps his fight with Philip had sickened her, killed her love. Tense and fearful, he waited.

"Go on, Claire. I have noticed something."

"It isn't that I don't love you," she cried, seeing his fear in his drawn face. "Oh, I do love you!"

He laughed with relief.

"Then speak away. Nothing else in the world can frighten me."

"I'm afraid that it will displease you."

"Not if it is something real to you."

"Well then--oh, it seems so hard to explain. I--I am finding myself out."

"That ought to be pleasant."

"Yes, it is--yet, I don't know--you see, back there in the wilderness I thought nothing mattered but you. It was so hard and uncertain. The future was so far off. But now it's different. Every day I have neared civilization I have grown less sure that our way is the right way."

"Why not? It all seems clear to me."

"But, Lawrence, are we quite fair? Are we quite right with ourselves?"

"I try to be. I certainly try to be fair to you."

"I know. That's it. You would want me to be fair to--to every one, wouldn't you, and above all, to myself?"

"You must be that, Claire."

She did not continue at once. He waited, holding her hand very tight between his own.

"Go on, Claire."

The deep earnestness of the faith in her that rang through his words gave her courage.

"It is Howard and--and my vows to him."

Lawrence sat, his brows knit. She watched him.

"I see," he answered. "I see, but--"

"After all, I promised to be his wife forever, you know."

"But you don't love him now."

"No. I love you--and for your sake as well as my own I've got to straighten things out between Howard and myself."

"I thought they were straight. He thinks you are dead."

"But I know that I'm not dead, and all my life I would know that I had been unfair to myself as well as to him. I must go and get things right before--before I marry you."

Her voice dropped and lingered caressingly yet with gracious reverence over these last words, as one's does in speaking of holy things.

"I see," he said. Her tone told him more than her words.

"I think you do."

"Yes, I do. But when did you begin thinking of this?"

"When you said, 'Human beings think many things they don't and can't do.'"

"I understand." He threw back his head.

"You see, dearest, it is that everything in our lives may be clean."

"Good enough, Claire." He was hearty in his agreement. To his alert mind the problem seemed very clear.

"Yes," he went on, "you are right. It isn't going to be easy. It will hurt him to have you tell him that you no longer love him, but I suppose it can't be helped, and it is best."

"I knew you would say so." Her cry was full of relief.

"To-morrow morning we'll start early," he laughed. "Noon will get us to the railroad if Ortez was right about distances, and then--home and the last clearing-up before we start life."

The matter was settled. Claire lay down in her blankets happily. She did not sleep at once, however. Gazing through the fire, she let her eyes rest tenderly on the strong face of the sleeping man opposite. She had seen much of him, and always he was fair, just, and she loved him. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of the suffering she must cause her husband, yet it was right and she could do no less. She would tell him everything. He was big and he would understand. Since her whole nature, primal and spiritual, cried out that Lawrence was her mate, Howard would free her. She fell asleep sure that everything would work out right, and then--life and love, as Lawrence said with that exuberant lift in his voice.

At noon of the next day they stopped on the brow of a high hill.

"Lawrence," Claire cried exultantly. "It is there--below us--a town!"

"Hurrah!"

They laughed like children who had discovered a long-sought treasure, then hand-in-hand as they had walked so far, they dropped down the steep slope and into a quaint mining village.

The sound of men, the scent of smoke, and above all, the clang and puff of a locomotive, sent their blood racing. Too happy to speak, they ran along the street scarcely noticing the people, and found the station.

That night they were speeding toward the coast, and a few days later found them northward-bound on a liner.

It was decided that Lawrence should not go with her to her home. He would wait in San Francisco till she had seen her husband and was free.

They parted with eager yet hesitating hearts in that city. Claire found it harder than she had imagined to go alone, but her will was master and she did not falter. To Lawrence, waiting for word from her, time was dead and moved not at all.

When Claire arrived, the old familiar city seemed strangely desolate.

She found herself wondering with a little flush of shame how she could have loved it so. Then came her testing time. She had arrived late at night and gone to a hotel. No one had noticed her. The next morning as she went into the breakfast-room, some one rose hastily, with an exclamation. It was her husband's business partner.

How she ever got through her own explanations she did not know, then she heard him speaking.

"Yes, Mrs. Barkley, we had given you up for lost with the others on that fated ship. And I cannot express my regret at the sorrow you have returned to meet."