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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:53:26 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:53:26 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/30261-0.txt b/30261-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e049ce --- /dev/null +++ b/30261-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7688 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30261 *** + +Claire + +by Leslie Burton Blades + +THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO + +_BY A BLIND AUTHOR_ + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: This novel was originally serialized in four +installments in All-Story Weekly magazine from October 5, 1918, to +October 26, 1918. The original breaks in the serial have been retained, +but summaries of previous events preceding the second and third +installments have been moved to the end of this e-book. The Table of +Contents which follows the introduction was created for this electronic +edition.] + + + + +On the editorial page of last week's ALL-STORY WEEKLY we announced a new +serial by a new author. "Claire" is a story of such subtle insight, of +so compassionate an understanding of human nature, and of so honest an +attack on the eternal problem of love and living, that it can well +afford to take its chances on its own merits. But _Lawrence Gordon_, the +blind hero of the triangle tragedy, which runs its inevitable course in +the mountain cabin of _Philip Ortez_, takes on a new interest, when we +learn that his creator is himself a blind man. + +Born of mining people in Colorado, Blades lost two fingers and the sight +of both eyes when as a lad of nine years he refused to take the dare of +some playmates and set off a giant firecracker. While still a youth he +entered the Colorado State School for the Blind. Here he spent six +years. In the crash at Creede, when the bottom fell out of so many +mining fortunes, the Blades family lost their all. Then young Blades +took up the burden of his own keep. For two successful years he +maintained himself at the University of Colorado by teaching music. When +the family moved to Oregon, the indomitable Leslie followed. At Eugene +he entered the State University and continued to support himself by +music and lectures. After receiving his degrees of B.A. and M.A. he was +a substitute teacher in the English Department. + +For some time he has made his home at San Dimas, where his regular +contributions on a variety of themes to the magazine section of _The +Express_ have brought him something more than local prestige. He is +deeply interested in the drama, and has several plays to his credit. +"When He Came Home," a play of his dealing with the return of a blind +soldier from the war, has become a favorite with one of the California +circuits. + +"Claire" is his first novel, and though he is still on the sunny side of +thirty, this arresting story is a promising portent of what we may +expect from the powerful pen of this blind man with an artist's +vision.--THE EDITOR. + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + +I. DISASTER. 256 +II. THE WATER OF LIFE. 260 +III. THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE. 262 +IV. MUTUAL DISLIKE. 266 +V. THE FACE OF DEATH. 269 +VI. THE STONE THREAT. 274 +VII. PLAYING WITH FIRE. 498 +VIII. THE TIGHTENING NET. 501 +IX. CLAIRE'S ABASEMENT. 505 +X. HOW SIMPLE THE SOLUTION! 509 +XI. THE MAKING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. 513 +XII. THE UNHORSING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. 697 +XIII. FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY. 702 +XIV. PHILIP TO THE RESCUE. 706 +XV. UTTER EXHAUSTION. 711 +XVI. THE QUESTION ANSWERED. 714 +XVII. ANGLES OF A TRIANGLE. 151 +XVIII. THE ROMANTIC REALIST. 155 +XIX. THE LAST DISCUSSION. 160 +XX. THE LAW OF LIFE. 164 +XXI. INTO THE SUNLIGHT. 168 + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +DISASTER. + + +In the confusion Lawrence stood still. Over the howling wind and +smashing sea, he heard thin voices shouting orders. Another mass of +water swept over the deck. Near him a woman screamed piteously. +Instinctively, the masculine desire to protect womanhood made him ache +to help her, but he bit his lip and clung to the rail. If he could only +see! Never before in his five years of blindness had he felt the full +horror of it. He had taught himself to forget his loss of sight. It is +useless to waste time in sentimental moping, he would say, but now-- + +"God, when will it end?" he muttered savagely. + +The City of Panama lurched back and forth like a rocking-horse. +Somewhere forward they must be lowering the boats. He stumbled along the +deck, holding to the rail for support. The spray dashed in his face, and +he could feel the water from his hair trickling into his ears. He shook +his head and laughed grimly, but he could not hear his own laughter. The +terrific noise of the wind drowned everything else. It became +increasingly difficult to keep his hold on the rail. He was wet to the +waist. Each time the wave struck him higher, and he noticed that the +lurching grew heavier. He was strong, six feet of hard muscle, but the +water was stronger. His mouth was filled with it, and his ears seemed +bursting. His rugged features twisted into hard lines. As he struggled +forward, he raged at the blindness that kept him from seeing. + +"Not a chance, not a chance," he repeated over and over, as he strained +to hold the deck. There was a lull in the wind, and he marveled at the +absence of human sound. Suddenly he divined the cause. His mind became a +chaos of rage and fear. + +"They have left me," he cried; "left me without a thought." He shut his +teeth hard, then ducked as another heavy beating weight of water crashed +over him. It seemed it would never lift and leave him free to breathe. +His arms and feet no longer seemed a part of him. He wondered if the +vessel were under the surface, and nerved himself to let go. But he +could not. The rail was his only hope of life. Slowly the water began to +draw his fingers away from it. The next surge sent his body +out--somewhere. He struck forward with both hands and kicked his feet +mechanically. Was it the roar of the wind or the weight of the water +itself that beat into his ears? The sudden pain in his lungs, told him +that he had reached the surface. How good the air felt! Shaking the +water out of his ears, he listened. Nothing but the wind was audible. + +It seemed to him that he had been swimming for hours in the icy waves. +Events on the ship, the shock of the boiler explosion, the rush for the +deck, all seemed to have happened long ago. + +"If I could only see," he thought, "I might find the ship again." It +occurred to him that he might be swimming in a circle, and he resolved +to keep in one direction, but how? He remembered that he had always +tended to swim to the left, so he increased his right-arm stroke. +Suddenly a heavy timber struck him. He gasped with pain, and sank under +the surface. When he came up, his hand struck the same piece of wood. +With a desperate effort, he dragged himself up on it, twisting his arms +and legs about it to maintain his hold. + +The water, swirled by the wind, lashed him as he lay on the timber. +"Land may be within sight," he thought, "and I shall never know." His +fear and the cold began to work upon his imagination. He had a clear +mental picture of a sandy beach backed with trees. He felt sure he was +being carried past it into the open sea. + +Hours passed. He began to rave at the water, at life, at everything. +Mixed, tangled masses of images heaped themselves in utter disorder in +his brain: passages of verse, bits of his trained laboratory jargon, +phrases from half-forgotten books, the delicate curves of the Water +Sprite at the exposition, and, above all, a fierce gnawing pain in his +side. + +Over the roar of the wind he heard something else. Was it the tumbling +of breakers? He listened, then concluded that it was his imagination. +But they came nearer, louder; he sat up on his plank, his nerves tense. +The board lurched sidewise, spurn around, and the swell it was riding +broke over him with a force that knocked him from his position. Over and +over he rolled, until, almost unconscious, he felt his body dragging +along the sand. The undertow was pulling at him. He fought furiously, +digging his hands into the sand, and clawing desperately up the steep +sloping beach. The next breaker caught him and rolled him past the +water-line. He scrambled to his feet, and ran shakily ahead, neither +knowing nor caring what was before him. + +Behind him he heard the water sweeping in. He was out of its reach, but +still he ran. A rock caught him above the knees and sent him headlong +into the sand. He became unconscious, and lay still, half doubled up. + +When he recovered consciousness and sat up, a fierce sun was beating +down upon him. His head ached, and he was hungry. "There may be people +within call," he thought. Rising unsteadily, the soreness of his muscles +coming home to him, he gave a prolonged "Hello-o." A faint echo was his +answer. He formed a trumpet of his hands and shouted louder. The echo +came back stronger. "Only cliffs," he concluded. + +The gnaw of hunger increased. "Clams are my best chance," he reasoned, +and, turning, he groped his way to the water. When the incoming breakers +washed his knees, he stopped. The intense dread that his experience had +given him was crying retreat, but he stood his ground. Stooping over, he +began digging in the sand. His cut and bleeding hands burned with the +salt water, but he dug steadily, moving rapidly along the beach. At last +his fingers turned up a round, ridged object. Feeling the edge of it he +knew that he had found what he sought. He wanted to eat the clam at +once, but reluctantly dropped it into his pocket, and went on digging. + +When he had filled his pocket he straightened up and started toward the +shore. As he waded through the last shallow wash of the wave, his foot +caught in something soft, and he fell. He rose, and then on second +thought stooped to feel what had tripped him. His hand touched a mass of +wet, tangled hair. He jerked it back hurriedly and screamed. The strain +he had been under was telling. Nerving himself, he reached again, and +touched a face. + +"A woman! Another human being! Thank God!" + +Then he clutched his throat in desperation. She might be dead. He +stooped and dragged the body up on the sand. He was afraid to find out +if she were dead or alive, and sat beside her, timidly touching her +hair. + +"Fool!" he muttered at last. "If she is not dead, she soon will be." He +leaned over, listening for her breathing. At first there was only the +sound of the waves, then he heard her breathing come faintly. He took +off his coat, emptied out the clams, and dipped it in the ocean. Coming +back, he wrung it out over her face. He knelt beside her, and rubbed her +arms and throat. + +His hands were his trained observers. As he worked over her, they gave +him a detailed picture which sank deep into his memory. She was +splendidly made. His fingers caught the delicate curve of her throat and +shoulders. Her skin was satin to his touch. He knew that the fine hair, +the smooth skin, the curve and grace of her body belonged to a beautiful +woman. + +Taking her arms, he worked them vigorously. When he was beginning to +despair, she coughed, moaned a little, and turned over on her side. + +He wondered if she had her eyes open. He dared not feel to see, and sat +silent, anxious, waiting for her to speak. + +It seemed to him that eternity passed before she murmured, "Oh, oh! +Where am I?" + +"I do thank God," he exclaimed earnestly. + +"Where am I?" she repeated as she sat up. + +"I do not know," he answered. "Presumably somewhere on the coast of +Chile." Her eyes opened very wide and gazed at him as she said, "Are we +the only ones?" + +"I cannot tell," he replied, smiling a little. "I am blind, you see." + +"Yes, I know," she said softly. "I saw you on shipboard." + +"The first consciousness I had of you," he continued, "was when I +stumbled over you while getting my breakfast." + +"Breakfast? Where is it?" + +He laid one hand on the pile of clams. She looked down at them, and +burst out laughing, uncontrollably. + +"It is not much," he said, "but we primitive people are simple in our +needs. I worked to get them, goodness knows." + +She was looking around her, twisting her long brown hair in her hands. +At last she shuddered. "It's desperately lonely. Nothing but sea and +mountains. I'm afraid I can't walk," she said. + +"Good God!" he exclaimed. "Can't walk?" + +She turned toward him, smiling faintly. "I was struck when I washed +overboard, and my ankle, I think, is broken. I am sorry," she added. + +Her tone was slightly apologetic, and he laughed nervously. "Oh, that's +all right," he said, assuringly, then stammered, "I mean--" He +hesitated, and she laughed. + +"I mean that we can get along," he continued, stubbornly. "Heaven knows +I am sorry. But you can't realize what it means to have some one near +you who can see." + +She did not answer for a minute, then said quietly: "Shall we breakfast +before beginning anything else?" + +He reached in his pocket for his penknife. It was gone. The blank +expression of disgust on his face made her ask: "What is it?" + +"My knife," he said. "It is gone." + +They sat opposite each other, the clams between them. Each followed a +different trend of ideas. He was raging at this last mishap, and +considering means of opening the clams. She was conjecturing over the +fate of the City of Panama and wondering what she could do, alone here +with this blind man. Her night-gown and a heavy skirt had been all she +had worn when she had rushed on deck in the night. She looked around her +at the rocks and thought how foolish she had been to leave her shoes. + +At last he rose and began to grope back along the beach. + +Noticing that his hands were torn and bleeding, she said, hastily: +"Don't do that. What are you looking for, anyway?" + +"Stones," he answered, stopping. + +"I will direct you," she to him. "Left--right--a little ahead now." +Guided by her, he moved until his hand touched a small stone. He found +two of them and came back to her side. + +She watched him while he tried to break a clam-shell between the two +rocks. "Let me," she said, taking hold of one of them. "Your hands are +too badly cut." He hesitated. + +"Please," she said. "I can at least do the woman's part and prepare the +meal. Especially when you bring it to me." + +He laughed and gave up the stones. + +"I am desperately thirsty," she said, breaking open the shells. + +"I feel as though my tongue were swelling fast," he admitted. + +They dug the tiny clams from the shells, and ate for a few minutes in +silence, then she said: "I can't go any more of them." + +He wondered if she were not hungry, but said nothing. After eating a few +more, he understood. Then he, too, stopped. + +"I've got to find water," he said. He waited for her to speak. + +At last she said: "I can see nothing that might indicate fresh water. +Where will you go?" + +"Up the beach, I suppose." + +"There are mountains up the beach, and back of us, too. You could never +find your way out." Her tone was despairing. + +"True," he admitted. + +There was a long pause. Then she said slowly: "It seems to be your only +hope, doesn't it? Well, I guess you had better go. God bless you!" she +concluded as though it were her last word. + +Suddenly it occurred to him that he had been thinking and talking of +himself alone. The idea of parting from this woman who could see, whom +it seemed to him he had found as his own means of salvation, immediately +became impossible. + +"I am going to take you with me," he stated quietly. + +"You forget," she said, "I cannot walk." + +He had forgotten it for the moment. Now it filled him with new terror. +He laid his hand on hers. "I can't help it," he said finally, "I can't +leave you. I will carry you." + +"Oh, no!" Her protest was genuine. + +He felt her fear that she would hamper him. "Don't be foolish," he said +as though he had known her for years, "I am not being gallant. This is +not a time for gallantry. I am simply being sensible. You can't sit +here, can you?" + +"I can't help myself, can I? I can't walk." + +"I can help it," he retorted. + +"It would simply make your chance of escape impossible," she argued. "It +is preposterous. Why should you? Your life is worth to you as much as +mine is to me. I know what that means. I would not stay here if I could +help it. I would not sacrifice my life for yours. Neither shall you +sacrifice yours for mine." + +"See here," he demanded, "who are you and where did you get that +attitude toward life?" + +It was one he knew. It was the hard, relentless theory of the struggle +of animal survival which his thinking in college had led him to accept. +There was in it no touch of duty, no sense of obligation, and very +little pity. He had called himself a hard materialist, and had never +lived up to his theory. Now here beside him in this outlandish +situation was a woman quietly arguing his own philosophy of life to him +against herself. + +She laughed. "It's my way of thinking, and I mean it," she said, +twisting her hair up on her head. "I got it out of four years of thought +and reading in a college, and I do not thank the college for it. I find +it very inconvenient, but it is my belief. I have tried to live by it." + +"So is it mine," he said, "and I mean to live by it." + +"Very well," she answered. "That aggressive tone against me is not +necessary. Go ahead and get through if you can. Good-by, my friend." + +"I'm afraid you do not understand," he answered her steadily. "I want to +live. To do it, you are necessary to me. I need your eyes. Very well, +whether you like it or not, you are going with me." + +He rose quickly, and stretched his muscles. His head ached, his whole +being cried for water. He knew he could not carry her far, but without +her he was powerless. + +"Suppose," she suggested, her eyes flashing from hazel to deep-brown, +"suppose you do take me. Have you any assurance that my eyes will serve +you rightly?" + +"Your own life, which is pleasant to you, will depend upon your eyes +serving me rightly," he said coldly, as he stooped over her. + +She laid a restraining hand on his arm. "And in the long days that we +may have to go on together, what will you do in return for my eyes?" + +"Carry you," he answered. + +"Very well, but there are two things you must know," she said quietly. +"First, that I am married; second, that I am quite as steadfast in my +belief as I said. If you make one single attempt to establish more than +a frank comradeship, based on mutual support in our unforeseen +partnership, my eyes will serve you falsely." + +He laughed a little as he picked her up. She gasped with pain. + +"I can't help hurting you," he said gently. + +"It's all right," she answered, putting her arm around his neck so that +he might the more easily bear her. "We are off on our great adventure. +The halt and the blind! Such a mad pair!" + +He smiled, and started slowly up the beach. + +"I shall have to develop a system of one word guides," she mused. + +"Left--right--slow--ahead--all right--and so on," he admitted. + +Suddenly she laughed out merrily. "My friend, a stranger pilgrimage the +world never knew. What is your name?" + +"Lawrence," he said. + +"Mine," she answered, "is Claire. Go a little to the left." + +He turned slightly, and plodded through the sand. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE WATER OF LIFE. + + +Still exhausted from his recent battle with the waves, Lawrence was not +in the best condition for this new struggle. Before he had gone far, he +was forced to rest. He lowered Claire to the ground carefully and +dropped beside her. His effort in carrying her had made him breathe +hard, the sun was beating down on them, and his throat was dry and +parched. Speaking was becoming difficult. + +"If we don't find water soon, we're ended," he managed to say. + +"I'm afraid we are," she admitted. "Do you know, Lawrence, you shouldn't +try to carry me. I weigh over a hundred and thirty pounds. That is too +much for any man. Without me, you might make it, even though you +couldn't travel so steadily ahead." + +"Perhaps," he agreed. "I've thought of that. But, you see, I would have +to feel my way. At best I'd get a lot of falls. I might walk off a +precipice. That doesn't appeal to me, now that I've set myself to +winning." + +"And yet you are almost certain to wear yourself out to no purpose if +you carry me," she repeated. "If you could do it and get me through, I'd +never stop you. I've a husband in America who loves me, and I want to +get back to him, but you aren't equal to it. I see no advantage in +dying a mile or ten miles inland. For one's grave, this is as good a +place as any." + +She spoke of dying in a matter-of-fact way that made him feel strange, +though he thought of it in exactly the same way himself. He believed +that he was a mere animal and that death was a mere cessation of energy. +"I wonder if she feels just as I do about it," he pondered. "Perhaps +not. But it can't matter anyway. Here we are, and death does seem fairly +certain." + +He was breathing more regularly now, though his throat burned and his +tongue stuck to his mouth disagreeably. + +"We'd better be moving," he said, rising with an effort. + +"As you please," she assented. + +Then, as he lifted her: "My ankle is swollen dreadfully. If we could +find water, I'd bathe it and put a stick splint on it." + +He did not answer. Silence fell between them while he plodded ahead. +They started up the mountainside, and the way became increasingly +difficult. There was a dense undergrowth through which he was compelled +to shove his feet. There were rocks which she could not see, down which +he was constantly slipping. Her directions barely kept him from bumping +into the trees that grew closer and closer together. Occasionally she +pushed a branch aside from before him, and laughed as he stooped to pass +under, throwing her forward so that she had to cling to his neck to keep +her position. + +On and on he forced his way, his teeth clenched, his breath broken by +the strain. She made herself as easy to carry as she could, but beyond +that she showed no sign of sympathy. Again and again he was obliged to +stop and put her down while he rested. His head was throbbing +frightfully. He gave up trying to talk. + +During one of their frequent rests she had asked him quietly, her eyes +filled with a soft, calculative haze: "How much are you good for, +Lawrence?" + +He had answered: "Till we find water." She had laughed a little at that, +and it had sounded unpleasant to him. + +Now she said again: "You don't face facts, do you?" He made no answer. + +She continued: "It's strange how we humans are always so overdetermined. +One ought to know by the time he is grown that he is a puppet in the +hands of circumstance. Now I go on hoping that you can carry me out to +life and my husband, and you plod determinedly on as if you were really +able to do it. Of course, you may, but it is entirely dependent upon +outside things." + +He was too tired to answer, even to think. Besides, that was exactly his +view of the situation. + +"You see," she went on, "here we are, two distinct groups of living +cells, each loving life and wanting it. Our pasts have been very +different, our futures would have been; but here we are. I am resentful, +because you are blind, because you are not stronger, because I cannot +walk. You are probably resenting the same things. Perhaps you resent my +saying what I do. You want me to reassure you and to promise success. If +I did, you would know in your real mind that I was lying to you for the +sake of getting you to do more. Yet both of us would feel happier if I +could do it. I can't." + +He stood up and took her in his arms without a word. + +"We are going a few yards farther," she laughed. "Well, if ever any +animal deserved life, you do." + +He bit his lip and climbed on up the hill. In his mind he was saying +over and over: "Just a mere intellect, nothing more. That's all she is." +Yet in his arms she felt very feminine. The sense of her body so close +to him seemed strangely out of keeping with her talk. + +He remembered a few other women of her type; he wondered what the end of +their daily association would be. Then gradually his thinking ceased to +be clear. His thirst more and more wove itself into his consciousness +until his mind was a blurred fantasmagoria, in which, repeating itself +over and over in the midst of strange ideas, would come the flashing +sound of unattainable water. He did not talk, he did not think. Through +the trees he wound his way with the grim determination of a beast +fighting against death. + +The sun passed its zenith and sank slowly. It grew cooler in the forest +through which he lurched, but he was hardly aware of it. Claire, too, +was rapidly losing control over herself. She had ceased to talk, save to +utter dull, monosyllabic commands to him. The pain from her ankle and +her own thirst were blending into a dizzying maze of torture. + +As darkness settled over the forest, she grew afraid. Ordinarily it +would have been a delight to her, here among the trees, but now the +shadowing night filled her with ideas of horror. She forgot her +theories, and clung to him so that he was the more hampered. She grew +afraid lest he should drop her, lest he should give up the fight, and +with that came an overwhelming desire to urge him on. She thought of +wild tales that she might tell to spur his faltering strength. At first +she resisted, then as her desire for life grew within her, she began to +lie to him. "It isn't far, just a little way to water," she whispered. + +He struggled unsteadily forward. They had passed the top of the ridge +and were descending the other side. He was scarcely aware of his own +motion. He did not hear her directions, and stumbled against the trees. +When her ankle struck a bough, she realized in a flash of pain that he +was not listening to her. Then she felt him sinking down. + +Gripping his shoulder, she shouted: "Go on! Water ahead!" He heard her, +his mouth opened, and he gathered himself up to stumble a few steps +farther through the darkness. They seemed to be deep in a wooded ravine. +He staggered again and fell. + +She was thrown violently forward, and flung out a hand to save herself. +As she lay there, half-dazed, suddenly she felt her fingers grow cold +and wet. Water! A small stream, no larger than that from a hydrant, was +trickling over the rock. + +Dragging herself to it, she drank greedily. She dipped her hands in it. +She laughed joyously and splashed. For a few minutes she played like a +child. Then she remembered Lawrence. + +Lifting her hands full of water, she threw it on his face. His mouth was +open, and a few drops fell upon his black tongue. She threw another +handful, then took her skirt and, wetting it, wrung it into his mouth. +He twisted over on his side and muttered: "Water." + +She gave him more, and as he sat up, she said eagerly: "Here, Lawrence, +here." + +Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the stream. He drank ravenously, +plunging his face and hands into the little line of water, making queer +noises over it. + +Claire began to grow cold, and her ankle pained her till she shook like +a fevered person. He turned and sat up. + +"You cold?" he managed to mutter. + +She wanted to say "No," but her will was worn out. "Yes," she answered, +"very cold." + +He laughed a little guttural laugh as he drew off his coat. "Take it," +he said, dropping it near her hand. + +She took the coat and drew it on. Lawrence was drinking again from the +stream. She listened to him for a time, as she lay there in the +darkness, then gradually her suffering and the strain under which she +had been, won the victory over her consciousness, and she heard no more. + +He lay where he was, half unconscious. At last he began to feel the +chill of the place and drew himself up toward Claire. She did not move. +"We've got to do the best we can," he thought, and moved close to her so +that their bodies might warm each other. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE. + + +Claire was the first to wake. She sat up and gazed around her. The +morning sun was just breaking through a heavy fog that had drifted in +from the ocean. Her clothes were damp, and she was chilled through, +while her swollen and discolored ankle throbbed with steady pain. She +looked down at the sleeping man beside her, and her forehead gathered in +a little thoughtful frown. Then she looked around her again. Despite the +knowledge of their desperate situation, she could not help noticing the +beauty of the scene. + +Great trees grew in massive profusion all about them. Heavy tropical +moss hung from the branches and trailed its green mat over the stones. +Birds were beginning to sing, their notes breaking the silence of the +place in sharp thrills. Then she studied her companion. Finally, she +laughed aloud. + +"Lawrence," she said gaily. + +He turned and sat up, yawning drowsily. "What is it?" he demanded. + +"We are certainly the primitive pair." + +"H-m, I suppose. Anyhow, I feel better for my sleep." + +"It's beastly cold," returned Claire, "and my ankle is playing fits and +jerks with me." + +"We'll have to do something about it," he said earnestly. She did not +answer. + +"We can bind it up, I presume," he went on. "But it's a frightful +inconvenience." + +"Admitted," she said quickly. "It can't be helped, however." + +"I'm very much for a fire," he suggested, as though he had not noticed +the hints of hardness in her voice. + +"Some twenty feet ahead is a flat rock. We might build one there. Have +you matches?" + +He shook his head. "We'll have to go it primeval." + +"But I don't see how," she began. + +"Never mind," he answered, with a malicious grin. "I do know some few +things." + +"Perhaps you also know how to find food when there isn't any," she +retorted. + +He rose without replying. + +"Well," she continued, "I see plenty of roots and stuff. We may as well +prepare to eat them. It's unbelievable that I should be here, and with +you. It's a horrible nightmare, this being stranded and lame out here +somewhere with a blind man." + +He winced, but answered quietly: "I'm not especially charmed myself. I +could prefer other things." + +She looked at him and smiled. "Don't ever let me repeat those +sentiments," she said, simply. "I'm sorry. Of course you aren't to +blame, and I shouldn't have said that." + +He stepped forward timidly. "Will you suggest the best means of finding +dry wood?" he asked, as though the matter were forgotten. + +She pursed her lips and looked around her. "This moss seems to be feet +deep," she said at last. "You might dig up some that is dry, and with +that as a starter you can add twigs." + +He stopped and began to tear away the moss. His hands were stiff, but he +worked rapidly and before long he had a heap of the brown, dry stuff +from underneath. + +She watched him silently. When he stopped, she said: "Straight to your +left is the rock. Get the fire started. Then you can move the invalid." + +He took the moss and felt his way to the rock, which was eight or ten +feet square and practically flat, standing up almost a foot from the +ground. + +"Now, for a dry stick or two," he said, cheerily. + +She directed him, and at last he found what he thought would do. Then +began the age-old procedure of twisting a pointed stick between one's +hands, the point resting on another piece of wood, until friction +brought a flame. It was a long, hard experiment; several times he +stopped to rest; but the consciousness of the skeptical expression he +knew to be on her face sent him quickly back again to his task. At last +the moss began to burn. True, it smoked much and flamed little, but he +gathered twigs from the shrubs near by and in time had a good fire. Then +he carried Claire to the rock and set her down beside it. She leaned her +elbow on the edge and said, happily: "It's quite a success, Lawrence. I +really feel as though we were progressing." + +"Our woodcraft will doubtless improve with experience," he answered. + +"Next, I guess we had better bathe your ankle," he observed, as though +giving due care to the order of procedure. + +"Very well," she replied. + +At her suggestion he gathered moss and wet it in the tiny stream. She +wound it about her ankle and held it tightly. + +"Now the surgeon orders splints and bandages," she said. + +He brought several sticks, and with a strip which she tore from the +lining of his coat, she bound them fast. + +"There," she said, sighing, for the pain was wearing. "That ought to +help. I wonder what our distant grandparents did in such cases." + +"Made the best of it," he said cheerfully. "Many of them died, I +suppose." + +"And we are back again at their game. Whether we can outwit the master +strategist and survive, is at least interesting to try." + +"In any event, we'll have to eat to do it," he said shortly. + +She studied the greenery about her, meditatively. "It's probable that +most any of these things are edible, but are they nourishing?" + +"We'll try them. Which shall I get?" he asked. + +"I hate to start in on roots or leaves. If we only had some berries!" + +He got up determinedly. "I'll go down the ravine and hunt. If I get +mixed in directions, I'll shout." + +She watched him go, and when he had disappeared through the trees she +felt strangely sadder and very much alone. She fell to wondering if he +were really so necessary to her. Sooner or later would come the +inevitable problem between them. Would he fall in love with her, and +would she, in the days that they might be alone together, find his +companionship growing into any really vital proportion in her life? That +she, Claire Barkley, rich and independent, whose life had been selfish +to a marked degree and who had never considered anything except from the +point of view of vigor, perfection, or beauty, should ever love a blind +man was incredible. + +"No," she thought, "not even the closest of daily relationships with him +could ever make me really care. He is not of my life." She wondered how +much she would sacrifice for him if it were necessary in their +pilgrimage toward civilization, and she answered herself, frankly: "No +more than I must to maintain a balance in our forced business +partnership." She knew that was all this meant to her. + +From down the ravine she heard him shouting lustily, and she answered, +her clear, rich voice waking pleasant echoes as she called. She waited +for some time before he came. In his arms he carried a bundle of +branches loaded with red berries, while in one hand was a clump of large +mushrooms. + +Claire watched him as he approached, and was surprised at the ease with +which he walked. There was less hesitation in his stride than she had +thought, and he came briskly through the trees, dodging as though by +instinct. + +When he reached the rock, it was characteristic of her that she said: +"You came through those trees remarkably well." + +He laughed. "I have an uncanny way of feeling things on my face before +they touch me. I experimented somewhat with it in the laboratory at +college. It's a sort of tropism, perhaps, such as bugs have, that +enables them to keep between two planks or that turns plant-roots toward +the sun. Anyway, I've brought some breakfast. These berries may be good, +and these other things may be toadstools. I brought them along." + +"How does one tell?" she asked. + +"Oh, mushrooms are pink underneath and ribbed like a fan." + +She examined them and said they might be mushrooms, they looked it. He +sat down again, but not until he had replenished the fire. + +"They may be poison, both of them," he hazarded. "That's our sporting +chance. Will you try them?" + +Claire took some of the berries and ate them. "I don't feel anything +yet," she announced after a minute's solemn munching. + +"Oh, you probably won't for several hours anyway," he said lightly. Then +he continued: "If we could devise a way, we might heat water and cook +the mushrooms. Then, too, I've been thinking we might even catch a +bird." + +"Neither sounds very simple." + +"Nothing in life is simple," he replied. "At home, in America, where we +leave food-getting to the farmer, dress from a store, and go to heaven +by way of a minister, things are fairly well arranged, but here we +aren't even sure of salvation unless we mind the business of thinking." +He continued after a pause. "Of course, I don't especially remember that +I counted on heaven. It always seemed a bit distant in the face of +living and working. Perhaps, however, you counted it as vital." + +"I was fairly occupied with more immediate things," she answered. +"However, that is a different world from this. What we did then can't +especially matter to us here. This is our place of business, so to +speak, and social life doesn't factor." + +"I see." He accepted the snub thoughtfully. "But this business of ours +will grow exceedingly irksome without talk. I doubt if we can find the +means of escape an all-sufficient topic." + +"We haven't boiled our water yet," she said. "And the bird is still free +to roam." + +He did not carry on his line of thought aloud. If she had known what was +going on in his mind, she might have been angered. He was wondering just +how much thinking she was capable of. Certain that she was beautiful, he +had scarcely allowed that to occupy him. His experience had led him to +estimate people almost wholly by their ability to be open-minded. In his +struggle against blindness, he had concluded that open minds were rare +indeed, and persons who limited his freedom of action or tended to baby +him he had grown to dismiss with a shrug. Claire did not belong to that +class. "She has shown remarkable willingness to let me go my own pace," +he thought, "but is this due to her mind or to mere indifference?" He +decided at last that the relationship would be tiresome for both of +them, and that she was not especially eager to prevent it from being so. +This conclusion led him to adopt a definite attitude toward her. She +could do as she pleased; he, for his part, would treat her simply as an +uninteresting person, a machine that furnished the eyes which he could +use in his travel to liberty. + +He recalled how, when he had been displeased with convention, he had +thought of life in the wild as the best possible means of liberty, and +he laughed. + +Claire looked up. "What is there amusing just now?" + +"Myself, and you." + +"Why, pray, am I amusing?" Then she was sorry she had said it. + +"Because you are you." + +"And are you other than yourself?" she asked scornfully. + +"Not at all, but my own particular interests seem infinitely more +important to me than there is any possibility of yours doing." + +"You mean to say that you are an egotist." + +"Frankly, I am," he agreed. "One is an egotist, I suppose, when he finds +himself and his needs and whims essentially worth while. I'll admit I +find mine so. Perhaps you feel the same about yours. One scarcely knows +where egotism and vanity meet or end in a woman." He smiled, for he +meant that to provoke, and it did. + +Claire's voice was edged when she replied. "A very penetrating remark. +With men generally, vanity seems to be a widely extended cloak to spread +over all things in a woman that they cannot dispose of in any other way. +If I find you dull, or if I am not struck with your ability, or if you +do not seem to me sufficiently fascinating, I am possessed of feminine +vanity." + +"Precisely. And why not? If I choose to regard myself as all those +things which you deny, why shouldn't I find the fault in you rather than +in myself?" + +"Because it may be in you," suggested Claire. + +"It may, but that doesn't alter the case. I quite agree that you are +right, but none the less you are at fault, because I, Lawrence, am the +most important of all things to me." + +She did not answer. The conversation seemed to her useless. She saw no +reason for arguing the matter, and she half suspected that he was simply +teasing her. Besides, she could not but feel that to sit here in his +coat and discuss egotism was a trifle ridiculous. He was merely trying +to establish a friendship in talk which she did not care to encourage. +That was her conclusion. + +As he rose to gather more sticks, he asked: "Do you happen to see a rock +that flattens to an edge?" + +Told where he might find one, he brought it and struck it hard against +their boulder. It did not break. "It may do," he said thoughtfully, and +began to grind it against the side of the other rock. He worked steadily +and long, and the result was a fairly good edge, which was nicked and +toothed, but still an edge. He laid it down with a sigh of contentment. + +"My first tool," he commented. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +MUTUAL DISLIKE. + + +All day Lawrence worked, and when night came he had hollowed out a piece +of log to a depth of some eighteen inches, leaving six inches of solid +wood in the bottom. Both were very well pleased with the result. With +the coming of darkness, he gathered more berries, and heated water in +his log kettle. They were able to cook the mushrooms and to bind her +ankle in moss soaked in hot water. The building of a shelter was +discussed, but both decided to resume their journey on the following +day, so they slept again in the heavy moss. + +In the morning, Claire was glad indeed of the hot water, for it warmed +her, and her ankle felt much better. They decided to follow the little +stream which would doubtless wind its way somehow around the present +ridge back to the ocean. Accordingly, they kept down the ravine, which +cut across the ridge in a southerly direction. + +For the whole of that day and the next they followed the stream, which +grew to a small creek. At noon of the third day they dropped suddenly +down a steep slope to find themselves at the juncture of their stream, +with a river which flowed through a deep gorge out to the ocean. They +determined to follow it up toward its head. + +"Somewhere inland must be a town," argued Claire. "At any rate, it's the +only way we can go." + +After living for four days on berries, they were beginning to feel +acutely the need of other food, but they discussed the problem at length +without arriving at any feasible solution. Two days later fortune +temporarily relieved their difficulty. + +They were following along the side of a steep ridge overlooking the +river, when Claire suddenly stopped him and gave a cry of delight. Near +them a small, furry animal, caught in a tangled mass of wirelike +creepers, was struggling to free itself. He killed the creature with his +stone-edged tool, and after barbecuing it on the end of a stick, they +ate it ravenously. Each of them would have disliked the whole scene at +any other time, but now neither thought anything of it until after they +were satisfied. + +Leaning back against a rock, Lawrence stroked his chin, rapidly becoming +invisible under a heavy beard. "I hadn't known I was so hungry for real +food," he laughed. + +Brown as a gipsy, her hair filled with tiny green leaves, Claire looked +at him, her eyes shining with the warm light of satisfied hunger. "We +ate like two beasts," she remarked languidly, and laughed. "It was +simply disgraceful." + +"I know," he began to muse, "it doesn't take long for the most polished +man--not that I ever was that--to become a savage." + +"You look the part," she laughed. "I suppose I do, too. My hair is +matted hopelessly; the curliness makes it worse. My face, too, is +rapidly hardening under this sun. If only I had a few more clothes--" +She stopped and looked at him. "I feel the need of them," she finished +lamely. + +Claire had worn his coat continuously from the first night, and his +undershirt was tearing from contact with bush and tree. He grinned +contentedly, however. + +"If you approach nakedness as rapidly as I," he chuckled, "I fear we +both will have to avoid civilization. Undisguised humanity isn't +tolerated there." + +She flushed warmly, then laughed. + +"I wonder why people are so afraid of being seen," Lawrence went on. "Of +course, there's the warmth and natural protection of clothing, but one +would feel so much freer without the encumbrance of shirt-stud and +feathered plume." + +"We need them to complete a personality," said Claire. "I know few +people who would inspire respect in their elemental state. Stripped of +advertising silk and diamond, they wouldn't be so suggestive of +wealth." + +"But why be so eager to impress others with your power?" + +She turned toward him with a faint smile. "If you didn't ask that as +mere conversation, I would think you childish. You know very well why. +It probably goes back to the days when the possession of a fish-hook, +more or less, meant surer life. It has come to mean, now, that the +decoration of an extra feather or white flannel trousers means +advantageous position, the place of more power, more pleasure; in short, +greater fulness of living." + +"But we are living fully, goodness knows," he interrupted. "This last +week we have had to exert our wits and bodies in more ways than we ever +did before in all our lives. True, I do miss my modeling somewhat." He +spoke the last with a soft mellowness in his voice and a wistfulness +that made her look at him quickly. + +"Modeling?" she asked. + +He nodded slowly. + +"What sort of modeling?" she insisted. + +"Oh, probably poor, for the most part. I did some work that was +beginning to make its way, though." + +"You mean sculpture?" + +He nodded again. + +She looked at him earnestly. Here was a new revelation. She had wondered +at this man's apparent keen sense of form, and his imaginative power +when he spoke of color or mentioned line, and she had been sure from his +occasional word that he was a wide student of literature. + +"What did you do at home?" she asked abruptly. + +"Oh, played with living," he said indifferently. + +She felt irritated that he would not tell her more of his life, yet she +remembered that she had practically refused to discuss her own with him. + +"See here, Lawrence," she said suddenly, "we aren't quite fair with each +other, are we?" + +"Why not?" he answered quietly. "I carry you toward your old life, you +guide me toward mine. It's a fair business, with equal investment. I'm +not complaining." + +She was silent and watched him as he lay on his back, dreaming of days +at home with his work. As he lay there, she studied his hands. They +were practically healed, and she noticed they were well-shaped, the +fingers long and tapering, yet with an appearance of unusual strength. +She knew already that they were sensitive; when he had cut out a piece +of wood to heat water in, she had seen that. So they were sculptor's +hands. What a revelation, and what a pity that he was blind! She fell to +wondering if he really was good at his work, or whether he merely +fancied he was and hewed away without real artistry, deceived by his +blindness. She studied his face in repose. Then her mind came back to +his hands, and she felt a sudden sense of displeasure, a little chagrin, +and some wonder, accompanied by the feeling that she wished he had not +carried her. She did not quite know why, yet the dependence on him made +her restless. Suddenly she wondered poignantly what he thought of her. +The more she wondered, the more she wanted to know, and at last she +ventured, "Are you asleep?" + +"No, dreaming." + +"Lawrence." + +"What is it?" He sat up and waited. + +"What do you think of me?" She was surprised to find herself waiting +eagerly for his answer. + +He laughed outright, a gay, hearty laugh. + +"Claire," he said merrily, "you embarrass me dreadfully. You see, I +haven't thought much about you. However, if you like, I'll study you for +a week and report." + +Hot anger surged up in her. "You needn't bother," she said dryly. "Our +lives are so utterly different in every phase that nothing could be +gained." + +He lay back carelessly. "So I had decided," he replied, and lapsed into +silence again. + +She could have cried with vexation. For the first time in her life +Claire was utterly humiliated, and there grew within her an aggressive +dislike for this man, a determination to make him feel her power and to +punish him for his indifference. She did not want him to love her, by +any means, but he had never even shown her the courteous deference, the +admiration or regard that she was accustomed to receive from men. Her +mind went back over the past week, and she grew more humiliated, more +angry. Tears of vexation came to her eyes, but she brushed them away +fiercely. + +"Shall we take the remains of our meat and move on toward the habitats +of men?" said Lawrence, sitting up. + +She controlled herself to answer, "As you please." + +He stooped to lift her into his arms. She flushed warm as his hands +slipped under her, and he straightened up. She hesitated, and wanted not +to do it, but realized the necessity, and put her arm around his neck. + +"I shall be grateful when I can walk," was her comment. + +"It will make our progress more rapid," he agreed, and she was angry +again. She knew that he thought only in terms of the most efficient +means of getting ahead. A longing possessed her to make him realize that +he was physically distasteful to her. + +"We are so vastly different," she said, "it is disagreeable to be +carried this way." + +Lawrence flushed, and she was pleased. At least he understood now. + +"Of course," he admitted calmly, "it isn't pleasant, but I suppose one +must make the best of a bad bargain." + +There was silence for a while, then he said suddenly, "I think I +realize, Claire, that a blind man is at best a poor companion for a +woman who is accustomed to being amused, and whose interests are those +of the society glow-worm." + +Claire resented the picture, but she kept her voice steady. "Surely at +home you had your own social group," she said pleasantly. + +"Of a sort, yes. We were all workers, not going in much for form, +entertainment, and that sort of thing. We generally sat in the gallery +at the opera, and did mostly as we pleased everywhere. None of us were +rolling in wealth. We worked for the love of it, and looked to the +future for pay." + +"I see." She was thinking fast. "You were struggling young artists." Her +voice was sugar-coated. + +"We were struggling young artizans," he answered, seemingly indifferent +to her irony. + +As he made slower progress when he talked, she did not attempt to carry +on the conversation. The stops for rest were gradually lengthening out, +and he was getting hard and wiry so that his endurance was greater. He +was quicker at catching himself when he stumbled, and he did not puff so +hard between grades. Claire felt the easier swing of his body when he +walked, and noticed that he was growing surer of foot and more graceful +in movement, and she realized that except for his eyes he was a splendid +specimen of manhood. She now admitted all these things to herself, but +they only added to her feeling against him. She wondered if he had been +as indifferent to all women as he was to her, and was displeased that +she wondered. + +Suddenly Lawrence stopped and put her down by his side. Claire looked up +at him and saw his forehead gathering in a frown. + +"What is it?" she asked anxiously. + +"You are letting your thoughts obstruct your eyes," he said simply. "I +have walked into three boulders without your knowing it." + +"I am sorry," she said earnestly. "It was silly of me." + +He laughed and sat down. "You see, as eyes you can't afford to think. At +other times perhaps I, too, should wander into abstractions, but at +present it won't work." + +"I know it," she admitted contritely. "I won't repeat it." + +"What," he asked, "is the subject of all this meditation?" + +She blushed, and her eyes darkened. She wondered whether she should tell +the truth, started to do so, then changed her mind. "I was asking myself +what my husband was probably doing and thinking." + +"Poor fellow!" Lawrence was sincerely thoughtful. "I can imagine what it +must be to him, supposing you lost at sea. Yes, he must be suffering +badly. I don't believe I would change places with him." + +Claire started at Lawrence. "Are you flattering me?" she asked coldly. + +"Not at all," he replied. "I am merely stating the truth. I have an +imagination, my dear lady. I can quite grasp your husband's position. +You would certainly be a loss to a man who loved you, and I shouldn't +care to be that man." + +"Shouldn't you?" she said instinctively, and bit her lip for saying it. + +"Not under the circumstances," answered Lawrence. "I never did fancy the +idea of death visiting my loved ones. I have never got over its having +done so." + +"Oh"--her voice softened--"then you have lost your--" She waited. + +"I am an orphan," he said bruskly. + +She was ashamed of her relief. How ridiculous it was to have imagined +him, even for an instant, as a married man! He was so cold, so +impersonal; of course, he had never married, and never would. Well, that +was best; a blind man had no right to marry. He owed it to himself and +to any woman not to place her in the position of caring for him, +handicapped as he was, and so unable to give her the companionship, the +comradeship a woman deserved. She could see how he would treat a wife: +feed her well, clothe her, care for her comfort, and talk to her if she +desired, but he would never be tender, loving, sympathetic, or +understanding. No, he could not be; he was too self-centered, too much +the artist. That last seemed to her a correct estimate of him, and she +settled her mind on it as being final. + +"So you are alone in the world?" Claire said, renewing the conversation. + +"Quite," answered Lawrence. "I am as free from family hindrances as a +young wolf that runs his first season's hunt alone." + +She thought how apt a comparison he had made. "So you regard the family +as a hindrance?" + +"Oh--no and yes. One can never do quite as he pleases while a family and +its wishes, aims, and loves are concerned. They always hold him down to +some extent. He is an equal hindrance to them. They love each other, and +as a result they have to sacrifice their individual wishes. But the +family keeps man more social, more gregarious, and less selfish. If we +were as free from family love as is the wolf I mentioned, we would be +able to live our lives more completely, and, on the other hand, we would +die in greater numbers. The love of man and woman for each other and +their children lifts humanity out of its serfdom, but it also places +limitations. You ought to know more about that than I, however," he +laughed. "I merely theorize." + +"So I noticed," Claire observed. "One can easily gather that you aren't +experienced." + +"No. My parents died when I was small. I had to work my way through +school. The accident made it somewhat harder, but I got along." He was +plainly matter of fact. + +"Oh!" She exclaimed at his words more forcefully than she had intended. + +He smiled a little, comprehendingly. "Yes, it explains a lot, doesn't +it?" He spoke carelessly. "You doubtless can now understand my lack of +social grace." + +She thought to deny it, but that seemed foolish. He was silent, and +there seemed little use in talking. Claire knew she understood him well +enough. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE FACE OF DEATH. + + +In the days that followed they talked but little. Lawrence had fallen +into the habit of speaking only when she seemed to desire conversation, +and his mind was occupied with planning their escape. If he thought of +her in any other way than merely as his eyes, he never showed it. Though +watchful of her comfort, in every act and word, he was markedly +impersonal. + +Following the river, they had progressed steadily north and east over +increasingly higher and rougher ground. The tropical vegetation of +intertwining crimson was now changing to a faint gold. There were days +when they were forced to make long détours over broken ridges to get +around some deep gorge through which the gray-green stream dashed its +foamy way downward. They were well into the mountains, and above them +the higher Andes raised their snowy peaks in forbidding austerity. It +was daily growing colder, and their clothes were now only ragged strips. +Then came days when sharp, biting winds whipped through the cañon they +followed, or headed against them on some plateau, and they were forced +to face new issues. Food was less plentiful, and winter was at hand. To +be sure they were in the tropics, but on the mountains the air was cold, +and warmer clothes became imperative. + +Claire's ankle was almost well. After weeks of pain, which she had borne +bravely, it was healing, and the time was near when she would be able to +walk. Shoes were absolutely essential for her. Furthermore, Lawrence's +own shoes were worn through, and his walking was becoming a continual +pain. In spite of Claire's increasingly careful guidance, he stepped on +small, sharp rocks that dug into his flesh. He did not complain, but +Claire knew that he was suffering. The times when he stepped out freely +became more and more seldom, and his face was usually taut. + +They were, indeed, a pitiable couple. Lawrence's thin face was shaggy +with hair. Claire's once soft skin was now brown and hard. Both were +thin and wiry, with the gaunt lines of the undernourished showing +plainly. + +One morning, to fight the frost that bit into them, they were forced to +build a fire long before dawn. As they sat huddled together over it, +Lawrence finally broached the subject that had been engrossing both +their minds for days. + +"Claire," he said thoughtfully, "we can't make it through. We'll have to +find a place somewhere and prepare for winter. It's tough, but it's +inevitable. I hate to give up now, but it will be even worse for us if +we don't get meat, fur, and a house against the snow that will soon be +covering everything." + +"I know," she said sadly, her thin hands supporting her chin. "It seems +as though we had played our long farce to its end. Death is as +inexorable in its demands as life." The circles under her eyes were +great half-moons. + +"We have done well, though," he argued. "We've done better than well. +Who would have believed that a blind man and a crippled woman could have +come as far as this?" + +"I didn't believe it, Lawrence," she said, and her voice and eyes were +full of a warmth that had grown of late to be fairly constant. "I +didn't believe it, and I wouldn't believe it now if I were told the +story back home." + +"I'm not sure; I might have," Lawrence said proudly. "I know the blind +and their capabilities." + +"I'm learning to know them," she admitted, and lapsed into silence. + +"Shall we go into camp, then," he asked, as if they had not mentioned +anything else. + +Claire hesitated, then said slowly: "It's our only chance. Are you +willing to spend a winter with me?" Her eyes glanced amusedly at him. + +Catching the note in her voice, Lawrence laughed. "It seems inevitable," +he said, "and, anyway, I couldn't ask for a better companion. You don't +disturb me, and I don't irritate you--that is, not especially." + +She looked at him impatiently. "Don't you?" she said, meditatively. +"Well, I'm glad I don't bother you." + +"Yes," he assented seriously. "You've been mighty open-minded, Claire, +and you haven't hampered me with incredulities." + +"Oh, that is what you mean." + +He moved uneasily, his muscles drawing a little. Claire saw and +wondered. + +"Yes," Lawrence said shortly. "When morning comes, we'll hunt for a +location." + +They ceased speaking, each occupied with his own thoughts. + +Claire was asking herself what the winter would mean to her, spent with +this silent man, and he was questioning how long she would continue to +regard him as a mere imperfect carrier, devoid of the stuff that men are +made of. Sometimes when her body was in his arms, he had wondered if she +was capable of love, but always he had remembered her husband, her +social life, her assumption of superior reserve, and had forced himself +into a habitual attitude of indifference. The strain was telling on his +will, however, and often he longed to make this woman see him as he was. +He thought of the old days in his studio when he had proved himself +master of blindness in his power to imagine and carry the sense of form +into the carved stone. He recalled the praise of his comrades, and over +all else there surged in him the swift, warm blood of the artist. + +"Lawrence," said Claire suddenly, "at what do you value human life?" + +"That depends," he answered, "on whose life it is." + +"Well, at what would you value mine?" she demanded. + +"From varying points of view, at varying prices. From your husband's +point of view, it is invaluable. From your own, it is worth more than +anything else. From my point of view, it is worth as much as my own, +since without you mine ceases." + +"Then your care of me and all your trouble is merely because you value +your own life." + +"What else?" He moved uneasily. + +She ignored that question. "If you could get through without me, would +you do it?" + +"That depends on circumstances. If I could get through without you, and +do it quickly, and could not get through with you"--he paused--"I should +leave you behind." + +"And suppose, when I can walk, I do that myself?" + +He smiled. "As you please," he said quietly. "I advise you to make your +estimate well, however. My hands and strength are assets which you might +have trouble in doing without." + +"And do you estimate the whole of our relationship on a carefully +itemized basis of material gain and loss?" + +"Claire, isn't that your understanding, stated by yourself, of our +partnership?" + +"Yes, but--well, it's hard to estimate human companionship." + +"I know it." He shifted nearer the fire. "I've tried to estimate yours." + +"Indeed?" Her voice was full of interest. + +"I've failed. You are worth a great deal, potentially." + +"Exactly what do you mean?" + +"I mean just this"--he stood up suddenly and faced her, his shadow +covering her like an ominous cloud--"that as Mrs. Claire Barkley you are +worth nothing to me except eyes, and, therefore, your personality and +conversation are of value only as time-fillers." + +"Go on," she said steadily. + +"But as Claire, the almost starved, ragged human being who is living +with me through a prolonged war with death, you are worth everything to +me--everything that I value." + +"But isn't that what I have been from the beginning?" she flashed. + +He answered slowly. "Yes--in a way." + +Once more they lapsed into silence. In turn she tried to estimate his +worth to her, but failed. She began to recall the men she knew, and +concluded that she was without a standard of measurement. One by one she +pictured them and cast them aside, as somehow not the scale by which to +evaluate this man. At last, she began to think of her husband. It had +not occurred to her to think of him in comparison with Lawrence before, +and it made her wonder at her doing so now. + +She fell to dreaming of the man who had been her lover in girlhood, and +her husband and dear companion these past six years. He was surely at +home, aching, yearning for the little girl he had lost. She could see +him sitting before the fireplace in their big living-room, his head on +his hands, his tired face in repose, while he gazed into the flames and +longed and longed for her. The picture grew in clearness. She saw the +joy that would be his when they met again, and she felt around her those +dear arms, crushing her against him in a rapture of reunion. In sudden +contrast, she was again conscious of the cold, impersonal arms of the +man beside her. As she thought of the difference she hated Lawrence +wildly. At least, her husband knew her worth. He knew her golden +treasure-house of love; he knew her as she was. + +This blind man before her there, unkempt, hard, expressionless, what did +he know of her? What could he know, born of poor people, and working his +way among inferiors? She almost laughed aloud. Why, at home this man, +who had carried her in his arms, would have been one of her wards, an +object of her charities. But would he? Lawrence was an artist. She +considered that. + +"Isn't it light enough to get moving, Claire?" His rich, warm tones +broke in upon her thought like a shattering cataract. How musical and +vibrant his voice was! + +"I think so." She stood up unsteadily. + +"Good. We'd better go down nearer the river. We will want a sheltered +ravine for our winter camp." + +"Very well." She threw her arm over his shoulder. "It isn't far down, +and it's clear going. When we start again, I'll be able to walk. And +then I'll lead you, Mr. Lawrence." She spoke half in jest. + +"And if we are alive, I shall make it possible for you to do so +comfortably. I hope for something to make shoes of." He answered with a +frank, sincere joy at her being able to walk, and she was ashamed of her +anger. He was not to blame for being anxious to have her well, to have +felt otherwise would certainly have been to be a fool indeed. She should +rejoice with him, for then they could get home that much sooner, home to +her husband and her old life. She warmed at the idea, and felt a sense +of gratitude toward Lawrence that was good and wholesome. "I have been +silly," she thought. "He is really not to be expected to fall and adore +me, and certainly I ought not to blame him for being blind. He couldn't +help that, either." + +"Lawrence," she said aloud, "I am a beastly unjust wretch." + +"I don't see it," he protested. + +"But you ought to see it. I don't play fair with you." + +"You said that once before, I believe. I don't agree any more now that I +did then." + +"But I think all sorts of beastly things." She could not understand her +frankness. + +"Oh"--he paused. "So do I. But as I am not a Puritan, I scarcely hold +myself responsible to you for my thoughts. One's thoughts are his own, +and, as long as he keeps them to himself, he is entitled to as many as +he pleases, of whatever variety he prefers." + +"Do you think so?" + +"Of course, and so do you." + +"Yes, I did--but it seemed to me," she faltered, "that in the present +case--oh, well, let it go." She laughed nervously, and said no more. + +Lawrence wondered at her silence, and wanted to know very much what she +thought, but he told himself that after all it was none of his +business. + +They had reached the river. The water rushed from the mouth of a gorge +in rapids that sent its every drop sparkling and flashing over a great +rock into a mass of white foam below. + +"Oh," cried Claire, "it's beautiful, beautiful!" + +He put her down and laughed. "It sounds as if it were leaping from +points of light into cloud-banked foam." + +She stared at him in amazement. "It is," she said in a subdued tone. +"How did you know?" + +"One learns," he said carelessly. "And how about a camp?" + +Her admiration of him vanished into the commonplace. + +"We can't find it here," she said, hiding her appreciation of the scene +under her professional-guide tone. + +He frowned. "Nowhere close?" + +"No. And what is worse, we'll have to go over a mountain. The stream +here is rushing right out from between cliff walls." + +Lawrence's spirit sank, but he did not show it. "We'd better eat what +little we have left and then be off," he suggested simply. + +That morning was the beginning of their hardest experience since they +first left the beach. Scarcely had they started to climb over the great +ridge, which broke into sheer precipice at the river, when a sharp wind +rose and cut through their unprotected bodies. Claire drew in against +him as close as she could, while he tried to give her more protection +with his arms. The slope was steep and filled with loose rocks so that +he lost ground at every step. They were forced to stop often, and by +noon he was worn out, and they were both bitterly cold. Claire thought +they were near the top, so Lawrence nerved himself to press on. + +Night found them standing on the crest of the ridge, in the face of a +bitter wind; before them, across a small plateau, rose a still higher +mountain around the northern side of which a ravine cut its jagged gash +away from the river. Claire stared at the scene until her courage broke +down. + +"We can never do it, Lawrence," she moaned, and her head sank wearily +against his shoulder. Her cry was the aching moan of a heart-broken +child. The proud, self-contained Claire was gone. It stirred Lawrence +strangely, and for the first time a warm tenderness for her came over +him. He drew her to him, and tried to comfort her. Her poor +undernourished body shook with the sobs that despair and the cold wrung +from her, and, though his own hands and body were blue, he tried to warm +her. Had he seen the ground ahead of them, he, too, might have given up, +but blindness was the barring wall of black which shut out even defeat. +He clenched his teeth firmly, and lifted Claire in his arms again +resolutely. + +"We've got to do it, Claire," he said, "and we will." + +She attempted to paint the scene before him in graphic detail, her words +broken by sobs. When she finished he started forward. + +"We'll follow the gulf," he stated. "We must keep going, Claire. We +don't dare to stop." + +"We can't. It's dark, and will be black soon," she answered. + +"We've got to do it," Lawrence repeated. "It isn't the first night of my +life I've struggled against a black so dense its nothingness seemed +overpowering." + +She strained her eyes through the gathering night to turn him into the +smoothest way, lapsing into jerky, habitual words of guidance. + +In the darkness they entered the ravine and staggered down to its broken +bottom. The time soon came when she could see hardly anything until they +were almost upon it, and the white face of a boulder spotting the +endless black before her filled her with a vague dread. Often they +paused to rest, but the cold drove them on again. Claire almost ceased +to direct him, and Lawrence gritted his teeth till they hurt him and +forged ahead. + +Once he slipped and fell, but got to his feet again and went on. Claire +was not injured beyond a few bruises, but she noticed that he limped +more than before and her fear increased. + +How they ever fought that night through neither knew, but morning came +at last and found them still staggering down the ravine. They were +almost out of it now and were entering a rather heavy pine forest. +Fortunately the gulf they followed had turned around the mountain in the +direction of the river, and their desire for water drove them to keep +on. To their blue and shaking bodies all feeling had grown vague, +tingling, and uncertain. When Claire looked at Lawrence she could have +screamed. His lips were drawn back, and his hairy cheeks and sightless +eyes flashed before her the image of a dehumanized death mask. Her own +face must look like that, she thought, and buried her head on his +shoulder. Through that morning he struggled on, faltering, lurching, +resting a little, girding himself against the death now so surely at +hand. In his mind thought had ceased to be coherent; his starved body, +whipped by the cold, was beginning to play with the imagery. + +He gurgled a grim little laugh, and all clear thought was at an end. +Claire heard and looked at him wonderingly. She knew that she was +freezing, and she had resigned herself, but this man, what was he doing? +He still lunged through the trees, where, at all events it seemed a +little warmer. She heard him muttering incoherent jargon that gradually +cleared to speech. "We'll go on, Claire. We'll go on to the end. I've +got to do it. I need my life. I need you!" + +She started and listened, though even in her present state she grew +resentful. "So that was it," she thought; "he's waiting to get me out +before he breaks into his love. He wants his rescue as an argument." +Then her thinking was broken into detached images. She saw her husband +and cried aloud to him. She had pictures flashing in her mind of him, of +old scenes, parties, places they had been together, tenements she had +visited in her charity work, the beach that morning when Lawrence had +found her, and in and through it all she heard words falling from his +lips that recalled later, stung her to wrath. + +"I need you, Claire," she heard him again, and then, "I shall use you, +Claire. You will be my masterpiece. It is you, proud, superior, human, +social, intellectual, sexed, vital, you, carrying in your being the +whole tumultuous riot of the ages gone, and hiding it under a guarded +social exterior, not knowing when in a sentence it breaks through, you, +you, Claire, you, the woman!" + +He stumbled, regained his balance, and plunged through a fringe of +pines, staggered against one, then another, cursed, and went again +forward and out into a clearing. She saw it vaguely before them. At +first she doubted, then, as he let his hold on her slip, she gripped his +neck with arms that scarcely felt the body they closed around. + +"Lawrence," she screamed in a voice that was shrill--"Lawrence, a cabin, +a cabin!" + +He sank down with her clinging to him still. "I know," he muttered, +"I've got to find one." Then he lay quiet. + +She freed herself and crept toward the house. She was at the back of it, +and she was obliged to crawl slowly on hands and knees around to the +front. There was a door, she pushed on it, but it did not open. She grew +angry at it, and beat against it with her fists, abusing it for its +obstinacy. When at last it opened she laughed wildly. + +Before her, his tall body, clad in warm, heavy clothes, stood a man +whose dark eyes grew wet with tears of pity the instant they saw her. He +lifted her in his arms like a child and carried her inside. She had a +fleeting sense of being at home, she thought he was her husband and +threw her arms around him passionately, then, remembering Lawrence, she +murmured as he laid her down, "Out there--behind the cabin!" and was +unconscious. + +The man turned and hurried out. In a few minutes he came back, carrying +Lawrence, and his face was lined with pity at the state of these two +human beings. + +He laid them together on a wide berth at the side of the cabin and began +to work over them alternately. Swiftly and deftly he heated blankets and +prepared food. He wound them in the hot cloth, chafed their hands and +arms, and forced brandy down their throats. + +Lawrence's eyelids drew back. + +"The man is blind," muttered the stranger in Spanish. + +Claire was looking at him dazedly and reaching greedily toward the +kettle that simmered over a great open fireplace. + +He brought a bowl of hot savory soup and started feeding them. Lawrence +swallowed mechanically, but he could hardly get the spoon out of +Claire's mouth. + +"Not too much, _señora_," he said, turning away. + +When he looked again toward them they were both asleep. The utter +exhaustion of their long night claimed rest. He walked over to Claire +and stood looking down at her. + +"She was beautiful," he thought. "And he is blind. Ah, well, for her, +beauty is again possible, but for him"--he shrugged his shoulders--"it +is bad, bad!" he said softly, and, turning to a shelf of books that +stood against the wall, he drew out a volume and sat down before the +fire to read. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE STONE THREAT. + + +When Claire awoke she stared around her for a few minutes before the +events of their frantic struggle came back to her. Her eyes strayed to +the figure before the fireplace. Idly she noted the lustrous, wavy black +hair and deep brown eyes protected by unusually heavy lashes. It was +clearly the face of a thinker, a dreamer, yet there was something +sensual about the mouth, potentially voluptuous, abandoned, and +suggestive of tremendous passion that slumbered close beneath the brain +that was so actively awake. Claire ached, and her body tingled with the +unaccustomed warmth. She lay quiet, looking at the fire, her mind still +uncertain in its action, weaving sharp, dynamic images about this new +personality. While his appearance gripped and awed her strangely, at the +same time she felt drawn to him. She turned and threw out her hand. Her +host closed his book and looked up, smiling. + +"Ah, _la señora se siente mejor_?" His deep, rich voice, although +lighter than Lawrence's, was full of music, but she did not understand +his words. Her blank expression told him, and he smiled again. + +"I remember, you spoke English," he said with only the slightest accent. +"Are you better, _madame_?" + +She answered his warm smile and said weakly: "Much better, thank you!" + +"And your husband?" Claire saw that he was looking beyond her, and she +turned to find Lawrence at her side. Instinctively she resented his +being there. The warm blood rushed to her face. + +"He--oh--he will be all right, I trust!" she stammered falteringly, and +her host looked puzzled. Her impulse was to tell him that Lawrence was +not her husband, but she thought better of it and said nothing about the +relationship. + +"He had a long, desperate struggle to bring me here," she said instead. +"You see, I broke my ankle and he had to carry me." + +"Oh!" The man rose, his face filled with respect as he looked at +Lawrence asleep beside her. + +"From where did he carry you?" he asked. + +"From the coast," she shuddered. "It has been terrible!" + +His face expressed utter amazement as he repeated: "From the coast? It +is a miracle!" + +She made no reply, for Lawrence stirred and tried to sit up. + +"You'd better lie still," the stranger said kindly. "You deserve rest, +my friend." Then, as to himself, he added: "It is the first miracle in +which I can believe." + +Claire stared at him, and he laughed softly. "Pardon, _madame_! I am an +unhappy seeker after truth," he apologized, throwing a log on the fire. + +For Lawrence and Claire the days that followed were uneventful days of +recovery from their hardship. Slowly both of them grew stronger and +resumed their normal habits of thought and speech. Their host was a +gentle nurse, kindly and considerate. Claire assumed her wonted attitude +of the cultured woman, a guest in the house of a friend, and the +Spaniard met her with the polished courtesy of a cosmopolitan. Lawrence, +too, became the usual man that he was, careless of little niceties, +indifferent to form, but a charming companion and a delightful guest. + +From the first he and Philip became intensely interested in each other. +They discovered early that each was a thinker and a searcher in his own +way for the one great solution of life. + +During the first half-hour Claire had demanded of their rescuer where +they were and how soon they could get back to civilization. Philip had +laughed gently. + +"You are on the borders of Bolivia," he told her, "and the nearest +railroad is two hundred miles away. It is impossible to get out until +spring. Long ere this snow will have barred the way through the one pass +that leads out and we are prisoners--the three of us. You will have to +accept the hospitality of Philip Ortez until the spring." + +Lawrence had accepted the verdict with calm indifference. + +"Oh, well," he said, "it's hard on you, but as far as I'm concerned, one +place is as good as another." + +"I shall enjoy your company," their host laughed. + +After voicing polite thanks, Claire, in her own thought, had rebelled +against the situation vehemently. She wanted to get home, she wanted to +get away from everything that suggested her last weeks of suffering, she +wanted to get away from these men. Her heart leaped to the +ever-recurring dream of the husband, whose arms should take her up and +hold her warmly against the memory of their separation. + +"Then there is no way out?" she asked again. + +"None, _madame_," and Philip Ortez bowed. "You will have to be the guest +of a humble mountaineer." + +"I shall enjoy it, I am sure," she answered. "It is simply a woman's +natural desire for home which leads me to ask again." + +His eyes clouded. Claire somehow found herself fancying a tragic mystery +in the life of this man, and then rebuked herself for romancing. +Certainly, such fancies were not her habit, and she wondered why they +were occurring to her. + +The cabin stood on the very edge of the forest through which Lawrence +had carried Claire the last morning of their long march. Protected by +its pines, the little house fronted on a small lake, a place where the +river which they had followed widened to a half-mile, and stayed thus +with scarcely any current save directly through the center. All around +the lake the forest stretched its massed green, and here Philip trapped. +The lake, in its turn, provided him with fish. + +The week after their arrival snow had heaped itself into the ravine and +piled up high around the cabin. Ice was beginning to form on the edge of +the lake, and their host was preparing for his winter's work. They were +too weak to go with him, and he left them in possession of the cabin. + +At first there had been an unaccountable awkwardness between Lawrence +and Claire, and it had left a reserve which was difficult to overcome. +Lawrence had explained their situation to Philip; the Spaniard had been +apologetically gracious, but there was something in Claire's nature that +made her wish that Lawrence had never been thought of as her husband. +Dressed in Philip's clothes, and in the presence of a roof and fire, she +felt a desire to be free from the memory of the days when she had clung +about Lawrence's neck, and, above all, she felt that she was not able to +meet him with understanding. His blindness in these surroundings seemed +to set a sudden and impassable barrier between them, and made her ill at +ease when she was alone with him. + +Lawrence was irritated that she should so immediately react into what he +called the old conventional habit toward blind people, and keep it +standing like a stupid but solid wall between all their talk. Now that +she was no longer dependent on him, she appeared to him more attractive. +He thought of her husband, and wondered if Claire's attitude toward +himself was tempered with the thought of the man at home. "Surely," he +told himself, "she can't be allowing that to come between us, for it is +so obviously quite unnecessary." Then he began to wonder how much of her +life was centered about her husband. What sort of man was he, and did +she love him devotedly? As he thought, there crept into his feeling a +sense of irritation against the unknown man who was obstructing his +friendship with the woman he had carried half through the Andes +Mountains. + +Then the longing for his work came over him, and there were times when +he felt he must do something. He spoke needlessly sharp words to +Claire. Though she concealed her anger, there grew between them a +continuous straining born out of mutual misunderstanding and a great +submerged tangle of emotions. + +One morning when Ortez in snow-shoes and fur had gone for the day to +look after his traps, Claire washed up the tin dishes they used, and sat +down before the fire opposite Lawrence. His head was in his hands and +his face was somber. + +"You look sad this morning," she said casually. + +"Do I?" he answered. "I'm not--especially. I was just planning a piece +of work, dreaming it out in outline." + +She looked at him thoughtfully. His forehead was high and broad, she +thought, and his hands-- Their days in the wilderness rushed back over +her. She was angry at the memories they brought her, and doubly angry at +Lawrence, as if he only were responsible. + +"It's inconceivable," she said calmly, "that you, without seeing, can +really carve anything true to form and line." In her voice was +incredulity and unbelief. + +He rose suddenly, his face white, and said, with an intensity that +startled her: "That sentiment is as familiar to me as my name. I have +heard it from sight-bigoted people from the days when I made my first +attempt to go back to my school work. I am rather weary of it." + +She sat staring at him for a moment, then she laughed. She could not +have told why she did it, and she was instantly sorry. The blood rushed +to his face. + +"I shall create that which will forever assure you that I can carve true +to the most familiar form and line you know," he said fiercely. + +Her face was as crimson as his now, though she felt ice cold. + +"What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice unsteady. + +He laughed bitterly. In his own heart a fierce volcanic surge was raging +which he did not attempt to control. + +"Do you think that I, trained as I am to gather fact from touch, could +carry you through weeks of hell in my arms, against my breast, and not +know you, you as you are, Claire Barkley? I shall carve you, you with +your cold reserve suppressing the emotional chaos within you, and you +will not fail to recognize yourself." + +Claire gripped the chair arms. Anger, fear, doubt, then the knowledge +that he could do as he said, swept over her in rapidly succeeding waves, +and gathered at last into a steel hate that she felt must last through +eternity. + +"You, you would do that, after I guided you here! You would take +advantage of what I could not help, and--and--" she choked, and then +said swiftly--"so, under your indifferent exterior you used your touch +that way these days! Oh, you--you beast!" + +Lawrence laughed coolly. "I could no more help it than I can avoid being +here." + +"Lies!" she exclaimed. "A gentleman could help it!" + +"Perhaps, but not an artist." + +"And what of beauty, of your boasted purity of art, is there in that?" + +"All," he said calmly. "If you knew, oh, if I could make you see what +every artist knows"--he was talking passionately now, his face illumined +in spite of his blind eyes--"you would realize, that I could not help +it, that I glory in it, and that it was and is the way of art." + +He rose and walked the floor, pouring out his creed in a stream of +burning words. "I am a machine, a sensitive thing that registers what it +feels and knows, that is all. You touch me, my brain registers that +touch, and something in me, the will to live, the desire to create, the +insistent shout for expression says, 'Take that and carve it in stone.' +If I could see, if I were not blind, I would have been a painter. I +would have painted you, almost naked as you were, your eyes filled with +the hunger for life, your face tense with racing thoughts, I would have +painted you fully, all of you, as you were in night-gown and skirt there +in that forest, and you would have shouted to all the world from my +canvas, 'Look at me, I am the primitive, the wild, the passionate, the +tender, the selfish and unselfish living woman. See me as I am, +cultured, refined, educated, elemental withal, and the emblem of +humanity as it is, still stained with the traditional mud of +superstition and blood that marks its origin. Oh, I would have painted +you so, and now I shall carve you so!" + +He stopped, and Claire looked at him wildly, her eyes aflame with hate +and admiration. + +"You would use another human being that way?" she gasped. + +"I would use any one, I would, I will, at any cost to them, to me, if +the outcome be a piece of art, a work that in its truth, its immortal +beauty, shall stand a lasting testimony that I, Lawrence Gordon, have +mastered blindness and registered life correctly." + +A great light swept over her mind; that was the key to him. He would +sacrifice himself to conquer blindness--but would he, she wondered, and +instantly her thought found expression. + +"Would you crush yourself to create that mastery of blindness?" + +He laughed. "I have, I am doing it," he said. "I would go through all +the torment of the world if I might create something lasting, true, and +beautiful." + +Claire leaned forward, her lips apart, her eyes bright. That she hated +this man she was sure, yet all her woman's soul was awed by what she now +saw behind his mask of blindness. Then a new thought came to her. + +"Might it not be," she asked subtly, "if you hold suffering to be the +key to beauty that you would profit more at last by denying the impulse +to create the thing you are planning?" + +He laughed again. "I hold that pain is only the spur to progress. I care +nothing for the sentimentalism you are talking now. I carried you +through the wilderness, I suffered and bore it, I staggered through +nights and days with your warm body against mine that I might live, and +now--now I know the value of life, I understand as never before the pain +our fathers paid. I know the bitter animal war against environment, +evolution whipped into action by pain, hunger, fear of death, and I +shall carve that, all that, into the statue of one woman." + +"And what of me, me and you as such, Claire and Lawrence, who were there +through that struggle in the wilderness?" The speech leaped from +somewhere in her being before she knew it, and with it came knowledge +that stung her into tearful self-hate. + +"We shall go back to our old lives, I suppose, and live them out." + +It was what she had expected him to say, yet the calm matter-of-fact +statement hurt her as nothing he had ever said before. + +Lawrence dropped into the arm-chair again, and rested his head on his +hand. He was calmer now, and, reviewing in his mind what he had said, he +was beginning to ask himself why had he given way to this sudden +resentment against Claire. If she doubted him because he was blind, was +that any more than others had done? He had never burst out against them. +What was the matter with him? He surveyed the whole trend of his life up +to this minute: how he had broken at late adolescence from a glowing +idealist to a wanderer through varying paths of thought; always stirred, +stimulated, and swept on by contact with other people, books he had +read, women for whom he had occasional fancies of love, until gradually +he settled into his assured manner. It was exercise he needed, that and +work. + +He asked himself if he seriously loved Claire, and answered +unequivocally that he did not. He wanted her friendship very much, +indeed, but love, not at all. If she had been single, perhaps--but no, +he did not care about her that way, that was all. He had been too long +shut up here in the cabin with her and without work. He must get some +wood and amuse himself carving things with Ortez's knife; it would be +good practise, and, at the same time, relieve his nerves. He was sorry +he had let himself go; Claire must not be hurt. + +"Claire," he said quietly, "if I wounded you, if I said things I ought +not, pardon me! I am getting nervous doing nothing, and I am not myself +these days." + +She laughed calmly. "Oh, very well!" she said. "I wonder that we don't +come to blows, cooped up here as we are. I think next time Philip makes +his rounds I'll go with him." + +"It would be a good thing," answered Lawrence. "I'd like it myself." + +Claire did not keep up the talk. She, too, was thinking fast, and facing +new problems that demanded her attention. She was surprised to find that +her resentment toward Lawrence was completely gone. What would her +husband think of him? What would he do when she returned, when she told +him of her journey with this blind man through weeks and weeks of +wilderness when they were almost naked. She stopped, that was what +Lawrence had said, 'almost naked.' Her flesh tingled as she saw the +picture which he said he would like to paint of her. + +What would she, Claire Barkley, do if such a picture were painted? She +buried her face deep in her hands, but in her heart she knew that she +would respect the man who painted it. And if Lawrence carved her so in +stone, and did it as he thought he could--she pondered over that for +some time. + +"I think," she said aloud, and Lawrence raised his head, "that if I were +to stay shut up here alone as Philip does, I should go crazy before +spring." + +"It all depends on how your mind is occupied," he laughed. + +She blushed guiltily, and was glad he could not see her face. + + +TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK. Don't forget this magazine +is issued weekly, and that you will get the +continuation of this story without waiting a month. + + +WHAT LIBERTY BONDS MEAN + +PATRIOTISM, VICTORY, THE SOUNDEST INVESTMENT IN THE +WORLD, A PERFECT MEANS OF SAVING + +BUY ALL YOU CAN + + + + +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 VII. + +PLAYING WITH FIRE. + + +In the late afternoon, Philip returned to find Lawrence still sitting +before the fire, his mind centered on ideas for his future work. Claire +had disappeared behind the canvas curtain which was stretched before her +bed. + +"It is almost Christmas," announced Philip, as he entered. + +Lawrence straightened up. "Back again?" he said, carelessly. "It's been +a beastly day." + +Claire came out from her partition, laughing. "If you don't take one of +us with you next time," she said, "I won't answer for the tragedy that +may follow." + +Philip laughed, and shook the snow from his big coat. + +"Too much of your own continuous company?" he asked. + +"Yes"--her tone was light, but he saw that she was in earnest--"we are +so accustomed to each other that we both need a rest." She drew up a +chair for Philip before the fire. + +His dark eyes looked searchingly at her. + +"If you knew the path to peace," he said, "you would be happier. I see +that I must take you out with me and teach you the hidden entrance to +that mystic roadway." + +"You know one, then?" Lawrence's voice was amusedly skeptical. + +"It lies through the heart of man into the heart of"--Philip +paused--"shall I say God?" + +"You may as well, though it isn't especially clear." Lawrence smiled. +"God is a big, but vague, term." + +"I find it so," Philip answered, seriously. "There are days, however, +and this was one of them, when I am sure of the meaning of that term. +Claire must go forth with me and see." + +"Yes, do let me go," she said, eagerly. Then, with a little laugh: "If +your mystery out there is as discomforting as the Lawrence mystery in +here, I sha'n't worship him, however." + +"He isn't." Philip arose and crossed to his books. "He is the mighty God +who speaks in solitude." He drew down a volume, and returned to his +chair. + +"I find here in these mountains the medicine that _Hamlet_ should have +had. He would have been no _Hamlet_ had he ranged this plateau for a day +in winter." + +"And the world would be the loser," Lawrence interposed. + +Claire rose and started to prepare their evening meal. She had taken +over the duties of housekeeping from the time her ankle had allowed her +to walk. + +"If you two are going to plunge the house into an argument such as that +one promises to be," she said gaily, "I am going to reenforce the inner +man so that at least you won't suffer from physical exhaustion." + +Both men laughed, and one of them listened to her thoughtfully as she +moved about, while the other watched her, his dark eyes full of a keen +appreciation of her grace and her concise, accurate movements. + +"How good it is to have her here," thought Philip. Aloud, he said, +seriously: "I do not think the world gains enough from _Hamlet_ to make +it worth the price he paid." + +"Why not?" Lawrence was quick to respond. "Whatever his agony, whatever +his failures and his death, he left the world a picture of man's heroic +struggles to solve the riddle of the universe, his wisdom, his +strength--and his weakness." + +"But that is just what we don't want--the picture of man's weakness. It +is made all the worse when it is presented with the power of a sublime +work." + +Claire turned from the stove, and looked at Philip. His eyes were +burning with a deep, earnest fire that held her fascinated. She thought +him the most beautiful of all the men she knew. It was not his face, not +his appearance generally, but his eyes. Oh, the loss of such eyes! she +thought--yes, they are what makes him a finer man than Lawrence. Why +hasn't Lawrence such eyes? + +"Believe me, friend," Philip was speaking again, "if I could erase from +my knowledge the weakness of man, I would not need to trail my feet +through these snow-buried forests to find an hour's rest from life." + +Claire saw his fingers move nervously on the arms of his chair, and +thought: "That is it, then; I was right; he has his tragedy." She looked +at him again, and as she met his eyes she felt that she was sorrier for +him than she had ever been for Lawrence. Yes, she was sorrier for this +man whose soul burned out of his eyes than for that other whose soul was +always curtained by the expressionless mask that hid him. + +"I can't quite agree with you," Lawrence was saying; "I, too, know the +weakness of man, but there is, nevertheless, the glory of sublime beauty +which alone stands, immortal. I should indeed mourn for man if he were +unable to be truly immortal even in his created work. That, it seems to +me, saves him." + +"Or loses him," Philip added. "One golden life of unbroken sunshine, +dead at last and laid away in the memory of friends is worth more than +your greatest poem." + +"I should call that sentimentality," Lawrence laughed. + +"So it is," Philip flashed, "and why not? Must we kill sentiment and go +about with hearts of ice because our world is hard?" + +"Is there no way to keep ourselves warm without poultices?" retorted +Lawrence. + +Claire sat down at the table. "Come on and enjoy your venison, you two, +and have done with the ills of the universe." + +The two men joined her. It was a strange trio: Claire, a dashing boy in +Philip's made-over corduroys; Lawrence wearing his host's summer serge +as though it were his own, and Philip looking at them, amusedly. + +"I never quite recover from the charm of you in male attire," Ortez +remarked, looking into her face. + +"I've tried at times since our fortunate misfortune to imagine her in +evening gowns and furs," said Lawrence; "but I always fail and end by +getting her into some sort of barbaric costume belonging to the distant +past." + +"You are both flattering and both foolish," she told them. "It's my +business to look well in clothes, you know, and it's masculine to admit +my efficiency in a particularly feminine line." + +"You were scarcely fascinatingly efficient in the garb in which you +first appeared to me." Philip laughed at the recollection. + +"That isn't fair. I would have been if I had had enough to eat." + +She looked at him, and her eyes sparkled gaily. + +"I surrender," he said. "You would have been. Too fascinating!" + +"That also depends on circumstances," said Lawrence. "She wouldn't be +fascinatingly efficient in that back-to-nature garb if she were doing +charity work at home or if she were taking a trip in an airplane." + +"You carry your point," she agreed. "I shouldn't care to try." + +"Which leads me," Lawrence went on, "to observe that our friend, +Shakespeare, was, after all, right in bequeathing _Hamlet_ to us. He +might not look well in our own castle, but as a portrait viewed in our +neighbor's house, or in a house unspecified, he is the high point of +subjective tragedy." + +Ortez did not answer for a moment, then he said, quietly: "I had rather +lose my winter's work than lost _Hamlet_ from my memory, yet when I +think of what there is in life for a man, did he not have _Hamlet's_ +doubt to face, I think perhaps we would all be better off for no +knowledge of that subjective war. Man has too much to do to lift himself +out of the still clinging primordial slough to dally with +subjectiveness. We should be acting, aggressive, strident in the +strength of the war we wage toward freedom." + +"Of course," agreed Lawrence, "but that requires only one thing, the +master passion to do, because for us, doing is life. I cannot regret +_Hamlet's_ hesitating failure. It was his life. To every man there is +but one way, his way, and whether it be failure or success does not +depend upon an avenged wrong, a successful marriage, or even a great +work done for humanity. The test is, is his life worth the price he pays +to live it? I imagine _Hamlet's_ was." + +"Fallacies!" interrupted Claire. "Why, then, the tragedy?" + +"Because _Hamlet_ did not know that the governing laws to which he +strove to hold himself were not laws, not true, not necessary." + +"You mean," Ortez inquired, "that he was not bound to avenge his father +and punish his mother?" + +"I mean just that. Why should he? She was satisfied, his father was +dead, and _Hamlet_ gained nothing by his moral strutting and raving +against his own hesitating hand." + +"But you have swept aside all moral law," protested Philip. + +"What moral law is there that is external to me? What, indeed, is moral +law?" + +"That which makes for life, perhaps, as some one has said," offered +Claire. + +"For my life, yes. That which to me means life, is good. That which to +me means less life, is bad." + +"Yet you carried Claire through the mountains," Philip's voice was hard. + +"Because I needed her, because she was essential to my life." + +"Then you would have left her, had she been a hindrance?" + +"That depends," answered Lawrence slowly. "Had she made my life +uncertain when otherwise I might have lived, I think I would. Of course, +if her being there merely increased my trouble, I should have brought +her." + +Claire was watching Philip's face. It was a study. On it there was +something that made her heart beat faster, she found herself unable to +tell why. She glanced at Lawrence. There he sat, his strong, stern face, +calm and soulless. She wondered why blindness robbed this man of his +rightful appearance. He had a soul, and it was a wild, beauty-loving +soul, she knew, but blindness quite mantled it. On the other hand, +Philip's was a mighty fire within, which shone in beauty through his +eyes. Lawrence had quietly spoken of how he would have left her under +other circumstances. Philip would have died at her side, she knew it. +What a difference between them! + +"But if you feel as you declare, why take that extra trouble to save +her?" Philip asked. + +"Because I have a certain dislike of death and don't care to cause it +myself if I can help it." + +Claire laughed. "But death, you said once, is a mere stopping of animal +action. Why dread that?" + +"Because I myself do not care to die, I would not care to cause your +death." + +Philip rose and went to the fire. "I do not believe you could live by +your theory," he asserted. + +"I do live by it. There is but one thing I dread worse than death. I +would die rather than give up my creative impulse." + +"And he would sacrifice your life or mine for art's sake," merrily added +Claire. "It's a good thing he doesn't think we are hindrances to art." + +Philip also laughed. "Well," he said, "there might come a time when I, +too, would want a thing enough to kill in order to obtain it." + +"What, for example?" asked Lawrence. "That is the best way to determine +your value of life." + +Philip did not answer for a few minutes, then his voice vibrated. + +"The things that mean more than life to me. I know that one holds his +own life dear, but there are things, love, courage, honor, for example, +that he holds even above life." + +"Would you kill me, for instance," asked Lawrence pleasantly, "if I +stood between you and Claire?" + +"That is scarcely answerable," nervously interposed Claire. "You see, +you don't and the man who does--though it's all absurd, since we none of +us here are the least in love--is my husband." + +"I had almost forgotten him," said Lawrence, his voice lingering softly +on the word "almost." + +Philip laughed. "Why, yes, in the abstract, I should say that if +anything would make me kill you, it would be your standing between me +and the woman I loved. Of course, the case is fair, but scarcely +probable enough to make any of us worry." + +"True"--Lawrence joined him at the fire--"and by the way, while I think +of it, I want a knife and a block of soft wood. I'm going to entertain +myself these days." + +Quickly Claire looked up. + +"And you shall entertain me, Philip," she said gaily. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE TIGHTENING NET. + + +Christmas was upon them. They gathered before the big fireplace in +silent meditation, while outside the wind whipped sheeted snow against +the walls and wailed dismally its endless journeying. They could not +help but feel the something melancholy in the air. The little cabin, +standing so far away from civilization and all the things they were +accustomed to know seemed somehow to set them apart from the rest of the +world and leave them stranded as it were, upon a barren stretch of +thought. + +In keeping with the setting, solemn questions of destiny, death, and the +meaning of things took the place of the usual Christmas festival and +glitter. + +In Lawrence's mind, Claire was growing more and more predominant. He +found her constant association weaving itself into his life until, when +he looked ahead toward the day when they must part, he discovered +himself asking what he could find that would take her place. Her voice, +her little habits of speech, the unexpected question that showed her +deep interest in him, in his work, and in his attitude toward her, these +had gradually stirred in him the desire to establish in his own mind a +definite relation toward her which he could maintain. + +When Claire went out for a while with Philip, Lawrence spent the interim +in trying to reason out his problem. He told himself that he would feel +differently in his old environment with friends and work, but the answer +was not satisfactory. He knew that even there, he would miss the quick +sound of movement, the quick phrase that was Claire. + +Did he love her then? He asked himself that, and could not answer. What +was love to him, anyway? He sought to think out a scheme of love that +would fit into his system of utter selfishness, and failed. The memory +of her in his arms came to him now with a warm, emotional coloring that +had been absent during the days of their journey. + +Had he been so impersonal then at first? He remembered his first wild +joy at finding her there in the surf, and he admitted that even then +there had been a subtle heightening of his pleasure, because it was a +woman. Since his blindness he had been separated from the other sex even +more than from his own, and now he was to live with one daily, having +her alone to talk to, to watch, to be interested in, and to know--yes, +that had been a part of his feeling that morning. He remembered that he +had been slightly irritated at her when he had first decided that she +was cold and intellectual. He had wanted her to be warm, colorful, +vivid, and feminine. He had found later that she was all these things, +but not toward him. It was a man whom he had never known, her husband, +Howard Barkley, for whom she was wholly woman. Always when she spoke of +him her voice had warmed, grown softer, subtly shaded with color. + +Claire opened the cabin door. + +"Hello, Mr. Dreamer! Still in the land of to-morrow?" she called, taking +off her heavy wraps. + +"Where's Philip?" Lawrence demanded gruffly, without moving. + +"Working over a trap in the ravine. I was a little tired, so I didn't +wait." + +Lawrence could hear her brushing her hair. He was glad she had returned +without Philip. Now at least they would have a few minutes alone. + +"Snow bad?" he asked. If he could only have run his hands through that +curly mass! The memory of her hair brushing against his face made his +temples throb dully. + +"Yes, my hair is filled with it. I caught my cap on a branch, and the +whole load of snow came down on top of me." + +"How old are you, Claire?" he demanded suddenly. + +She laughed. "Guess! Don't you know it isn't good form to ask a lady her +age?" + +"Sometimes you are quite thirty, and other times--" + +"Well, go on." Claire was standing at the opposite side of the fireplace +with her back to the flame. + +"Other times, you are two," Lawrence continued calmly. + +"I thought that was coming. Well, just to prove what a really nice +person I am, I'll tell you. I'm twenty-six." + +"When were you married, Claire?" Her breath tightened at his question. + +"Curiosity is a wonderful thing, and the impudence of man passeth all +understanding. I have been married exactly six years, three months, and +twenty-four days." The last sentence brought the catch into her voice +that Lawrence had expected. + +"I know you miss your husband," he forced himself to say formally. + +"Yes, you see"--Claire hesitated--"ours wasn't like some marriages one +hears about. Howard and I were both very much in love." She realized too +late the past tense. Had Lawrence noticed it? "I miss him dreadfully," +she added desperately. + +Lawrence said nothing. He had noticed Claire's slip, and the verb had +sent him into a thousand realized dreams. The next instant he was +cursing himself for a fool. "Fools, all of us," he thought. "Philip, +too, warming himself with dreams of Claire." Before the nearness of the +Spaniard's personality, Howard Barkley faded into the background. +Lawrence reviewed his own position moodily. + +Blind, unable to do the work that Philip did, certainly unable to use +the million little ways of courtesy-building as Philip did, his chances +were unequal. + +Did he want Claire for Claire, or was it only the fighting instinct, the +desire to overcome men not handicapped as he was? Would he still want +Claire after he had won her? After the intimacies of home life had made +her familiar as nothing else could, and had dispelled all romance, all +the alluring appeal that sprang from the deepest sex-prompted desire yet +unattained, would he still want her? That was the question, and he could +not say. The experience alone could tell him--and would that experience +ever come? + +Claire watched Lawrence's face, the while her own thoughts raced on. It +had been love she felt for her husband. She was sure of that. Of course, +in the years of their life together, the old, wild passion had gradually +retired into its normal proportion, leaving them free to go about calmly +and untroubled. But it was there, as she well knew in the hours when +they became lovers again. Certainly those hours had been joyous, happy +ones, unclouded by any suspicion of mere gratification of impulse or +desire. Yes, they had been hours of love claiming its rightful +expression over the more constant hours of daily living. + +Then she recalled her experience of the night before. She had been +dreaming of her husband, but he possessed Lawrence's features, illumined +with the glow of Philip's eyes, and she had started into full +wakefulness with a sudden sense of her position. Now she sat before the +fire, and resolved grimly that no matter what happened she would be +faithful to Howard. Of course, she would go with Philip to look after +his traps, the exercise was the best antidote to such morbid thoughts, +and he would never make advances to her, of that she was sure. As for +the days that she might spend alone with Lawrence, he was too +self-centered, too much wrapped up in his wood-carving, to think of a +woman--and she disregarded the little pang of discontent that +accompanied her thought. + +Philip was hanging the skins over the door. Claire realized that she had +been too engrossed to notice his entrance. + +"I break a six weeks' fast to-day"--and he turned toward Lawrence. "Do +you smoke?" + +"Man!" said Lawrence, springing up, "if I'd known you had tobacco in +store I'd have murdered you long ago to get it. I would be a more +agreeable companion if I could taste tobacco now and then." + +"Pardon me for not thinking to ask you. I was declaring a six months' +course in self-discipline for the good of my soul." + +"Bring forth the smoke," said Lawrence joyously. + +"Unfortunately"--Philip turned to Claire--"a bachelor's storehouse +contains no treat for a lady. Your visit was unexpected." + +"I shall gain my pleasure through watching you two sink back into a +beloved vice," she answered. + +"Horrible!" Lawrence sat down, and took the cigarette which Philip +produced. "To enjoy seeing one succumb to vice." + +"Isn't it characteristic of scandal-loving humanity?" she rejoined. + +"And on Christmas Day!" Philip chided her lightly. Then he went on, +seriously: "But one should really be above all things save love and +gratitude to God on this day." + +"I suppose so," said Lawrence, "but it's difficult to determine just +where this object of gratitude abides and what He is." + +"Is it necessary to locate Him?" asked Claire. + +Lawrence breathed deeply with the satisfaction in his cigarette. "I +should hate to direct my gratitude toward some one who missed it, and +thus have it lost in desert space," he answered. + +"It isn't that we need God so much as it is simply the good we gain +ourselves," said Philip slowly. "I still follow the old trail for my own +heart's sake." + +"And does it get you anywhere?" Lawrence's question was characteristic. + +"Yes, I think so. I find myself nearer to the source of that which is +worth while." + +"What is worth while?" Claire asked. + +The answers she obtained were the two men revealed. + +"The fullest life possible for me," said Lawrence. + +"The fullest heart possible for me," followed Philip. + +"But you both mean the same thing, don't you?" asked Claire. + +"I mean the fullest number of my own desires gratified," Lawrence +avowed. + +Philip leaned back in his chair and looked at Claire, meditatively. + +"If he did as he says, we should have to lock him up," he observed. + +They all laughed. + +"Not at all." Lawrence was amiably argumentative. "To be sure, if my +desires were gratified at your expense, as this smoke, for example"--he +laughed--"and on an all-inclusive scale, you might have to resort to +personal violence. But, in fact, many of my desires would bring you joy +in their gratification, you know." + +"I do know," said Philip cordially, "but the danger in your point of +view is that it allows for no check. You would sacrifice both of us if +it were necessary to gratify your desires--that is, if you lived true to +your assertion." + +"Perhaps I would. I don't know. There is the weak point in my whole +scheme. I evade it by failing to sacrifice you, but I support my theory +by saying there is no occasion to do so." + +"I don't like your principles," Philip rejoined, "though I admit that my +own fail me more often than not." + +"Exactly. We humans do fail, and the conclusion to which it brings me +is, why hold principles that you find unworkable? I prefer a standard to +which I can at least be true, in the main, and avoid self-condemnation, +pricks of conscience, and other little inconveniences." + +"Such as a sense of duty?" interrupted Claire. + +"That above all, Claire," he laughed. + +"And obligation?" + +"Yes, that too, if you mean a sense of being bound to one because of +something he has done in the past. For instance, I am obliged to Philip +for his food, his house, my life, and this cigarette, but I scarcely +feel that that would imply that I must sacrifice my greatest desire in +life as payment if necessary. Of course, it isn't necessary, but if it +were, I should refuse." + +"I think you would not," asserted Philip. + +"I know I would. I rather believe you would also, though it might be +that you would not." + +"I would sacrifice anything to pay a debt of gratitude." Philip spoke +warmly. + +"You would--perhaps--but in so doing would you not feel that gratitude +was the thing of supreme worth to yourself?" + +"Not necessarily. I might even suffer all my life for having done so." + +"Impossible. You would either redeem your sense of life's value by a new +belief, or you would die." + +"Then you think a man can do as he pleases and maintain his +self-respect, his personal integrity?" + +"He will find some way to make himself feel worth while, or he will +cease to be." + +"You think that a criminal, or perhaps better, a person abandoned to +vice, feels justified?" + +"Yes. He creates a belief by which his abandonment is not destructive to +himself, or he is converted, which is simply a convulsion of nature for +the same end, to preserve his life and make it seem valuable to him." + +"Could you, for instance, murder a man, and do it believing that +afterward you would somehow make it seem right, or at least so necessary +that you would feel as self-respecting and sin-free as before?" Philip +was speaking earnestly. + +"I should not do so unless I were forced to it, but if I were, I know +that I would somehow reconstruct my mental life so that I would still +feel existence worth the price." + +Claire leaned forward. "Lawrence," she said jestingly, "you have swept +away the bulwark of the home, made infidelity easy, and numberless +separated families inevitable with your bold, bad talk. Aren't you sorry +for all those tragedies?" + +He laughed. "Very," he said, "though it was watching such proceedings +take place so frequently that led me to accept my theory. Think of the +men and women who are unfaithful, who leave their wedded partner for +another, and still find life worth while." + +"But that is their failure to live true to their principles," said +Philip. "It is commonly called sin, my friend." + +"It may be, according to their light, but they generally get a new light +afterward. You see, I do not believe that God joins men and women. I am +persuaded that a very natural physical desire does so, and it doesn't +follow that the first is the only or best union." + +"My husband would simply dread me if I held your view, and I should feel +very wary if I were your wife, Lawrence," remarked Claire. + +That was the central point in the whole discussion, though none of them +were aware of it. Vaguely they felt that they were groping their way +toward the future, but they did not allow the feeling to reach a +conscious state, and Philip laughingly broke up the talk. + +"Here we are," he said, yawning, "the fire is making us all sleepy, +we're talking foolishness, and we need exercise. Why not get it? I think +we might all of us go out and face the wind for a quarter of an hour, +then let it blow us back to camp like three children. I have the skis +for us all." + +"Great!" Claire clapped her hands in applause. + +"It's a splendid idea," agreed Lawrence, and they set forth. + +It was hard going against the wind; Philip was the only one who managed +his skis very satisfactorily, and Lawrence, of course, had to be +assisted, but the crust was smooth and clear, and they made great sport +of it. The two men placed Claire between them and crossed hands in front +of her, like skaters. The fresh snow-filled air blew into their lungs, +and they laughed like boys on a holiday. Claire glanced at the two and +thought: "What a pair to be between!" Then laughed again. All the +morbidity was gone, she was not thinking follies now, and neither of +them was more than a good friend. Philip was thinking that Claire was +good to see as she moved along between them, her graceful stroke +carrying her over the snow, her cheeks stung red in the wind. Lawrence +was not thinking at all. He was simply moving, deeply enjoying the wind +and the exercise and the soft, strong little hand upon his own, helping +to guide him through his darkness. + +When they turned and stood close together, the wind caught them like a +sail and sent them skimming before it. The sense of tobogganing was +keenly exhilarating. Home, problems, worries, the future, all seemed +very simply, very easy, and not at all a matter for long conversations +before a hot fire. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +CLAIRE'S ABASEMENT. + + +The following days and even weeks passed quickly, carried on the wave of +light-hearted play which Philip had so wisely started that Christmas +night. February came with clear sun that set the snow glittering like a +field of crystal under the dark pines, and they laughed with exuberance +of spirit as they swept over it on their skis. Even Lawrence became an +adept as long as he had one of their guiding hands to hold. All +speculation was gone for the time being. Lawrence and Claire gave +themselves up to a frank comradeship, in which Philip formed a splendid +third, so that they seemed a trio of happy, healthy animals whose lives +flowed without a break in the mere pleasure of living. + +But one morning early in the month, Philip said after breakfast, over +his coffee and cigarette, "I'm going for the day to my farthest traps +across the river. Claire, would you care to go? We'll get back late this +evening." + +"I would," she said promptly. "I'll be ready in a few minutes." + +Lawrence did not say anything, but to his sudden surprise he felt his +heart sink. An insistent inner voice was saying, "I wish she wouldn't +go." + +He heard her, back of the curtain, dressing for the trip, and his little +petulant thought grew into gloom at the prospect of her being away. He +felt irritated at Philip for suggesting that she go. + +"You'll have to leave me a good spread, Claire," he said finally when +she emerged into the room. + +"I'll fix you up a great meal," she laughed. "You can eat all day, if +you like." In her voice there was an unusual warmth, for at his words +she felt suddenly as though she were thoughtless of him in going. For a +minute she pondered giving up the trip, then concluded that to do so +would seem ridiculous, and set about preparing his lunch. + +Philip rose and, putting on his heavy coat, said carelessly, "You can +carve us a new wooden image, Lawrence." + +The words were casual and without intention, but they angered. Lawrence +felt as though both of them were trying to make amends to him for their +going, as though, being blind, he must of course stay at home, but ought +to have something to occupy his time. His resentment grew stronger as he +continued to think of their supposed condescension. + +When the lunches were ready Claire and Philip started. At the door she +paused and said gaily: "Keep the house warm for our returning, +Lawrence." + +He was sullenly angry and made no reply. The frank way in which she +spoke of herself and Philip somehow recalled to his mind other couples, +married lovers starting out somewhere, and his heart tightened +perceptibly. After they were gone he sat thinking for a long time, and +his impulsive feeling clarified into certainty. Claire and Philip were +in love. Perhaps they did not know it yet themselves, and had not +spoken, perhaps they had; at any rate, they were in love. It had grown +between them in his very presence, and he, doubly blind fool, had not +known. If he could have seen, it would have been clear to him, of +course. + +He thought of Claire's husband, and grew virtuously angry at Claire. +Howard Barkley would mourn his days out, never knowing that his beloved +wife was living in Bolivia with a Spanish trapper! He saw Claire going +about the cabin as Philip's wife and doing for love the things she now +did out of a desire to be of use, and his rage grew. Was it not for love +that she did them now? But she was just as thoughtful of him as she was +of Philip. "Of course, idiot," he muttered, "she pities you; you poor, +abandoned, blind man, you are to be cared for, don't you see?" He strove +to shake himself into a different mood by self-ridicule. Was this the +philosopher who made life a matter of calm acceptance of circumstances +which he knew to be his master? He laughed at himself, but the laugh was +bitter, and he knew that he was not willing to accept this particular +turn of circumstances. + +But what right had he to judge what she did? She was not his wife nor +the woman who would be his wife. She could never be his wife. There was +her husband. No, it was not her husband that counted, but Philip! +Suddenly Lawrence realized the point that he had reached. + +He loved Claire Barkley. + +The admission of that at last in frank, utter avowal set him dreaming of +the joys she might have been to him. He thought of a thousand little +intimacies, cares, thoughtfulnesses, that she might have given him and +received from him, and they were all made vital, real, by the now ardent +memory of her in his arms, of the hands he had held in his own so often +of late in the open. + +In the afternoon he grew disgusted with himself. He had moped all day in +his chair, moving only to replenish the fire or get a cigarette, and he +now shook himself vigorously free from his thoughts. "You love her, yes, +and she obviously does not love you," he told himself. "Why, then, make +the best of it, if you can't do better, and at least don't be a beast in +your treatment of your host when he comes back to his own hearth." + +With that he dragged out a block of wood, took his knife, and went to +work. As was his way, he was soon unconscious of everything but the +piece of wood beneath his hand. He had never done wood-carving before, +and he was learning the technique that made it very different from clay. +He had gone at this piece without any special intent and was shaping it +into a cherub merely out of whim, but he was giving to the task every +atom of his skill, and his hands worked with every nerve strained to +detect and keep line and proportion. + +Swiftly under his knife the child's body grew in shape, and he caressed +the rough form tenderly. He would polish it later, and then what +pleasure it would represent! It would make a great decoration for the +cabin--for her cabin. He winced--yes, for hers and Philip's cabin. +"Fool!" he ejaculated. "Forget it!" He bent again to his work, but it +did not go so smoothly. Out there she and Philip would be laughing +merrily together, skimming over the snow in long, sweeping strides, hand +in hand. Would they think of him? Probably not, or if they did it would +be to say, "Poor Lawrence! It's a pity he's blind. He has real talent." + +He gritted his teeth. Well, he had real talent, and they should know it. +She should know it. He would show her such carving as she had never +thought possible. After all, was her love to him, Lawrence the artist, +the capable, blindness-conquering artist? "I am reconstructing my life," +he thought, "so that I can still find it valuable without the woman I +want." He again laughed bitterly and said to himself, "You poor, blind, +groveling beast, you, what a poor excuse for life you have, and what a +tawdry substitute you would offer Claire for the vast joy that is hers! +Oh, it is contemptible!" + +He bent over his work again, and the door opened. + +Claire came across the room and leaned over him, her body radiating a +cool, healthy perfume as she laid her hand on his shoulder. + +"Oh, what a splendid piece of work, Lawrence!" + +Her voice was joyous, triumphant, and his heart beat desperately against +his chest. "They've declared their love," he thought, and then he said +simply, his voice vibrant with the emotion he did not otherwise show, +"It's been beastly lonesome to-day, Claire." + +She laughed gaily, while her eyes clouded. Then she noticed the +untouched food on the table. + +"Why, Lawrence, didn't you like the lunch I fixed for you?" + +"It was bully, Claire," he answered quickly, "but I wasn't very hungry +to-day--I don't know why." + +The emotional coloring in his voice set her whole being atremble. She +had come in, radiant with the day's pleasure, and he had met her with +his need. He had been too blue even to eat. She was suddenly seized with +pity for him, as she thought of his long day alone. But more than that, +over and over in her heart she kept saying, with a joy she could not +conceal from herself, "He loves me! He loves me!" + +Philip came in and bent over them both to look at the wooden child. + +"_Caramba!_ it is a marvelous thing!" he exclaimed. The unconscious use +of the Spanish word showed the genuineness of his admiration. + +Claire laughed joyously. She was glad that Philip knew the power of this +blind man who loved her, and a vague feeling came over her that she was +now somehow safe from Philip. Instantly she wondered at her feeling the +need of safety from him. Glancing back over Lawrence's head, she met +Ortez's eyes and read in their look a tenderness that he did not know +was there. Her heart leaped unsteadily, and her lashes dropped. She was +saying to herself, "How wonderful he is!" + +Then she turned and almost ran behind the curtain that walled her room. +On the edge of her bed she sat, her face in her hands, hot tears burning +her eyes, while over and over the blood rushed into her cheeks and out +again. + +"Claire! Claire! What sort of a woman are you?" she moaned. + +Her heart beat irregularly under the surge of emotion that shook her. +She was glad, glad that Lawrence loved her. She had looked into the eyes +of Philip Ortez, and her own had dropped, while her mind had leaped into +admiration of him, warm, yielding admiration. What was it that had swept +her on the discovery of one man's love to a deep, vibrant gladness--that +another man's eyes had been filled with tenderness for her? Was she so +changed from the Claire of old? Was she utterly degraded? Did she want +both men to love her? Did she love either of them? What of her husband? +She sank down on the bed and wept silently. + +They were talking out there in the cabin. She heard Lawrence say +laughingly: "One gets accustomed to hearing your voices around, and to +hearing Claire do things, so that a day alone seems endless." + +"Hearing Claire do things"--that was it--and suppose he knew what she +was, would he want to hear her then? + +"Oh, I know," Philip was answering. "It gets to be a sort of necessity, +doesn't it, when we have so many associations and memories all among +ourselves? I shall find the place dreary next winter, I am afraid, when +you are back among your friends, and Claire"--he paused slightly--"will +be going about as ever, doing things for her husband somewhere up there +in the States." + +Would her husband ever imagine or discover what she was? If he did, he +would leave her. She remembered a girl in the slums at home who had +refused to be uplifted. "Aw, one fellow ain't enough. A plain ham is all +right for some, but I want a club-sandwich." She shuddered now at the +memory of the girl's words, and shrank together on her bed. Was she +another of that sort, abnormal, degenerate, whose life must find its +level at last in the sordid riot of promiscuity, disguising itself as +love? If Claire had never touched the bed-rock of self-abasement before, +she was doing it now, there in that cabin. + +She heard Ortez starting to get supper, and she sat up quickly. With +stern control she forced herself to seem composed and quiet, while +within her passions raged like a tornado. Self-contempt, wonder, +amazement, pity for her husband, for Lawrence, and hatred for Philip +Ortez swept round and round in her brain like a maelstrom. + +She stepped through her curtain and said gaily: "You're preempting my +privilege, Philip." + +He laughed. "I thought perhaps you were tired," he said. + +"She ought to be," remarked Lawrence from his chair, and in her present +state she imagined in his voice a tenderness, a worry for her, and a +distrust of her. + +She took up the kettle, and hung it on its hook in the fireplace. "I +never in my life imagined myself cooking over an open fire in this way," +she said as she turned toward the little storeroom adjoining. + +"You like it?" Philip asked carelessly. + +She felt sure that his eyes had read her heart and that he was looking +toward the future, his future with the wanton mistress he had found. + +She could have screamed, "I hate you! I hate you!" but she said only, +"It's great fun for a while; I wouldn't fancy it as a permanent thing." + +"It surely must be different from the conveniences of your home." + +"Rather," she laughed as she began cutting from the smoked meat that +hung in the storeroom. + +Now it was Lawrence who was speaking. "I guess she'd surprise us if we +could supply her with a chafing-dish. I'd like to see her at work over +one in my studio with the bunch around waiting hungrily for results." + +Would these men never stop saying things that made her want to scream? +What was the matter, that all at once the beauty of her day should be +smashed into a discolored memory of self-hatred? Was there nothing in +all the world but sordid thoughts of oneself and of men who, causing +them, said things to make them worse? + +After they had eaten she went to bed as soon as possible, leaving the +men to smoke before the fire. She had pleaded weariness, and they had +laughingly told her to get to sleep. They were out there now, talking in +subdued tones so as not to disturb her--as if their voices did not ring +through her suffering mind like clarions of evil! What should they say +if she should suddenly spring before them and shout out her mad fancies? +For a moment she had the wildest of impulses to laugh aloud, then +suddenly she turned on her face as she recalled the emotion that had +swept her when she saw Philip looking at her over Lawrence's head. Sleep +finally stopped her tears. + +The two men went to bed, and there was silence in the cabin. Lawrence +was smiling, as he felt Philip's body there beside him in the darkness. +"I could kill you now," he was thinking ironically, "and end all +question of your loving Claire." + +Philip, too, was awake. He had seen the hot flush that came into +Claire's face that evening, and he knew that she had been troubled +during the supper. He wondered if she were ill. Then suddenly he asked +himself, "Is she in love with one of us?" He immediately tried to +dismiss the thought as unworthy of her. She was not the kind of woman +to forget her marriage vows. But what a home she could make for the man +she loved! If he had only known her in time! + +But there was still friendship--yes, surely she could give that. +Complete understanding and perfect sympathy would be the basis of a +lasting attachment. "Who knows?" he pondered. "It may be that fate has +sent her to me to teach me what a great self-denying love can be. In +Claire I may find my dream-star again." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +HOW SIMPLE THE SOLUTION! + + +When Claire awoke the next morning her whole being seemed gathered into +a tense strain that made her feel as though the least thing might snap +the taut nerves in her body and leave her broken and stranded on some +far, emotional shoal. Her heart beat unevenly, while her lips and hands +felt dry and hot, as if she had spent hours in a desert wind. She did +not experience the bitter anguish of the night before; such storms are +too wild to last, but it had left her deadly heavy within, and she was +unable to recover her usual calm. + +One great determination dominated her, to prevent these men, at any +cost, from knowing her real feelings. It was a determination born out of +the sheer force that was carrying her on, a struggle that came from the +very strength of the tide she sought to resist. + +She had been awakened by a sudden and clear image, the result of her +unsettled mind. Her husband was beside her, leaning over the bed and +looking down at her with a great love and a greater pity shining in his +eyes. She thought that she had thrown up her arms to close about him +with the frantic joy of a rescued person, only to have them meet in +empty air and fall listless at her sides again. + +Beyond the curtain she heard Philip saying cheerfully: "It is a great +day outside, one of Claire's days for play." + +"Good!" Lawrence answered. "We'll go out, then, and play." + +A rush of self-pity, anger against her situation, fear of she knew not +what, and a gnawing desire to escape blended in her thoughts, while her +heart warmed at the sound of Lawrence's words. + +"Oh," she thought, "I can never, never stand this day!" + +She got out of bed and began to dress, her nervous hands fumbling at the +buttons on her clothes. Her eyes, deeper and shadowed in dark rings, +stared vacantly at the white canvas before her. Lawrence was talking +again, and she listened. Presently he started across the room and bumped +into a chair. The incident was one which had become long familiar to +her, and ordinarily she would have thought nothing of it, but this +morning she flushed with sudden anger that a chair should have been left +in his way. Then she realized that she was foolish, stepped through the +curtain, and said before she thought: + +"Lawrence, I do wish that you'd look where you are going!" + +He laughed merrily. "So do I," he rejoined. "For some years failure to +do so has kept me with at least one skinned shin. But just think of the +cost of stockings had I been blind as a boy!" + +Suddenly she had a vivid picture of him as a ragged, little fellow, +stumbling about through his unfathomable darkness, bumping into things +and leaving jagged holes in his child's black stockings. Whether she +wanted to laugh or cry she did not know, but a great, warm surge of +motherliness came over her for the child she imaged, and she said aloud, +"Poor little urchin!" + +Philip turned and looked at her, smiling. "It would have been a picture +indeed," he said. + +"I had enough troubles during my rebellious childhood at the orphanage +without adding imaginary woes," Lawrence went on, amusedly +retrospective. "I remember one day when I was at the awkward stage. I +was all dressed for church and happened to stumble over another boy +lying in the grass. I fell against a bench, my trousers caught on a +projecting nail, and ripped dreadfully. The matron gave me a scolding +and sent me to bed for the day." + +"Brought up in an orphanage!" thought Claire. "No wonder he is +pessimistic." + +"I didn't mind missing church," Lawrence continued; "but it struck me as +a piece of gross injustice that I should be punished for a boy's lack of +muscular coordination. I've experienced the same fate over my blindness. +It seems to be a special trick people have, and they play it +incessantly. I should think it would get as tiresome to them by and by +as it did to me some years ago." + +Claire felt as if she were included in his casual criticism of mankind, +and wondered just how she had been addicted to the practise. A dozen +different instances came to her, and she felt very penitent. + +"It's because we're all so thoughtless," she said. + +"Perhaps. I rather choose to state it differently. It's for the same +reason that I do thousands of things, because I'm more interested in +myself than I am in any one else. I'm selfish, and so is the rest of +humanity." + +"But we aren't deliberately so," Philip protested. "Isn't it rather that +we are short-sighted and unimaginative?" + +"It may be. The end is the same. If I am too short-sighted, too +unimaginative to know how a fellow being feels, I can do nothing but +blunder along. He may be hurt by me. I may do him an injustice, I may +even cheat him of his chance at life, but it can't be helped, and again +the result amounts to my being selfish." + +As she worked over her biscuit dough, Claire listened to their talk +resentfully. She wished they would keep still, but she said nothing. +They went ahead, demonstrating, she thought bitterly, the truth of +Lawrence's argument. + +"I suppose mankind generally does the best it can," Philip said +thoughtfully. "If you ask a man, if you really talk with him, you will +find him kindly, inclined to be generous, and willing to do what he can +for another. I have always found that true." + +"So have I, in a way. He is kindly, he is inclined to be generous, and +he is willing to do what he can for another. The trouble is, he makes a +maudlin sentiment of his kindliness, a self-flattering charity of his +generous inclinations, and is unable to do what he can for another +because he is quite sincerely persuaded that he can't do anything." + +"My friend, I have had men help me when it cost them trouble to do it. +We all have. Without it, we would none of us accomplish anything of +value." + +"I, too, have had them help me, from the lending of money down to +guiding me across a traffic-blurred street, but I have never yet found +more than three or four whose imagination was keen enough and whose +judgment clear enough to give me a square deal at living." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that the same man who will help me across the street, lend me +money, and be a splendid comrade, stops short when he comes to the field +of self-support. He will say sympathetically, 'I don't see how you can +do it,' or 'I admire your grit, old man, and I'd like to see you do it,' +and then begin scheming around to direct my interests, aspirations, and +efforts into some other channel from where I want them, as though, out +of his own great wisdom, he knew much better than I what a blind man +could do. If you want to learn just how small the imagination of mankind +is and how obstructive to progress is their fool good-heartedness, go +among them as a capable mind with a physical handicap. You'll size them +up, yourself included, as the most blindly wall-butting set of +blundering organisms that ever felt their way through an endlessly +obstructed universe." + +"Breakfast!" Claire broke in with an unwonted sharpness in her tone. +"And do let the biscuits stop the argument." + +They laughed and sat down to a silent meal. When it was ended, and the +men took their cigarettes to the fireplace, she said: "I wish you would +both do me a favor to-day." + +"We will! Name it!" They spoke at the same time. + +She turned toward them with an earnestness which she had scarcely meant +to betray. + +"Go out, both of you, and leave me here alone a while." + +Lawrence was silent. Her words and her tone sent a sharp pain through +him, and he wondered if she were ill. He wanted to say something to her, +started to do so, checked himself, and laughed embarrassedly. + +Philip stared at her. He noticed the pale face and the dark rings under +her eyes. + +"Why, certainly," he said, and rose. "You aren't looking well, Claire. +Is anything seriously wrong?" He looked at her again with the same +unconsciously tender warmth in his eyes. + +She saw it, flushed angrily, wanted to scream at him, and said simply, +"No, I just want to think, and want it quiet. You two talk too much +about yourselves and about things that you don't understand." + +"Very true"--Lawrence also had risen--"if I did understand them, I'd +show humanity how to stop being animals and be men." + +"While as it is," she said nervously, "you allow them to blunder along +and help the good work out by making plenty of trouble for them by your +own blind shortness of vision." + +He stood, wondering at her. How had he unintentionally hurt her, and +what exactly did she mean? + +Philip laughed heartily. "A just judgment on him for his sorry view of +the world," he commented, opening the door. + +"We'll tramp back into the hills," he said to Lawrence when they were +both outside, "and see what there is of deficient imagination in them." + +"There isn't," Lawrence said quietly; "they and the ocean are +testimonials to the real potential power of an otherwise very faulty +artist." + +Left alone, Claire worked furiously at setting the house to rights. Her +nervous state led her to throw herself into the work with an energy that +kept her from thinking. She sought for things to do with the desperation +of a person whose only escape from the furies that followed him is utter +physical exhaustion. When the cabin had been arranged and rearranged +until there was no possible excuse for further effort, she took her +heavy man's coat from its place and stepped out upon the snow-covered +plateau before the house. + +Along its edges the lake shone milk-white in the sun, while farther out +the ice glinted a clear, watery blue that made a gleaming jewel set in +the sparkling snow around it. She stood gazing across the ice to the +forest beyond. Its still beauty crept over her, and she breathed deeply +of the cold, crisp air. Her head ached dully, and her chest felt tight +as though trying to expand beyond its limit to make room for the trouble +that filled her being. After standing motionless for a few moments, she +started briskly across the snow toward the far side of the lake. She +walked carefully over the ice and into the trees beyond. In her mind was +one thought, to escape--but escape from what? From herself, she +answered, and then suddenly, with a panicky bursting of the tension, she +thought that is done only through death. + +She stopped and let the word "death" fill her mind, as a word sometimes +does, growing and growing until its increasing weight oppresses the +brain with a sense of physical pressure. "Death"--is it an escape? She +tried to imagine herself dead, and failed. She could find no adequate +image to express oblivion, and she gave up trying, while she began to +wonder if she actually were immortal, and if she were, what would she +say to herself beyond the edge of life? + +She thought of herself as standing, naked of soul, unbodied, in some far +etherealized atmosphere, and she shuddered. "I would still be Claire, +loving these two men and fearing a third." Tears crept down her cheeks. +No, she did not want to be immortal and have no escape from herself. + +If she would only be able to endure the months still remaining before +she got home, then everything would be settled. But would it? Did she +want Lawrence to go out of her life, did she want to lose him? She could +have him still as a friend, her home open to him always, her husband as +glad to welcome him as she herself--yes, that would be best. + +She was walking again now, rapidly, thinking as she moved, and it all +seemed very clear to her. She would tell her husband how Lawrence had +suffered, how brave he had been, and how he had carried her on and on, +when death seemed inevitable. Howard would owe Lawrence a tremendous +debt of gratitude, and would make existence easier for him. Lawrence had +had a hard life, his bitter attitude showed that he deserved a less +obstructed road, and she would give it to him. In their home all three +would talk, laugh, and be, oh, so happy, while Lawrence could work +better with his studio near her, perhaps in her own house where care +could be taken of him. He would create great art there, and his +bitterness would end. She would show him that her husband was +understanding and imaginative. Again she stopped suddenly. + +But Lawrence--would he accept? He was so independent, so doggedly +determined to fight his life out while his very battling made him +ironical and darkly pessimistic. She tried to imagine him agreeing to +her plan, and instead she heard him say, "I'm sorry, Claire, but I can't +do it. I've got to go it alone and win or go under. I can't accept the +charity you offer me in place of love. Gratitude, I know, prompts you, +but you owe me nothing, you paid your debt by being eyes for me. No, if +we can't be lovers, we can't be anything else. I know my limitations." + +Why had she put in that about "lovers"? He had never said anything to +lead her to think he would say that. She answered herself that it was +because she would want him to say it. And if he did say it, what would +she answer? She would say--no, she couldn't do that--she would want to +say, "Then let us be lovers!" But that was impossible. In her own +husband's home! + +And what would she think of Philip when she was again in her old world? +He, also, was deserving of gratitude. She stamped her foot in the snow. +She hated him, hated him, and he would drop out of her life, utterly and +forever. She would be glad when she saw the last of him with his +seductive eyes. Those eyes--why did he, and not Lawrence, have them? +They should have been Lawrence's. It was one more instance of the +endless ironic humor of the universe. + +Lawrence--Lawrence and her husband! She turned wearily back toward the +cabin. + +It was nearly noon when she reached home again, and Lawrence, a worried +look on his face, was standing in the door of the cabin. + +"You beat me back," Claire said, as she approached, and her heart leaped +at the look of relief that came into his face. + +"Claire, you ought to be punished," he said in gay, tender tones. + +"What sentence would you pass, Mr. Judge?" she questioned. + +He stepped out toward her. + +"Perhaps your fate needs a good washing in cold snow," he laughed. + +"Perhaps it does," she said, caressingly. "Do you think you could +administer it?" + +"I know I could." + +He stooped and took up a handful of snow. + +She did the same and said gaily, "Two washed faces seem inevitable." + +Lawrence laughed and caught her around the waist. Her blood tingled, and +her throat hurt as if she would choke. She began to struggle +desperately, frightened at her own emotion. He laughed, and held her +tighter with one arm while he tried to reach her face with the other +hand. She was pressed against him, and they swayed back and forth, while +Philip laughed from the doorway. Her heart was beating trip-hammer blows +against her breast, she gasped for breath, and her eyes closed. His hand +reached her face, and she ducked against his shoulder. + +"Lawrence! Lawrence!" she sobbed. Her voice startled him. Its pleading, +yielding intensity sent his own blood racing. He let her go, and stepped +back quickly while his breath came short. + +"Pardon me, Claire," he muttered, and turned away. + +Claire saw Philip watching them, in his eyes a strange, new glitter. She +rushed past him to the cabin and into her little room. + +It was a silent dinner they ate that day. + +Claire was deeply, bitterly humiliated, and she kept seeing again and +again with exaggerated clearness that look in Philip's eyes when she had +staggered free from Lawrence's arms. It burned in her mind like an +unquenchable coal, and she revolted at it. She was utterly unable to +collect her thoughts. She fancied she could still feel the warm pressure +of Lawrence's body while she suffered untold agony of soul for having +been carried away by his touch. She reproached herself with a scorn that +seared for having ever allowed herself to engage in that silly scuffle. + +She could scarcely bear to sit at the table with Philip, and she did not +once look in his direction. In her heart there was no anger against +Lawrence, only a dull, aching dread, tempered with a longing she did not +attempt to analyze. + +Dominating her thought was the one phrase, "Why need Philip have seen?" + +That look in his eyes--oh, God! would she have to go on day after day +facing those eyes that compelled her in spite of herself? Must she feel +his glances burning through her when her soul was filled with hatred for +him? But was it hatred? Surely his eyes, those lights that made her +marvel, were the windows to a high and noble soul. Yes, he was fine, yet +she wished he was not there, that she had never known him. She asked +herself if she would rather have perished, and she knew she would not. +Better to have lived forever with Philip's eyes piercing into her than +to give up life when Lawrence was with her, needing her, and--she +stopped--loving her, yes, loving her. It was true. She remembered his +voice when he had released her, and thrilled again at the tense note. + +He did love her! And Philip? She felt her heart sink, and then a +strange, subtle warmth came over her. It was good to be loved by two men +so powerful, so worth while, each in his own way. + +Of course, she could never care for Philip. He was beyond her power to +love; besides her heart was filled with Lawrence. But her husband, yes, +she had loved her husband. Her many days of happiness with him proved +that. She could never have lived with him as she had if love had not +been between them. She must remember that, and be true to him. It would +be hard to see Lawrence go out of her life, but it was her duty, she +owed it to herself, to her husband, and to society. + +If she could only get through the remaining months without allowing +Lawrence to hope! She must not give him another opportunity to want her +or to discuss his feelings with her. She would be very, very careful. + +She must plan it as easily for him as possible. The way to accomplish +that was not to be with him. This would necessitate her associating more +with Philip. After all, why shouldn't she? He was good and strong, and +not really in love with her. Of course, he might be, if she allowed it, +but she would stop that. She would show him by word, look, and act that +any such love was inconceivable. He would understand and forget his +earlier feeling, for after all he was not yet alive to the situation. It +was merely circumstances that had brought that look into his eyes. + +Disliking him as she did, it would be hard to associate with him. She +studied this last problem carefully, and at last arrived at a new state +of mind. She did not dislike him, it was merely the natural unconscious +trend of male and female that she hated. He was not to blame, neither +was she, and they were, fortunately, beings with mind and will. They +could use their God-given power to talk it out and face the situation. +Then Philip's natural nobility would make the solution easy. They would +be on a splendid footing of frank understanding; their foresight would +have saved them from a ridiculous and criminal mistake. + +In these mountains she would have found two real friends and a higher +ground of life. After the first painful talk with Philip they would go +out from the cabin, warm comrades, with nothing to regret. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE MAKING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. + + +Silently, Lawrence rose and went to his work-chair. The zeal with which +he began to cut his wood showed more clearly than any of them quite +knew, the turbulent state of his mind. He was carried far into +speculative possibilities that shook him with their power. He was +absolutely in love with Claire, that was undoubted. He knew it, and he +was determined to tell her so. To continue living in this uncertainty, +with the memory of her pressed against him always compelling him to put +out his arms and draw her again to himself, was intolerable. He would +speak, and settle it once for all, nor would he take any compromising +negative as a reply. That tone she had used could indicate but one +thing, she loved him, and whether she knew it or not, whether she wanted +to know it or not, should not matter. He would argue it out with her, +showing her with the inexorable logic back of their whole experience how +she was his, his in spite of her husband, in spite of blindness, in +spite of everything. Without her, life was useless, barren, and dead. He +must have her! + +He carved viciously but accurately, while his mind and body yearned +toward the hour when she would be in his arms, yielding, abandoned, +loving. + +Claire watched him from her place at the table in calmness of mind that, +following her day of tumult, she could not understand. Peace, the peace +that comes when one thinks he has settled something forever, was hers. + +"Philip," she said, "our artist has buried himself in his work. Shall we +go forth on a chance adventure?" + +Lawrence choked back a whirl of jealous suspicion that swept to his +lips, and said from his corner, "Do! I'll have a surprise for your +return." + +He wanted to say, "No, stay here, Claire. I wish to tell you something, +to make you see that I love you, that this Philip is not for you, that +he is outside our real lives," but his tongue refused to obey his will. + +"It sounds inviting," said Philip, rising. "Suppose we do." + +They were gone. + +Lawrence worked savagely, his mind grasping at impossible thoughts which +kept struggling for expression. He was afraid, afraid till it chilled +him, lest, after all, she loved Philip. If her voice had sounded so +intense that noon, it had been because she resented his holding her +while her real lover looked on. + +Meanwhile Claire and Philip tramped through the pines in silence. She +was wondering why she had come. She hesitated before speaking to him as +she had determined. Perhaps he would be hurt at her imagining he could +think of making any advances to a married woman, he would feel that she +had suspected and accused him of a thing of which he was incapable. + +Speech was difficult, so she trudged along, feeling very uncomfortable. +Her heart ached as she saw again the lonely look on Lawrence's face +bending over his work back there in the cabin. + +"The adventure is slow in coming," Philip said, genially. + +"Perhaps we don't know how to find it," she answered, not heeding her +words especially. "To find adventure, one must be awake to +possibilities." + +"True," he mused, looking at her. "So much depends on a man's +experience, knowledge, and imagination." + +"I suppose life itself may set us, even calmly walking here, in the +heart of an adventure." + +"I have no doubt it does," he said. + +Claire looked at him in faint alarm. + +"Why," she stammered, "I didn't imagine it was true when I spoke." + +"To him who has faith, the wildest dreams are always possibilities." + +"Do you believe that, Philip?" + +"I have found it to be quite true. I often dreamed of good company here +in my wilderness and a charming woman about my cabin. It has happened." + +"But even that has its very strong drawbacks, hasn't it?" + +"What, for example?" He looked at her, earnestly. + +"Oh," she hesitated, laughed, and said, "the rapidly depleted food +supply, your time for thought broken, and all the rest." + +"One sometimes finds a relief from thought very agreeable." + +She wanted to laugh at the force with which his words struck her. "I'm +sure that depends on the thought, as Lawrence would say," she answered, +smiling. + +"It does. And there is nothing I would not give to escape from my +present thoughts." His voice was pitched low. + +Her heart failed her, but she said bravely, "Perhaps you need a +confessor, Sir Philip." + +"I do, a gracious one, who can listen well." + +"Then a woman would never serve," Claire laughed. "She would want to +talk, you know." + +Philip stopped, and looked at her. As far as he could see, she was calm, +indifferent, the lady making talk. + +"Perhaps," he said, lightly. "They have that reputation, I know." + +"Now, I"--she laughed--"I, also, need a confessor." + +"You?" His look searched her, incredulously. "What in the name of all +the saints have you to confess?" + +"Oh! Many things. Misunderstandings, social follies, mistakes in +character reading, mean thoughts, lots of things." + +"Absurd!" His tone was amused. "Who of us is not a sinner in those +things?" + +"But suppose," she ventured, hesitant--"suppose I had misjudged you? +Suppose I had suspected you of things you were not at all guilty of?" + +"I should be sorry if you told me of them." + +It was impossible, she thought, to go on. He would indeed be sorry, and +how foolish she had been! But what had he meant a moment before? + +"Is your confession worse?" she asked. + +"I think so. A man is so apt to be a mad fool," he said, and lapsed into +silence. + +They walked some distance before either spoke. Then Claire laughed +suddenly. "Philip," she said, "we all three need a change of scene." + +He turned, and his face was crimson as he looked at her. "It will be +here soon. We can go out in April." + +He had answered her dully, with a heavy sadness in his voice. It was her +golden opportunity; and she took it. + +"Splendid!" she cried--"splendid! I so want to get back to my husband. I +am scarcely able to wait at all." + +"I suppose," he said, "it seems a long time that you have been +separated." + +"Oh, so long," she answered, softly. "And I do so want him." + +He walked on, slowly. "I shall miss you very much." + +Her manner and expression were those of a pleased, frank child when she +answered. "Really, I was so afraid I had been stupid company, and I owe +so much to you. My husband will want to come clear back here to thank +you for your winter's hospitality." + +"It would hardly be worth his while. The debt is more than paid." + +"I shall be sorry--in a way," she went on. "We have become such good +friends, such good comrades with not the least bit of unpleasantness to +remember. I shall always be glad of that." + +"Yes," he said. "I am glad, indeed, that you feel so." + +"If any one had ever told me that I should find so rare a gentleman +here"--she laughed--"I would have thought they were talking medieval +gallantry." + +"Thank you. A gentleman is always himself when a lady is a lady." + +Claire flushed a little, and said nothing. + +"I shall remember you with pleasure and regret," continued Philip, his +head high. + +Her eyes opened wide, like a child's. "Oh, with regret, too?" + +"Yes. Regret that you did not come to my cabin sooner, freer, and to +stay longer." + +"You are a consummate flatterer, Philip," she chided. + +"I suppose it seems artificial; one can scarcely imagine that I should +be in earnest," he said, a little bitterly. + +Her conscience hurt her, though she did not know why. She could have +said those things before and thought nothing of them. Why did she feel +sorry now? + +"I didn't mean that," she said, earnestly. "Believe me, I did not." + +"No," he replied, "you answered out of mere indifference." + +"But I am not indifferent to you, Philip. I like you very much." She was +afraid she had hurt his feelings, and she, herself, was so tense, so +troubled, that she was uncertain of her emotional attitudes these days. +She felt that somehow she had been cruel and very ungracious toward the +man to whom she owed so much. + +"I know," he said, "one is interested, of course, in a novel, foreign +mountaineer." + +She was beginning to feel achy, and tears were near the surface. + +"Philip, why do you misunderstand me?" she cried. "It isn't that at all. +I like you for the man you are." + +He smiled sadly. "And did it ever occur to you that I might love you for +the woman you are?" he said suddenly, his good resolutions all gone. + +She stopped and her breath quickened. Over her rushed a tide of fear, +regret, sorrow. Even then she wondered that it was pity and not anger +which moved her. + +"I do not believe that. How could you?" she said swiftly. + +"You cannot even conceive of my loving you?" + +"I--I can, Philip--it isn't that, I--I"--she was floundering among her +own emotions--"I can under other circumstances, different conditions. +Oh, don't you see--think of"--she had almost said "Lawrence," but +hastily substituted--"my husband." + +"I have thought of him. From the day you came, he has haunted my +footsteps. But after all, he thinks you are dead." + +"But I love him. Think of that, too." + +"Oh, Claire, Claire, I have seen you when I felt perhaps you +might--might learn to love me." + +"Philip, it is impossible!" she cried. "Please don't let's spoil +everything now. I so wanted to be just friends." + +His faced kindled and his deep eyes glowed with a fire that both +terrorized and fascinated her. + +"We cannot be that, Claire." His voice vibrated with growing passion. +They stood, facing each other, and she trembled like a reed in the wind. + +"I saw you this morning in his arms," he was tense and speaking rapidly, +"and I knew then that I loved you. Loved you with all the soul of me. I +could have killed him, I tell you. Claire, Claire, I love you! You must +not deny me love." + +She did not, could not answer, her tongue refused to move, and her dry, +hot mouth felt as if she would smother. She looked into his eyes and +said nothing, while she shook violently. + +"Claire!" he cried. "Claire! I love you!" His arms closed around her +and he held her tightly. His eyes burned into her own with a flame that +was contagious in its intensity. She gasped, trembled, and did not +struggle, though in her mind she was crying, anguished, "Lawrence! +Lawrence!" + +He pressed her more tightly, and his body against her own stirred in her +a passion beyond the control of will. Her eyes lighted warmly and then +closed. She felt suffocated, weak, and her senses reeled. His head bent, +and his lips were pressed fiercely against her own parted ones, stopping +the cry that rose to her throat. He held her fast, keeping his lips +against her own until she felt her strength giving. She half leaned +against him, letting the weight of her body sink into his arms. + +A savage joy sprang into his eyes. She opened her own and saw. Throwing +up her hands wildly, she struck his face, twisted her body free, and +shoving him from her, stood, white, defiant, and determined. + +She was not angry with Philip, only with herself, but the storm of +self-reproach that swept over her burst into bitter, scorching words +against him. + +"You, you coward! You dare to touch me, to take me that way! If I had +only known what sort of a thing you were, you, you viper! Oh, to be here +with you!" + +His dark eyes flashed with sudden rage, and he moved to seize her. She +stood defiantly before him, her white face cold as outraged chastity +itself, and his anger died. Into his face came the dejected, suffering +look of a man whose passion ebbs before the compelling force of a +woman's scorn. + +"Forgive me, Claire," he moaned, "forgive me. I was mad, mad." + +She knew he was sincere, and she smiled sadly. + +"I know, Philip," she said. "I understand, but you must realize that it +is impossible. Won't you see that? It was, perhaps, partly my fault. +Forgive me if it was, and let us be friends. Philip, I want a friend," +she continued. "I need one, a big, strong man whom I can trust, whom I +know to be my loyal friend and my husband's friend." + +He put out his hand, shame and love mingling in his face. + +"I will be that friend, Claire," he said, earnestly. + +She took his hand, her mind breaking with relief. She felt she was going +to cry, and she leaned forward to hide her filling eyes. + +"Oh, Philip, God bless you! You do not know what this means to me! You +will never know. I thank you, I thank you!" + +The tears rushed down her cheeks and dropped upon their clasped hands. + +"Claire, don't, please--please don't," Philip pleaded, anguish in his +tone. + +She stopped, forced back her sobs, and smiled at him. + +"Philip Ortez," she said, "I shall make you glad of this." + +Deep in his heart, the words gave him hope. He grasped at them as a +drowning man at a life-belt, but he did not voice the hope. + +"I want to spend much of my time with you, Philip, in the out-of-doors. +I must do it, and it is such a relief to know that I can do it +without--without fear. You will be just my friend, won't you?" + +"If it is in my power, I will." He spoke as a knight of old, taking a +holy vow, and in his heart was the deep, sacred sense of the spirit that +still moved in his idealistic soul. + +Claire laughed joyously, almost hysterically, with the peace that came +over her at the sound of his words. She was sure that all was well. If +she had known that already he was building on the promise of frequent +days alone, she would have been more afraid than ever. But she did not +know that, neither did she know that in her very promise she was +preparing a more difficult situation for her own struggle with herself +than any she had ever faced in her life. She was only aware of the +crisis passed and the peace that was now hers. + +"Let us go back," she said gaily. + +They found Lawrence smoothing his little carved child with a stone. +Claire was effervescent with joy. Her great plan seemed sure of +success, and she greeted him with a gaiety that was as abnormal as her +despondency had been before. + +"Lawrence," she cried, "we have had such a walk! And here you have +finished for us this beautiful cherub as the symbol of our little home." + +Her words stung him with savage pain, filling him with a great fear born +of love and jealousy. For a minute he did not know what he was doing or +saying, and he was scarcely aware of the words that fell from him. + +"Cherubs are said to be symbols of the greatest love." He laughed +tonelessly. "It belongs to you, Claire. Take it." + +The child was carved standing upon a stump with wings outspread. In the +form and face of the figure there was so much of benevolence, love, and +charity that the imaginative power of this blind artist filled Claire +with awe. She stood reverently before it, her heart singing with pride +in the handiwork of the man she loved. She interpreted his words as a +confession that he had carved it for her as a symbol of his love, and +she was humbled before him, before his work. She wanted to throw herself +in his arms and to tell him with the gift of her unreserved self how +grateful she was for his gift, but she only said, very softly, taking +both his hands: "Thank you, Lawrence." + +The words struck his ear with a strangely mixed power in their sound. He +wanted to laugh at the bitter mockery that swept into him. He had made +the image for love of her, and he presented it to her as a symbol of her +love for Philip. It was cruel, but he could endure it. Oh, yes, he was +accustomed to life's little jokes. He did not answer her thanks, only +gripped her hands in his own capable ones till he hurt her. + +To Philip, the child brought still other suggestions. Moved by his +present feeling of great, chivalrous guardianship of the woman who had +said she needed him, he felt that it was a symbol of the great +sacrificial love which he was privileged to know, and at the same time +he felt that it was a symbol of hope. + + +TO BE CONTINUED 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 XII. + +THE UNHORSING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. + + +Between men and women who have established what they believe to be an +unemotional friendship there nearly always springs up a relation +franker than any which is otherwise possible. Such was the experience +of Philip and Claire during the days that followed. They took many walks +together, and their conversation grew daily more exclusive and more +personal. + +Lawrence, through ignorance of their situation and jealousy of Philip, +grew daily more dissatisfied. He would hear the intimate ring in their +voices and writhe within. The artist felt keenly that he was being set +aside, and his eager determination to live and be in the front rank of +warring manhood made him determine to win Claire against this man who, +it seemed to him, was taking her from him by mere advantage of sight. He +felt that they were shelving him as a blind man, a very nice fellow, but +quite outside the possibility of any relation with their real lives. He +now thought that Claire was kind to him as one is to those whose +situation makes them objects of pity. + +There were days when he sat alone before the fire in the cabin brooding +until he was filled with savage hatred of Philip. He would think of all +sorts of impossible means of eliminating this Spaniard from Claire's +life; then Philip would come in, talk to him, seem so very normally +friendly as man to man, that his reason mastered his fancies and he +laughed at himself. He ridiculed his own thoughts with an irony that +inwardly grew in bitterness with his growing love for Claire, and he +would end by admitting that Philip was only doing what he himself would +like to do. + +In his fair-minded moments he did not blame his friend. "I should be a +fool to expect him to act differently," he told himself. "In this +struggle for meat and mate which we all wage, he is doing what any one +would do. I who am losing must at least be just to him." He resolved to +be just, and in a little while was again ensnaring himself in his own +notions. "She is throwing herself away upon this Spaniard," he thought, +"while I sit by. If I were not blind, she would see that after all I am +the better man. I put all my power into the carving of that little +statue, and she knows it is good, better than anything he has done or +can do, and yet--she loves him." + +He would rise and walk the floor in his tension, knocking into the +chairs recklessly. His thoughts would gain speed from his bodily +movement, and soon he would rage against the man whose guest he was, +against Claire, against life, fate, and blindness. Then suddenly his +ever self-questioning mind would demand of him, "Why are you doing +nothing, then?" He did nothing because he could do nothing. That was +his answer, no sooner made than contradicted, no sooner contradicted +than to be restated, "I do nothing because I will do nothing." + +Several times he refused to go with them on tramps or skiing trips. When +they were gone he would revile himself for his stubbornness and ache +because Claire could not see that he had refused with a petulant boy's +hope that she would stay with him. "Why should she stay with me?" There +was no reason, he told himself, and again he would be off on a mental +whirlwind that carried him still farther from reason. He became +perpetually sullen, irritable, and discontented. He realized it, thought +that Claire would certainly grow to dislike him if he continued so +disagreeable, and with the thought became even more disagreeable. + +Claire, however, was not growing to dislike him. She avoided him in +pursuance of her settled policy, but she thought of him all the more. + +One morning when she and Philip were out in the pines together, she +observed, casually, "Lawrence doesn't seem to be doing any work these +days." + +Philip glanced at her carelessly. "Yes. I'm very sorry for the poor +fellow." + +His pity angered her a little. Lawrence did not need his sympathy. "I +think he must be feeling badly," she replied. + +"I believe he is moody by nature." + +"Oh, do you? I hadn't thought so," she objected. + +"It is not strange," Philip went on; "he is so limited by his blindness +and so ambitious that the effect is almost sure to be a disgruntled +mind. He cannot hope to overcome his blindness, and he ought to realize +it. I think that is the cause of his odd philosophy. He certainly would +be happier if he could get a more sunlit view of things. He needs +optimism, and he ought to practise it." + +For a moment, Claire was silent. She was not willing to admit that +Lawrence was unable to conquer blindness or even that his beliefs were +altogether wrong. She had more often disagreed with him than not, but +now for some reason she found herself desiring to support his +convictions. + +"I don't agree with you," she answered Philip, a little shortly. + +"Well then, what is my lady's diagnosis?" He had not noticed her curt +reply, for he was thinking of something else and was not really +interested in Lawrence as a topic of conversation. + +Claire was unable to answer; she disliked both his tone and his +expression, but she had nothing to substitute for his explanation. + +They walked on in silence for a few minutes through the trees before she +ventured a little lamely, "I don't know what to say." + +Philip looked up, smilingly. "To say about what, Claire?" Then he +remembered, and continued hastily, "Oh, pardon me. I know, of course. +About Lawrence. If I could suggest anything to do, I would. He is an +interesting friend, but I have nothing to offer. It seems to me that we +can do no more than to let him alone. He will work it out for himself. +If he does not, we cannot help. He would not expect us to do so." + +"That's no reason we shouldn't try," she flashed, "unless, of course, +you quite agree with his argument after all." + +Philip colored slightly and said, "I admit the fault, Claire, but what +can we do?" + +"Couldn't you get him to tell what's the matter?" she asked, groping for +something to say. + +"No more than you could. Perhaps even less easily. You know him better +than I and understand him better." + +She laughed, a little satisfaction warming her at his words. "Sometimes +I think I understand him, sometimes I know I don't. As he himself would +say, it is merely a matter of blind psychology, is it not?" + +"It is not," she answered positively. "It's more a matter of artist +psychology, I think." + +"Perhaps," he admitted; "certainly the combination is difficult." + +"I do wish we could do something for him." + +"He would be better off if he would come out with us, but since he will +not, he will not." Philip's tone showed clearly that he was inclined to +let the matter drop. + +But not so Claire. "You are willing to help me, aren't you, Philip?" + +"Why yes, if there is any way in which I can be of service." + +"We might stay and talk with him more." + +"That is useless, I fear," he said abruptly, his own wishes revolting +against sacrificing his companionship with Claire or against sharing it +with Lawrence. + +"He was unhesitating in his care for me those days we wandered," she +remarked simply. + +"Pardon me again. I forgot for the time that you owed him anything." + +"He doesn't consider that I owe him anything. It's simply that I want +him to be as happy as possible shut up here with us away from his own +kind of life." + +"Oh!" Philip looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you think he could be +happier with other people?" + +"I'm afraid so," she answered, a little regretfully. + +Philip's eyes searched her face. "I should think you could satisfy any +one's need for companionship," he said, quietly. + +"Don't flatter, Philip. That was a very silly speech." + +"Was it? It was not flattery at any rate. It is my feeling about you." + +"Please," she said, stopping, "let's not go into that again." + +"Very well, but why cannot my lady extend her charity? There are other +unfortunates besides Lawrence who have troubles to face." + +"Oh, Philip, you really haven't any troubles. You merely imagine you +have." + +He laughed, a little bitterly. "I suppose a life's happiness is a small +thing." + +"It isn't, Philip," she protested. "But you can get out and tramp and +trap and see things, and, after all, you don't really love me as you +thought you did. We've settled all that." + +"I know we have," he agreed. "That is, you have." + +She looked him over, angrily. "So this is the outcome! I ask you to +think of another person who needs our care, and you disregard him for +your own little troubles!" + +Philip looked down and flushed crimson. "Well, it does seem as if I +were selfish. I am afraid I am. But I do not mean to be. I can talk to +him if you wish." + +"You needn't," she said, angered still more. "It isn't charity I'm +asking you to bestow on him. He doesn't need that, and you ought to know +it." + +She had laid more emphasis than she intended on the word "he," and +Philip's face darkened. + +"I see," he said coldly. "It is I after all to whom you are charitable. +Thank you." + +Tears of vexation came to Claire's eyes. "Oh, I do wish you'd be +reasonable," she said, half angrily, half pleadingly. "Don't you +understand that I am giving you more frank friendship than ever I gave +any man in my life? Isn't that of any value to you? Don't you realize +how unfair you have been to Lawrence?" + +His face grew suddenly white, as he said, "Do you love him, Claire?" + +She did not look away from him. "If I did, would it concern you?" + +He took one step toward her, then stopped. + +"Yes, it would," he answered. + +Her anger almost mastered her, but she controlled herself. + +"Philip, are we two irrational animals going to spoil everything? I had +hoped you might at least allow our companionship to live." + +He looked at her without answering. Finally, he choked, "Don't--don't, +Claire, I have the right to know." + +"If I promise to tell you when there is anything to tell, will you be +satisfied?" She felt no scruple of conscience at her pretense of +indifference to Lawrence, only a sense of protection for him. She did +not know from what she was protecting him, but the feeling gave her a +strange pleasure. + +"I will," Philip returned, simply. + +"And in the mean time will you help me pull him out of his slough of +despond?" she asked, smiling with the old, frank, intimate manner. + +"Surely I will, though I confess I do not see the way." + +"Then shall we go at once and begin our cheering process, my friend?" +she said, as though she were conferring a favor by the use of the word. + +He winced at her immediate application of his promise. + +"Perhaps we would better," he answered sadly, and turned toward the +cabin. + +As she walked by his side she had already dismissed him from her +attention and was busy planning what she might do to make Lawrence +happy. + +When they entered the cabin, Claire looked eagerly about the room. As +she glanced around, her face clouded. Lawrence was gone. His coat and +hat were not on the rack, and the cane which he had carved one day from +a stick which she had brought him from the woods was also missing. + +Claire walked slowly into the room, her mind filled with an +unaccountable apprehension. + +"Why, how abandoned the place seems without Lawrence! Where is he, I +wonder?" She tried to appear casual. + +Philip followed her in and placed a chair for her. His mind, already +touched with the potential jealousy that Claire's talk had begun, leaped +ahead at her words and he felt more than ever doubtful of her attitude +toward Lawrence. Though he quickly dispelled his fear, the thought left +behind, as such things do, the readier soil for a stronger weed to +spring up in. + +"He has gone out for a walk, I suppose. Doubtless, he will be back +soon." His voice was indifferent. "Will you not sit down, Claire? You +stand there looking about you as though you had lost something." + +She was on the point of saying she had, but checked herself, and +accepted the chair. + +"It's so unusual. He never did this before." Claire forced a smile. + +"Well, he will be the better for it; I am glad that he has gone out," +Philip answered. + +"I know, but it is so difficult for him to find his way through the +snow," she said. "He told me it muffles sounds until he is almost +helpless in it. His feet can't feel the ground, and he doesn't know +which way to turn." + +"He cannot possibly go far, and he cannot get lost." Philip's tone was +becoming a little edged. + +"All the same, it worries me to have him out this way." + +Philip started toward the door. + +"Shall I go search for him?" His voice, unknown to himself, was heavy. + +Claire glanced at him quickly. Her intuition told her he was jealous, +and she saw he was angry. She wanted to shout at him, "Go find +Lawrence!" and she was surprised at the sudden panicky nervousness that +seized her. But she rose calmly and crossed to the fireplace, saying as +she sat down, "No, thank you; I think he is able to take care of +himself." + +Philip also seated himself. + +"I think he is," he said. "Certainly he thinks so, and comes near enough +to proving his assertion." + +She was both angry and pleased with his words. + +"I never saw a man less handicapped by misfortune," she remarked. + +"He does do very well." + +"Lawrence seems all capable sense-nerves, and he is so very efficient +with his touch. What a keen appreciation of beauty he has!" + +"I think he does remarkably well." + +"In the hills he used to describe scenes to me, and do it accurately +just from their sound; running water and wind in the trees," she went +on, not noticing Philip's short replies. + +"Yes, that is quite surprising." + +"He certainly has taught me a great deal about blindness." + +"Association with him does do that." + +"Do you know, I believe he is one of the most unusual men I have ever +known." + +Philip rose quickly. + +"Doubtless. He is not the only topic of conversation our friendship +permits, is he, Claire?" + +She looked up at him, and rose immediately, her eyes flashing. + +"I think you are more selfish with your theories of altruism than he +with his egoism." + +Philip looked quietly back at her. + +"Perhaps I am where the woman I love is concerned." + +Claire turned away and walked angrily toward her room. + +"I see you can't maintain a friendship," she exclaimed. + +"Meaning, you cannot." Philip's voice was bitter. + +She turned quickly and looked at him. + +"What do you mean?" she asked him, fearing. + +"I mean that you are unfair. You ask me not to talk of my love, you wish +to talk friendship, while you are forcing me by your every word and act +to think of my own misery." + +Claire stood aghast before him. His words seemed to her to be an +accusation so grossly false that she was stunned beyond anger. + +"I don't understand," she said anxiously. + +"You ought to understand. I love you, I cannot help but love you, fight +it as I will. You say you cannot love me because of your husband. Yet +your talk is not of your husband, but of this blind man. You say you +desire friendship, yet you allow me all that a woman allows her accepted +suitor." + +Claire was appalled. She stared at him in amazement, faltering. + +"Why, Philip, I--what is the matter? I don't do any such thing." + +He laughed. + +"Of course not," he replied. "You look at me with that warm light in +your eyes, because you think I am not human. I am a mere duenna, a +chaperon, perhaps." + +She sank into a chair and covered her face. "I didn't think," she +moaned, and could say no more. A thousand memories of her intimate +treatment of Philip swept through her mind. She had considered him as +one of her own family, without thought, without intent, because she had +believed so strongly in his assurance of friendship. After a pause, she +gathered her thoughts. + +"Philip, I may have done as you say," she spoke slowly, "but it was not +because I was not conscious of your manhood. It was because I thought +you stronger than you are. I believed you could be my friend and not ask +more." + +He stood quietly looking at her where she sat. + +"And what of him?" he asked, steadily. + +"I am worried about him because he is blind, nothing more." She lied, +looking straight into his eyes, then rose and stepped behind the +curtain. + +"Claire," he almost sang. "I am deeply, humbly, a thousand times sorry. +You cannot know how your talk of Lawrence made me wild. I am a fool, I +will admit, but I cannot think of your loving him, blind, selfish, +egoistic, intolerant of other people, I cannot." + +"You needn't," she returned, coldly. Her whole soul was filled with +rage. She was recalling that he had said her eyes were alight when she +looked at him, and she told herself that it was not true. + +"Won't you give me a chance to show myself as I am, Claire? I want to +prove to you that I am not a selfish beast." + +She thought of Lawrence's cynical view of Philip's sentiments, and she +laughed. + +Philip groaned, and then said again, "Aren't you fair enough to do that, +Claire?" + +"And what will you read in my eyes next?" she inquired icily. + +"Whatever is there?" he answered. + +"But your imagination spoils your sight," she returned. + +"Perhaps. I will not deny that I am not myself where you are concerned. +But I ask only for one more trial. And I will do my best." + +Claire was growing more and more worried about Lawrence. What could have +happened to him? + +"Then go and find Lawrence," she said suddenly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY. + + +Claire heard Philip leave the house, and she sat down on her bed to wait +and think. It seemed ages that she sat there, her imagination busy with +a hundred possible calamities. When she finally heard the door open she +was almost afraid to look. + +"Lawrence!" Her voice was full of warm gladness. + +He was hanging his hat in its place. + +"Hello, Claire. Back, are you?" His voice held the impersonal, sullen +note that he used of late. "Where is Philip?" + +"Why, didn't he find you?" + +Lawrence was immediately angry. He thought, "Why should Philip be +hunting for me? I don't need his care. Can't I even go out without a +guardian?" + +"I didn't see him," he returned, aloud. + +"I sent him to find you." She was standing looking at him, her whole +figure expressing love and relief at his return. + +He was too angry to catch the fine warmth of her voice, and his +inability to see handicapped him more at that moment than at any time in +his life. + +"I sent him to find you," she said again. + +"He didn't. I came back as I went, alone." + +"Lawrence, what is the matter with you?" she asked, pleadingly, with +tears in her voice. + +He felt the emotion in her words, and was suddenly contrite. If he had +known it, he was acting like the sentimentalists whom he ridiculed, but +he suffered from the egotist's fate, he did not recognize his own +failing. + +"I don't know that there is anything the matter, Claire. It angered me +to think that you still imagine that because I am blind I need a +guardian," he said, dropping into a chair. + +She came over toward him, impulsively. + +"That isn't the idea at all," she said, still very worried. "It was +simply that you told me yourself that you were helpless in the snow." + +"I didn't ask to be cared for," he snapped. + +"I wasn't caring for you--nor about you," she retorted, in sudden +irritation. "I didn't want you to be lost, that's all." + +"I should think you'd be glad to see me gone." He was a little ashamed +of his own words, but he did not try to remedy the speech. + +"What do you mean?" + +He smiled ironically. "Even a blind man sometimes sees too much of +lovers." + +Claire sank into a chair and struggled against the starting sobs. It +seemed to her that her whole life was becoming one continual argument +wherein she was accused and in return forced to demand explanations. + +"What in the world do you mean?" she faltered. "Are you saying that +Philip and I are lovers?" + +"Aren't you?" + +"Of course not! It isn't like you to say that. And what if we were?" + +"It wouldn't be any of my business, would it?" He was bitter. + +"I suppose not," she said, weakly. + +"You needn't be hesitant about admitting it. It's true," he went on. +"Why shouldn't it be? I am a mere piece of excess baggage which you are +too kind-hearted to eliminate. I know that, too. Why shouldn't you +eliminate me?" He smiled, satirically. "If I were Philip Ortez, loving +you and loved in return, I would feel like killing the blind man, whose +presence hampered." + +She stared at him, wondering if he were in earnest. + +"Then it's fortunate that you haven't the opportunity to feel that way." + +"Obviously." He laughed, sullenly. "I sha'n't, because you couldn't love +a blind man." + +Claire only sat and looked at him, thrilled with the knowledge that he +was about to tell her he loved her. She was trembling and desperately +afraid of herself. She moved uneasily, and against her will; her lips +said, "I could love a blind man, Lawrence." + +He sat up and clenched his hands together quickly. The tone of her voice +in itself was a direct confession. But his deep skepticism of blindness +would not let him believe that he was right. + +"Do you mean that you do love me?" he demanded. + +She wanted to say "Yes," but she thought of Philip and was afraid of +what he might do, should he learn of her lie. Then, too, there was her +resolution to go back to Howard. Strange that her long-planned friendly +explanation of her own attitude did not occur to her, but it did not. + +Lawrence rose and came toward her, his hands out. He was determined to +know, once and for all. The gathering emotion in his breast was growing +into an unbearable pain. + +"Claire," he said, coming nearer and nearer. "Could you love me?" + +His hands were almost to her. She saw them coming; terror, love, +happiness, anguish, and the desire to be his paralyzed her will. She did +not move. + +"Yes," she whispered, "I could." + +He put his arms around her and lifted her until she was crushed against +him. + +"Do you love me, Claire?" he asked, tensely. + +She did not answer, but her head sank against his shoulder. + +Outside the cabin, she heard Philip's step in the snow. + +"No!" she cried frantically, filled with dread. "No, no! Let me go!" + +Lawrence, too, heard, and released her, stepping back indifferently, as +though just going toward a chair. + +The door opened, and Philip entered. + +"Oh, you're back, I see." The artist was coldly cordial in his greeting. + +"And I see you, which is more important," Philip laughed. + +"I suppose so." Lawrence sat down, thoughtfully. "Claire has just +scolded me for going out. She doesn't like to have me add to the bother +I am already." + +Claire was still under the spell of her own emotion, and she resented +Lawrence's sang-froid. He was as cold as a block of stone. Her heart +cried out against him because he could not see why she had said "No" to +him, because he believed her! She wanted to cry, but did not dare. + +"I told him we were worried," she said, indifferently. + +"So we were." Philip was cheerful and friendly. + +Lawrence buried himself from them both, and sat brooding, clothed in the +blackness that blindness brought when it suddenly loomed before him as +the wall between him and his life's desires. The brief instant Claire +had been in his arms had made him feel that his life was intolerable +without her, and that blindness was the curse of a double living death. +She had told him that she did not love him. She had struggled to be +free. + +Lawrence failed to read Claire aright because he had not seen her, and +because his blindness made him uncertain of himself. + +That was the truth of it all, the awful truth of his life. + +He was always uncertain of himself because he was afraid of blindness. +He strutted, boasted, lied, and above all pretended to himself that he +believed his hard philosophy because he was afraid, afraid of failing to +do the things he wanted to do. He saw himself clearly now, he was a +coward, a deceiving ape, a monkey caught in the terror of tangling +roots, and denying it. He barked like a frightened dog, at the thing +that was his master. He was gripped by life, tortured by life, denied +death by life, and cheated by life of living. His imagination, fired by +his passion, leaped into play, and he felt himself a thousand times a +slave, a chained prisoner in the hand of circumstance. + +Philip was laughing gaily, and talking to Claire, who listened, +answered, and was all the while lost in her own thought. When he had +entered, Philip had looked quickly at the two to see if there was aught +between them, and had found Lawrence colder, more despondent than ever. +He told himself that Lawrence had evidently pleaded with Claire for her +love and been denied. At least, this blind man had not been successful, +and Philip could afford to be good-humored. The more agreeable he was, +the more Claire would turn to him from that dark, ungracious form +yonder. His would be the victory of pleasant manners. Therefore he +talked, gladly, smilingly, while Claire listened, or seemed to listen. + +She was rebellious at the fear which had made her cry "No" to Lawrence, +and at the same time glad that she had done so, afraid of the future, +exasperated with Philip for coming in at the supreme moment, and angry +with Lawrence for his stupidity. + +Perhaps these tangled relations might have been cleared had it not been +for a piece of folly more stupendous than any they had yet experienced. +This event occurred the day after Lawrence's walk in the snow. + +Philip had stepped out for a few minutes to look at a near-by trap, and +Claire and the artist were left alone for the first time since her +denial. She wanted him to renew his suit, feared that he would, and sat +waiting for him to speak. + +But he remained silent, and at last she said, "Lawrence." + +"Well?" He did not move. + +The psychology of woman has been too often commented upon and attempted +by those who thought they could explain. Why Claire was doing and saying +what she did, she herself could not tell. + +"Lawrence, don't you ever, ever act as you did yesterday again." + +He smiled. "It would be dangerous if your gallant should come in less +slowly." He was filled with a desire to hurt her. + +Claire was angry with him for saying what was so utterly far from her +mind and so different from what she wanted him to say. + +"If my gallant should come in," she thrust coldly, "he would scarcely +appreciate the melodrama you are playing." + +Lawrence sat up with a jerk, his rage near the boiling point. + +"What do you mean?" he demanded. "I have not interfered with your +delightful episode, have I?" + +"No, and you couldn't. I mean that my husband--he is my lover--for I +know that is what you intend by 'gallant'--would scarcely appreciate the +type of man who mopes and abuses the woman who does not care to lie in +his arms." + +Lawrence sat still, while a fierce, uncontrollable rage consumed him. He +felt that to take this woman and whip her into submission would be a +pleasure. He thought of the lash he had in his studio at home and wished +it were in his hand. With the thought he rose and stepped swiftly toward +Claire, his teeth set. + +She saw him, and rose. + +"I have one way of showing you who is master," he began, and stopped. + +She had stepped forward and was standing almost against him. + +"Even blindness does not allow you the freedom to threaten." + +He shrank back and dropped once more into his chair. + +Claire was talking rapidly, savagely. Later she was to be thrown into a +despairing self-hate that kept her many a night in tears, but now she +went on. + +"Do you think I will overlook everything in you because I pity you? +There have been times when your impositions, so carelessly thrust upon +me, because you were selfish, because you knew I must accept them from +you, were almost unbearable. The touch of your thief-trained hands to +steal from everything its beauty and self-respect has galled me beyond +all endurance. My body has received its last vile grasp from you." + +She stopped, appalled at his expression. She did not know, neither of +them knew, that love, the ever-changing impulse of creation within men +and women, speaks its desire through bitter scorn and abuse, when softer +words are too slow in finding their way. + +He was sitting there, white, anguished, cowering under her tongue, his +whole life shaken. Her words made him feel that the thing she said was +true. He had always feared it, realizing that in a measure it was +inevitable, and his great strength was now turned against himself, +against his bitter handicap, and he was in that tremendous upheaval that +requires a rebuilding of one's faith. His belief in himself was broken. +His belief in his power was gone. Coming after weeks of thought and fear +about blindness, Claire's words tore him asunder and made him feel that +there was nothing for him but abject misery and dependence upon charity. + +Instinctively, his hand went up as if to shield him from a blow, and he +murmured, "For God's sake, Claire!" + +There was to come a time, later, when experience would have taught him +that there is a wild strain in the nature of human hearts which abuses +out of a desire to be conquered. He did not yet realize that he had +spoken truly when he said that this woman had hidden in her the savage +warring sexed tumult of all the struggling ages. + +She saw him there, his hand up, and suddenly her emotion changed. It was +love, still love crying out for expression, but now she was all +compassion, tenderness, and fear. She read in his face what she had +done, and her heart was gray with the pain at her own failure. + +Now all love for her was buried, perhaps dead, under his shattered +selfhood, slain in the wrecking earthquake that she had brought to pass +with the ardor of her passion. She had meant to sting him into taking +her in his arms and forcing her to love him, and instead--"Oh, God!" she +whispered, and slipped behind the curtain to throw herself on her bed +and weep with heart wrung by self-condemnation and loving pity for the +man whom she had clubbed with his own dread weakness. She had shattered +into chaos the strong soul of the man she loved, with the only weapon he +would have felt, and she realized now that it was her love, her desire +to be his, to be his utterly, that had led her to do it. + +Lawrence was too hurt to move. His mind repeated again and again the +words she had spoken. He kept saying to himself: "Blindness has made me +that, an egotist beggar." He did not reproach Claire. She had swept him +too far from his habitual moorings for that. There was no rebellion +against her, none, indeed, against life. Over him rolled wave after wave +of self-contempt, distrust, and anguish that shook him with an agony +that only the assured man knows when the one he loves most of all on +earth strikes dead his faith in himself. He thought of a multitude of +things that stabbed anew, but not once did he move in the interminable +period that passed before Philip returned. + +When he did come, the Spaniard was amazed at the crouching, white-faced +man whom he found before a dying fire. There was something so sad in the +blind face that Philip felt no suspicion and no anger. He looked for +Claire, but she was not visible. He stirred the fire and set about +preparing supper while his mind began digging at the problem which he +saw in the attitude of the man there in the chair. Claire did not come +out to help. She was too exhausted from the storm that had swept over +her. In her bed she could hardly smother the scream that kept rising to +her lips. She wanted to spring up and cry aloud to Lawrence for +forgiveness. She was scarcely aware of Philip as he moved about. + +She could have thrown herself at Lawrence's feet and pleaded with him. +She was discovering that her whole wild outbreak was a strange +expression of her physical desire for this man whom she loved, and the +discovery made her as self-detesting as she had been violent in her +outbreak. It seemed to her that there was nothing, nothing she would not +do to make amends to Lawrence for what she had said. She wanted to tell +him what it had been that prompted her, but she dared not lest in +revulsion at her viciousness he turn on her and kill her. + +"God, God," she muttered, "what have I done!" + +Philip was calling her to supper. She steadied her voice, and said +humbly: "I can't come out. I'm not feeling very well. Go on without me, +please." + +She heard him speak to Lawrence, and she strained her ears to catch the +answering movement toward the table, but there was none. At last Philip +spoke again in a voice that was full of anxiety: "Lawrence, what in +God's name has happened?" + +Lawrence was moving now, and she waited with bated breath for his +answer. He walked to the table and sat down. His voice was heavy. "I've +found myself out, Philip. That's all. I know what I am." + +There was a moment of silence. Claire covered her mouth with her hand to +suppress a cry. She wanted to shout: "No, no, no, not that, but what I +am, my beloved, my adored one." + +"What do you mean?" Philip's voice seemed stern. + +"I mean that I am indebted to you and Claire for the truth I needed." + +Behind the curtain Claire turned on her face and burst into sobs. + +Philip arose abruptly. "Lawrence," he said quietly, "I do not know what +has happened to you this afternoon; I do not know what you mean; but +this I do know: I am deeply sorry if anything I have done or said has +made you feel that you are an unwelcome guest in my home." + +Lawrence stood up and gathered his scattered senses. + +"Philip, I beg your pardon, old man. It isn't that at all. The truth +is"--and his voice broke--"I have lied to myself and to the world these +many years. Much of it hasn't been my fault, but I must pay the price +just the same. I am blind. That has led me to a sort of clamorous egoism +which carried me on and on until I came to feel that I was really doing +something. At last, I know that I am a narrow human parasite, worthless, +utterly worthless. A blind, clinging, grasping, vagrant beast, fed upon +the mercy of too kind-hearted humanity. I am sorry. It isn't my fault, +but it is so." + +Philip stood for a few minutes in silence. "You're ill, Lawrence," he +said finally. "Get back to yourself if you can. Things do not stay at +this point in human abasement. I know of what I speak. I have been +through that myself. I cannot say anything comforting. No one can." + +They went to bed with but a few commonplace remarks, and the cabin +became silent. Lawrence lay awake through that night. Claire, unknown to +him, spent her vigil in a great readjustment of her life. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +PHILIP TO THE RESCUE. + + +It is always the little things in human relations that have the most +far-reaching results. Claire might have avoided much trouble with a few +well-chosen words to Lawrence, but her own mental state prevented her +from speaking. + +On his part, Lawrence was so shaken by her outburst that his love for +her was driven deep into his subconscious self, and for the time it lay +there dormant. After the sudden volcanic upheaval of his entire +universe, he was utterly absorbed in the immediate task of +reconstructing his faith in himself. The primitive stages of his +thinking did not allow for any relation between himself and the woman +who had released the dam of self-abasement. She was unavoidably at hand, +reminding him of her speech, and that alone delayed what otherwise would +have been an unconscious process. + +Claire was not able to forget the intense desire which, she now +realized, had prompted her terrible diatribe. Humiliation held her in +its throes, and she was reserved, distant, and unnatural toward him. + +Philip saw it all, and his mind was filled with conjectures which made +him less and less charitable toward Lawrence, more jealous, and more +hopeful of a happy issue of his love for Claire. She turned to him +eagerly for companionship. Instinctively she sought refuge from her own +thoughts--and from Lawrence--by talking to Philip. + +The morning after the incident between Lawrence and Claire there had +been an austere reserve in the cabin. Claire had fled from the +oppressive gloom into the open. Outside Philip joined her, and they +walked together in silence. He was determined not to ask Claire what had +happened, although he was extending her a silent sympathy which she felt +and a little resented. + +Lawrence, left alone in the cabin, gave small heed to their departure. +He had risen with a frightful headache and a fever. He lay on the bed +and thought of his situation, his past life, and his future chances, in +bitter, heartrending, self-condemnatory sarcasm which made his condition +even less tolerable than it would have been otherwise. + +"I am a miserable groveler at the feet of humanity," he thought, +"clutching at shrinking shoestrings for a piece of bread in pity's name. +If I could see, God, if I only could!" + +He thought of all the little things which his blindness made it +absolutely necessary for others to do for him, and his excited mind +magnified them into colossal proportions. If his landlady in New York +had removed a spot from his clothes, as she had often done, that was a +proof of his despised state. He fell to imagining that he was unkempt, +dirty, disgustingly unclean, and that people had tolerated it because +they had pitied him. At last, with a cry of anguish, he thought: "And my +work, too, it is a botched mess which they are amused at and do not dare +to tell me the truth about. It, too, is a jest that the world is having +at my expense." He remembered praise and prizes that he had won in +contests with other students, and he was too excited to see the folly of +his answer: "That was charity, the award of kindness to me. I know now +what they thought--that for a blind man the thing was nearly enough +correct to be interesting and quite amusing." + +His body felt hot, and he went outside to prowl about in the wind and +snow, like a despairing beast. His mind kept up its terrible work, and +he did not notice the continual drop in temperature. Round and round the +cabin he walked, instead of going into the forest, as he would have done +the day before. In his mind was a sudden doubt of his own ability, and +he said that Claire had been right to keep him in. She was more aware of +his pitiable weakness than he. At last, however, from sheer weariness he +went inside. He was chilled through, but instead of rebuilding the fire +and warming himself, he rolled up in a blanket and lay on the bed, +chilling and burning by turns. + +In the mean time Claire and Philip were discussing the man in the cabin. +Philip had finally broken the silence by saying: "Claire, you needn't +feel so about whatever has happened. Remember he is blind and must be +treated less critically than other men." + +She knew that that was just what had made Lawrence so deadly white when +she had spoken, and it filled her with sickening pain. She answered +unsteadily: "That isn't true. It isn't Lawrence, anyway, it's myself who +should be condemned." + +Philip was thoughtful. "It is like you to take the blame on yourself. +You are so kind-hearted that way." + +In her present state, his words seemed like a reproach. "Philip, don't," +she said sadly. "I know better than that." + +He persisted. "No, you do not. You are too sympathetic, and you let your +heart get the better of you." + +"I wish you wouldn't talk that way," she repeated. "You wouldn't, if you +knew the truth." + +"Of course, I do not know what happened," he said, "but I do know +you--even better than you know yourself." + +"Do you know what I've done?" + +"No, and I do not care. It was right, I am sure. The queen can do no +wrong." He was intensely serious. + +"Isn't there any common sense left in you, Philip?" she railed. "Have +you gone clear back into medieval nonsense in your feeling toward me? I +tell you, you are indulging in foolishness." + +"Am I?" He smiled. "Well, if that is the best I have to give--" + +"I don't want you to give me anything." + +"But I cannot help it, neither can you." + +"I have killed a man's love before this," she answered bitterly. + +"But you cannot kill mine. I love you, whether you love me or not. I am +proud to acknowledge my unreturned love." + +"As you please." Claire stopped suddenly. "Are we apt to get anywhere +with this subject?" she asked ironically. + +"I don't know. I earnestly hope so." + +She looked at Philip thoughtfully. Perhaps the truth about her own +weakness might cure him. + +"Suppose I allowed you to love me, and you found that you had won a +woman whose passions were her whole life. Suppose she should prove to be +a mere bundle of sex, all polished over with other people's ideas, a +social manner, and a set of morals which she did not really feel, which +were deceiving ornaments hiding her soul. What would you think of your +prize?" + +"I should not love such a woman. I could not." + +"But suppose you were deceived and thought her other than she was." + +"I hardly expect such a thing to happen. Why suppose?" + +"Because if I were your wife you might find it to be true." + +Philip laughed aloud. "Claire, how preposterous! Are you trying to kill +my love for you with such terrifying pictures of depravity?" + +"I wasn't trying to do anything. I just wanted to know." + +"Have you been answered?" + +"Yes, you are like all of your type; you are in love with what your own +desire chooses as an ideal, and then you shout, 'Behold, I am not a +sensual lover!'" + +He stared at her in amazement. "What sort of a thing do you think I am?" + +She laughed carelessly. "A man. And what do you think I am?" + +"A very strange woman, but a dear one," he said earnestly. + +"Why strange, Philip?" + +"Because you talk of love as Lawrence might." + +She winced. "He would know," she said. "He does know, perhaps." She was +talking to herself, and her voice was pathetic. + +Philip's eyes grew fierce with anger. "What do you mean?" + +"Not what your very ideal mind thinks," she said coldly. + +He flamed scarlet, and looked away. "Claire," he said softly, "will you +never have done stirring up suspicions no man could avoid, and then +condemning them?" + +"I didn't stir them up," she mocked. + +"Who did, then?" + +Claire was undergoing a developing reconstruction, but that she did not +know. She thought she was degenerating, and the immediate result was to +make her careless and ironical. + +"Oh, the devil, perhaps," she hazarded. + +"What are you, Claire?" Philip demanded hoarsely. + +Suddenly her suffering broke into tears. To his utter amazement, she +began to cry unrestrainedly. + +Over and over she sobbed: "I don't know, I don't know." + +For a moment Philip stood motionless, bewildered, then his love and +natural tenderness swept over him, and he said tenderly, "Don't, Claire, +please." + +She only cried harder, weakened the more by his pity. He took her in his +arms as he would a child, and comforted her. She was tempted to +struggle, but her need for sympathy prevailed, and she did not resist +him. He held her in his arms, pouring out his love, his anxiety, his +tenderness, and in her momentary condition she listened and made no +protest. In her aching mind she kept repeating, "I have killed +Lawrence's love with my bestial talk"--and she wanted love. She did not +think of her husband. He was too far away. In her present attitude she +exalted Lawrence to the unattainable, and, without formulating the +thought, she was willing to lie in Philip's arms and take what he could +give. They were two of a kind, she thought scornfully. In her +bitterness, the bleak, snow-covered land, with its drooping pines, +seemed in its cold monotony a fitting background for two such worthless +derelicts. + +In the Spaniard's mind was but one thought--to comfort Claire and +restore her to her usual self. Vaguely he knew that love was already +promised by the unresisting body in his arms, but there was no thought +of immediately pressing his suit. He petted and talked until she stopped +crying, then he stood her on her feet, and said, with a tender laughter +in his words: "There, you are all right again. We would better go in. +You are cold." + +Silently she walked beside him back to the cabin. She was indifferent, +she thought, as to whether he did or did not continue his appeals for +love. She was under her own deep, unexplained, emotional control which +led her forward. She was finding herself, but before she would be safe +she would have to throw off a mass of traditional views, beliefs, and +teachings. If Philip chose to press his suit while her knowledge of +herself still seemed vile and abnormal, she would be surely his. Claire +thought herself lost. She had revealed her terrible state to Lawrence, +killed his love, filled him with abhorrence, and struck at his life's +source. + +With silent turmoil in her brain she entered the cabin beside Philip. +When she saw Lawrence, a sharp pain went through her. He was white as +death save for the red spots that marked his fever. She took off her +coat and snow-cap hurriedly. + +"Lawrence," she said softly, going toward him. + +He lifted his head slightly. + +"What is it, Claire?" + +"I want to do something for you. You're ill." + +His face clouded. "No, thanks," he said. "You've done too much for me +already." + +"Won't you do anything for yourself?" she begged. + +"I'll be all right. It's just a cold, I guess." + +Philip came and stood looking down at Lawrence scrutinizingly, while +Claire went to the fire and heated water. + +"I am going to fill you up with quinin," he announced. "It is never +missing from my medicine-chest." + +"All right," Lawrence laughed. "It isn't bitter compared to what I'm +filling myself with." + +"Are you not making a fool of yourself?" Philip asked plainly. + +"Yes. I know it. That doesn't keep me from doing it, though." + +Claire turned and looked at them, her eyes sternly reproachful toward +Philip. + +"One can't help thinking," she said. "I can't." + +"I shouldn't want you to," Lawrence returned. "Indeed, I'm grateful to +you for making me think, too." + +"She started you off, did she?" Philip smiled. + +Lawrence did not answer, and Philip sat down by the fire where he could +watch Claire as she worked. + +After a time Lawrence said thoughtfully: "If one could establish some +sort of a relation between himself and the ultimate first cause of all +this blind snowstorm we call life, things might get shaped with some +measure for perspectives." + +"Yes," Philip assented. "I manage to establish one, though I confess it +isn't clearly logical." + +"What is it?" Lawrence asked. + +"Simply having faith; hope, if you prefer it." + +"But faith in what, and what do you base it on?" + +"Oh, on my experience." + +"I wonder if we really matter at all to the rest of the scheme," Claire +voiced. + +"I am inclined to think not," replied Lawrence. "We matter only to +ourselves, and what we can do with the universe around us." + +"We matter to God, I think," said Philip. "I don't mean in the old +accepted sense; but we must matter to Him in some way, perhaps as your +statue here matters to you." + +Lawrence chuckled weakly. "It mattered tremendously when I was doing +it. Now it doesn't in the least matter. I shouldn't care if you burned +it as firewood." + +"But you must care," Claire protested, feeling that he was losing +interest in his work because of her. + +"I don't see why. I haven't any real assurance as to its value. It may +be good, more likely it isn't; in any case, I have turned it loose to +shift for itself. It can survive or not; its doing so is immaterial. +Perhaps as immaterial as my existence is to the Great Artist who +conceived the botched job called me." + +"But, Lawrence, why insist that you don't matter to Him?" + +"Oh, because I am scarcely aware of Him at all; indeed, I am not aware +of Him, and I am sure He isn't aware of me." + +"You have not any way to prove that," declared Philip. + +"True, except that I can imaginatively comprehend the size of time and +space, and all that is therein. I know my own size, and I can readily +imagine that the creator of the whole is no more aware of me than I am, +say, of a small worm that may be in the heart of my cherub there." + +"We do seem pretty small in the face of the stars," said Claire. + +"Yes, and so impossible," added Lawrence. "I didn't realize until to-day +how utterly impossible I really am." + +"But, impossible or not, here you are," Philip laughed. + +"Yes, here I am and there I may be, but in either place I am not +especially possible. You are; you can go out and make a definite, +independent impression on life; that makes you possible in that you are +forcing recognition of power and capability. I can't do that. The +impression I make is one of incapability. For myself I am impossible, +and for others more so." + +"Which has nothing to do with God," said Philip, in his tone a touch of +distaste. + +Lawrence recognized it and became silent. + +Claire made him take the quinin and heated bricks for his feet. Philip +went out to cut wood for the fire, leaving her alone with the sick man. +She was so full of her own wickedness, as she conceived it, that she +dared not tell him her thoughts. She wanted to explain that she loved +him, that she had loved him all along, but she could not. She looked at +him, and felt sure that he had now no love for her. + +Lawrence was trying to follow out in his mind a searching inquiry as to +his relation to life. "If I could only establish that," he thought, "I +could get myself straight and there would be something to start from. If +I knew which way to move!" But he was unable to do any coherent +thinking. His head ached, his lips burned with fever, and his body kept +him busy with the sensation of pain. It seemed to him that illness made +his state more detestable, but it also offered him a chance of escape +from the whole drab business. He was quite sure that he wanted to +escape, and he would not have believed it if any one had told him that +he would resist death to the uttermost; yet deep within him was that +will to live which had made him the creative artist. It was working, +unknown to him, now, toward the reconstruction he so needed. + +He turned restlessly, and muttered something about his foolishness. +Claire came and sat beside him silently. She was wondering what would +happen if she should tell him of her discovery of herself. + +"Claire!" Lawrence spoke. "Is it possible for any one to get his life +platform built so that it will stand without that first great plank?" + +"What plank?" + +"God." + +"I don't know." + +"It seems to me that you couldn't have shaken me so yesterday if I had +been built up right." + +"Lawrence," she said piteously, "I didn't mean to do that, to say that." + +He waved her words aside. "Never mind, Claire, it did me good. I was not +realizing, quite, just what I was. I'm finding it out, and when I get +right I'll be all the better for it." + +"But you don't know why I did it." + +"Yes, I do, but it doesn't matter, anyway. What was behind your words +doesn't count so long as you told the truth." + +"But it does count, and I didn't tell the truth." + +"I'm afraid you did. Please don't try to cover it with kind fibs now." + +"I sha'n't, but you don't understand." + +"Well, Claire, it doesn't matter, as I said. What is it to me what you +do or don't do, so long as you bring me face to face with more truth?" + +She thought he was telling her that he cared nothing for her. She did +not blame him, yet there was a tiny streak of pride that said, "At least +Philip finds me worth while." + +"It is simply my own salvation that is involved," Lawrence went on. + +"Well, I hope you find it," she said simply. + +"I must find it to live," he answered. + +"And how do you propose to find it?" + +"I don't know. I wish I did." + +"You might find it, as you once said, in creative work." + +"No, that isn't a salvation. I must have a platform from which to work. +Don't you see that, Claire?" + +"I don't understand anything about it." + +"Pardon me, I didn't intend to force this upon you." + +"That isn't what I mean, Lawrence." Her eyes were moist. "What I meant +was that you live above me entirely." + +"Nonsense," he said wrathfully. "You talk like a silly girl, Claire." + +"Do I? Well, I am perhaps less worth while than you think." + +"Oh, I guess not," he returned carelessly. + +She covered her face with her hands. + +"I know you are worth all that I think you are," he continued. "But I am +afraid that just now I am too interested in my own salvation to think of +you at all correctly." + +"Yes," she observed wearily. + +She was thinking of Philip as he had comforted her that morning, and his +tenderness, compared to this cold statement from Lawrence, seemed +attractive beyond measure. She admitted that all hope of Lawrence's +loving her was dead, and she said to herself: "It is what I wanted. I +can go back to my husband." But she did not want to go back to Howard. +She received this discovery calmly. She would never go back. But why +shouldn't she? She could not tell for certain. She thought it was +because she had found herself unworthy, but deep within her was the +knowledge that she no longer loved him. It would be useless to go back +to him in any event. He could never be the same to her after hearing of +her long months with this blind man in the wilderness. + +What months they had been! She thought them over, day by day, and she +saw what might have been a great joy sink, after a glimpse, into utter +darkness. Before her she saw the endless gray years beside Philip. Yes, +she would stay with him. At least he loved her, and she could help him. +If she did not love him, what of it? She would be an able wife to him. +She could keep him from ever knowing that her heart was away with +Lawrence, who would be back in the world at home and have forgotten her. + +"Claire!" Lawrence was speaking. "We have certainly reaped a strange +harvest from our months of sowing in the wilderness." + +"Yes." + +"Whatever brought it about?" + +"I don't know." + +"Perhaps it was fate, that you should teach me where I stand in life." + +"Perhaps." + +"And perhaps you, too, will find that I have been of some value when we +are separated." + +"It may be." + +"I wish things might have gone differently." + +"They didn't." + +"No, and they can't. Well, let them be as they are." + +"I guess we'll have to, Lawrence." + +A few minutes later, when she looked at him, he was asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +UTTER EXHAUSTION. + + +Claire rose and slipped quietly to her own bed. All the aching pain of +her proposed future came over her with its dirty sordidness. She could +never stand it, she thought, and clenched her teeth. Well, it was not +necessary. When Lawrence was gone, there was the lake. That would be her +way out of it all. No one need ever know. The thought of death seemed +very sweet to her. + +Philip came in, saw Lawrence asleep, and stole across the room to peep +in at her. She met his glance. + +"I beg your pardon," he murmured. + +"Never mind," she answered dully. "Come in if you like." + +He hesitated, then stepped through, and let the curtain fall behind him. + +"May I sit here?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. + +"Why not?" Her voice was colorless. "Only please speak softly. Don't +wake Lawrence." + +"He'll feel better after his sleep, I think." + +"I hope so." + +He sat looking down into her dark, clouded eyes. There was something so +tragic, so sad, and so submissive in them that he was filled with utter +tenderness. + +"Claire," he whispered, "what is the matter?" + +"Nothing. I'm quite well." + +"You look absolutely desolate." + +"I don't especially feel so." + +"Are you happy?" + +"I don't know." + +He stooped over her, studying her face. She did not move, only her deep, +dark eyes looked up coldly into his. He took the hand which she did not +draw away, and whispered: "Claire, let me make you happy." + +She did not answer. He bent nearer. Her eyes did not shift from his, she +saw that he was going to kiss her, but she did not move. If the whole +world had come crashing down upon her, she could not have made the +slightest effort to escape. + +He pressed his lips against hers. She did not return his kiss, but she +did not protest. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her up. +Still she made no objection. He held her more closely, kissing her again +and again. She remained impassive, unable to summon sufficient willpower +to resist. Besides, had she not decided to be this man's wife? + +He was pouring into her ears short, whispered words of endearment, +giving his love free rein. + +"Claire--Claire," he whispered passionately, "you do love me! Say you +love me!" + +"Oh, must I say that?" she asked languidly. + +He laid her head back on the pillow tenderly. + +"Why shouldn't you?" he demanded. "You do, or you wouldn't let me act +this way. Oh, Claire, isn't that true?" + +"Doesn't your own heart tell you, Philip?" She could not lie easily. + +"Yes, of course. I just wanted to hear you say it, dear." + +"Why?" + +"Because--because it means so much to me." + +"How does it mean any more than my unresisting lips?" She wanted to be +fair to Philip. Would he want a wife without love? + +He looked at her, puzzled by her calm question. + +"Because, dear, it would mean that you put your seal on our divine +betrothal." + +"I gave you my lips, you held me in your arms, doesn't that mean love to +you?" + +"Claire, why do you talk that way?" + +"Why shouldn't I? Isn't it true?" + +"Yes, but you--you seem so unlike the woman you are." + +"Oh, I see. But you haven't told me fully why you wanted me to say I +loved you." + +He stood up nervously and moved a few paces away, but the patient, +self-reproachful gaze in Claire's eyes brought him back again. + +"Why talk of that at all, dearest?" he whispered. "We have each other. +Isn't that enough?" + +"Perhaps not. You asked me to say it, you know." + +"Yes, but I don't care. I won't plague you. I know you do love, me." He +kissed her again and then looked at her. Her lips had been cold. + +"What is the matter, Claire? Don't you love me? Is that why you wouldn't +give me your word?" + +It was coming at last. How could she make Philip see, and yet be fair to +him, too? + +"I don't know what you mean by love." Her voice was carefully toneless. + +Philip's eyes lighted. "Don't you want me here beside you? Don't you +warm to my kisses? Isn't there an awakened tenderness in you at my +touch? Isn't there, dearest?" + +Claire's hands moved nervously up and down the edge of the comforter. +"If I should stay here with you, that would be the highest proof that I +loved you, wouldn't it?" + +"What else?" He looked at her, hope giving his face a renewed glow. + +Was that all that love meant to him? "Is that what your years of thought +have taught you?" she said aloud. + +"Why, yes, Claire, the return of passion for passion, of warmth for +warmth, of tenderness for tenderness, must be the last test, mustn't +it?" + +Despite her resolution her eyes narrowed ironically. + +Philip started, and stared at her. + +"Would you ever be jealous of my husband?" she asked, slowly. + +His head dropped. "No--and yes. Of course, I wish he hadn't been your +husband, but we can't help what fate has decreed." He raised his eyes, +and then suddenly he smiled. "Claire, is it because of him that you are +unwilling to tell me you love me?" he asked softly. "I think I can +understand. You'll have to be freed from him in some way, and we must be +married, of course." + +"I am free from him. To him, I am dead. Isn't that enough?" + +"Yes," he answered judiciously, "if your own conscience is satisfied." + +She smiled a little, her eyebrows lifting in amusement. "Oh, my own +conscience dictates my every act, Philip." + +"I know it does," he agreed, earnestly. "But your lips were cold to my +kiss." He bent over to test the truth of his remark. + +"Do you forget Lawrence so easily?" Claire raised a hand over her face. +"Certainly I cannot." + +"I beg your pardon," Philip said, rising hastily. "Of course he is to +be remembered. We will wait until we are alone to talk of our future." + +"Yes," she said. "I should prefer that greatly." + +He touched his lips to her forehead tenderly, then stepped silently into +the room beyond. + +She heard him as he moved quietly to replenish the fire, and it seemed +to her that he made enough noise to echo from the mountains across the +lake. She must think her situation through. She was studying the look +she had read on Philip's face, and was angry with herself, yet she could +not help thinking of it and its meaning. Suddenly she remembered the +same expression on her husband's face, and she shuddered. She had +thought it beautiful then, why not now? And why should she be so +contemptuous when probably the same look had been in her own eyes when +she had raged at Lawrence because he had not taken her in his arms. +Philip was sitting out there beyond the curtain dreaming ecstatically of +the days when they would be alone in the cabin, and she smiled +ironically. After all, there was but one way out. He would find little +comfort in her ghost, and her drowned body would scarcely fire him to +passion. + +She rose and slipped out into the room. Lawrence was still asleep. She +did not even glance toward Philip because she foresaw his look of +proprietorship. She went straight to Lawrence, and bending over him as +if to arrange something about his blanket, she whispered softly: +"Beloved, when I am alone with him, I shall be more with you." + +Philip came and stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on her +shoulder. + +"It looks like a serious fever," he said softly. + +Claire listened to Lawrence's breathing and felt his temperature. She +stood up, gray with anxiety. "I'm afraid for him," she said, and there +was that in her voice which Philip did not understand. + +They ate their supper in silence. Claire glanced at Philip occasionally +and found in his eyes the anticipated look of tender ownership. She let +him slip out of her mind while she thought again of the afternoon when +Lawrence had declared his creative principle. How dearly she would love +to help him, to have him model his statue of her. He had said that she +was savage and elemental underneath her polish. He had known, then, all +the time. What a man he was! If only she knew how to find his love, to +reawaken it. But no, he would never forget. Well, he would not have been +able to care for her, anyway, she was so utterly sensual despite all her +training in culture. He would want a more spiritual woman to fire his +imagination to do great work. She tried to imagine what sort of woman +would be best for his wife. + +Lawrence stirred restlessly. She rose and went quickly to the bed. He +was still asleep and she stood looking down at him. In her heart was a +great tenderness and a great fear. What if he should die? Memories of +their days in the woods swept over her in waves of love. + +Abruptly she turned to Philip and said quietly: "Philip, until I am your +wife you must not touch me again." + +He looked up, startled, then smiled. "I understand, my dear," he said, +"I will not." + +She sat down at the table to wait for Lawrence's waking. It was late +when he did, and immediately they realized that he was worse. Claire +gave him some hot soup made from dried meal and helped Philip get him +undressed and into bed. + +"I'll put some blankets here and sleep on the floor beside him," Philip +whispered. "I don't in the least mind, and I can help him if he wants +help during the night." + +"Thank you," Claire said gratefully. She felt indebted to this man for +every kindness shown Lawrence. + +Long before morning she was aroused by the sound of movements out there +in the room. + +"What is it?" she called softly. + +"I am looking for something in which to heat water," came Philip's +voice. + +She scrambled out of bed, drew on a few clothes, and went out. Lawrence +was tossing on his bed and breathing heavily. She set to work heating +the water herself, and sent Philip back to his blankets. There was a +pleasure in doing this nursing for Lawrence. She felt glad that hers +was the chance to care for him. + +"You're to have the best nursing a sick man ever got, Lawrence," she +said, stooping over him tenderly. + +He smiled faintly and whispered: "Good, Claire." + +"You'll be well so quick you won't remember being ill." + +"I know," he murmured huskily. + +"What do you know?" she asked eagerly. + +"I know, it's natural for you, this kindness." + +"Is that all you know, Lawrence?" + +"About all, Claire. About all, yet." + +"Why do you say 'yet'?" + +"I haven't thought it out yet." + +"What, Lawrence?" + +"My platform, my work-bench for the future." + +She laughed, a little sadly. "You would better stop thinking about that +for a day or so, wouldn't you?" + +"Perhaps. I can't, though." + +She drew up a chair and sat beside him. "I'm going to become a regular +guard, and if you don't sleep and let thinking wait, I'll scold +dreadfully." + +He tossed uneasily and turned toward her, his cheeks brilliant with +fever. + +"I like to hear you scold, Claire," he said. "I shall go my limit." + +She rubbed her cool hand across his forehead for answer. + +When he at last slept, she continued to watch by his side, rocking +slowly in her chair. It was peace for her to sit there and dream. There +was rest from her ceaseless questionings, and it was welcome rest. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE QUESTION ANSWERED. + + +During the days that followed Claire's attitude grew into one of +motherhood. She watched over Lawrence for the least thing she might do, +the least promise of returning health. There were times when he raved in +delirium, and she listened with a swelling heart. + +One morning he began suddenly talking of himself. In broken sentences, +shapeless phrases, half finished thoughts, he unfolded a strange tale. +Claire was glad that Philip was away at work with his traps. She sat +beside Lawrence, her hands clasped, and did not miss a word. + +"You see," he began one day without preliminaries, "you see, I wasn't +just given the best of chances. That was the beginning of it all. I +wasn't fairly treated." She tried to comfort him into sleep, but he did +not know she was talking to him and went on earnestly with his +unconscious revelation. + +"The whole business was a squalid sort of thing banked by mountains so +grand in their rugged strength that I never got used to the dirty, dusty +little half-civilized town there on the plateau. Even as a child I felt +the intolerable difference between the place and its surroundings. Men +ought to be better up there, but they aren't. They just magnify faults +with the bigness of the hills around. Lots of it was romantic, lots of +it ought never to be lost, the frank freedom, the vital living, the joy +of uncertain victory over the dirt of the mines. It made men wild, wild +to the last degree, that ever possible stumbling into gold, pure, +glittering gold. Why, I saw it as a kid, shining like stars all over the +side of the tunnel. It made even the children mad, I think. When I +modeled rude little figures out of the red clay, I was always on the +outlook for a possible gold-mine." + +He laughed, then went on seriously. "I didn't have the chance to grow up +learning things gradually. There was no dividing-line between vice and +virtue, all of it spread out there, street behind street, in a glow of +abandoned riot. Even virtue flashed with a loose frankness that deceived +a growing boy. It was a grand drama. Fifty thousand mad men and women!" + +She looked at him in amazement. This was something beyond her knowledge. +What was it all that he was talking about? + +"There was Josey; she didn't know. I didn't. We saw love played with in +hilarious open passion. We thought it was the thing to do. Children +oughtn't to see it quite that way." + +Claire felt guilty, but he stopped and when he began again he was on a +different line of old memories. + +"Why, when I sold papers down on the main street I could see the girls +of the district standing around, one block below, in their business +regalia. I thought at first they were angels." + +Claire sat in wonder and listened. + +"The first time I ever went down there I was eight. Eight years old, and +one of them called me from the open door of her house. When I stepped to +the door, she was coming down a stairway, her white dress open and +spread like wings at either side of her naked body. I was sure she was +an angel out of my Sunday-school book. I could scarcely take the dime +she gave me. I never forgot her kissing me and patting my head when I +stared so at her." + +Claire felt a strangely tender pity for the little chap she was seeing +now in her imagination. + +"And the fighting, dirty, freckled sons of those women--they kept me +hard at it, keeping the money I got. After that day, I went down there +often. Traded a paper with a golden-haired angel for a box of +cigarettes, the first I ever owned. It was great, wonderful, to have her +cigarettes. I smoked them with a sense of reverence. + +"Wright and I played hooky, and the girls hid us all day in their +shacks, played with us, teased us about sex, and taught us things we +oughtn't to have known. Poor old Wright! They sent him to the pen for +burglary after I had been gone years and was blind. I wonder if I'd have +followed him. Most likely would. + +"And, oh, the hills! There was old Pisga, pined to its cone point, and a +race-track, with a saloon, at its foot. I ran away out there once at a +big Fourth of July barbecue. It rained like the devil and I lounged in +the bar with jockeys and sporting girls, listening to their ribald talk. + +"I don't know--a street urchin in a camp, that was all I was. If I got +licked, and I did, I was a coward for years and had to give up my +pennies. I used strategy, cunning, because I was afraid to fight till I +whipped Red. That made a difference. If the old fellow I liked so hadn't +given Red a quarter to lick me, I'd have been a coward yet. It made me +so mad I licked Red." + +Lawrence laughed again merrily. + +"That started me fighting, and I fought daily without provocation. +Dirty, scaly fisted little rat, whose stockings sagged around his shoes, +fighting for money in the saloons! The men liked me, too. All of them +called me their kid. I used to stand big-eyed and watch the faro-table +stacked with gold. There were days, too, when I went out alone over the +hills. I was ashamed of my little figures and afraid lest the boys find +my mud-pies, as Red had called a tiny dog that fell out of my pocket in +a fight. + +"One day in an electric storm I saw a man and his horse killed by +lightning. I was awed, and electricity became my god. I worshiped it +like a little heathen. I even bought penny suckers and stuck them up in +the ground where the lightning played in stormy weather. + +"It always seemed that the only things about the whole camp that fitted +with the hills were that girl in white and an old mountaineer who fought +with his fists alone against a gang of drunks. I don't know why. They +just belonged." + +He stopped and lay a long time in silence. Claire thought over what he +had said, and her heart went out to this man as if he were still the +little gamin of the hills. + +"Poor little chap," she murmured aloud. + +Lawrence half raised himself in bed, talking again, and she was obliged +to push him back. + +"It was all paradise, though, compared to that school where the Women's +Club sent me. I didn't want an education. Freedom was taken from me. I +was chained with discipline. I had seen too much and I told the other +marveling boys. They talked, and I was punished as a degenerate little +villain. I couldn't see why. That first winter was hell. They all +misunderstood me, and I them. I ached for my mountains again, and when +they sent me to the camp for the summer I whooped for joy. + +"I must have been thirteen at that time. The men in camp paid the Widow +Morgan to keep me through the summer. She had a daughter seventeen or +thereabouts. Georgia had curly hair and blue eyes. She didn't pay much +attention to me at first. I didn't care. + +"Then one night the widow went off to a lodge-meeting and left us alone. +Pearly and the gang came around and began throwing rocks at the house +and demanding that Georgia let them in. I was furious, and she was +nearly scared to death. She got her mother's pistol and asked me to +shoot it. I took it and, opening the door, fired into the night. The +gang slunk off, but Georgia was still frightened. + +"We slipped out of our clothes in trembling silence and huddled together +in her mother's bed. She was crying, and I felt very brave. I put my +arms around her and comforted her. She became quiet by and by and +slipped her arms around me. After that we found ourselves. + +"She said we were in love, and I guess we were. That night was the +beginning of my rebellious manhood. Her mother abused us roundly for +immoral little whiffits. I was put out, and after that the county kept +me. Georgia hated me, for she said I was to blame. + +"I suppose that was all right, too, but it made me bitter against what +seemed to me an unjust world. I went back to school, hating. I never +stopped hating as long as I was there. It was misunderstanding from +first to last. I never ceased rebelling against punishment for +rebellion. + +"It was a hopeless snarl, but it made me what I was when I entered +college, distant, sullen, and ferocious. My only joy was in my work, and +I spent all my spare time in the studio. Then the second summer I shot +off the gunpowder, and blindness came." + +Lawrence lay back silent, then began again. + +"After the accident it was a thousand times worse. I thought people +didn't like me because I was blind. They only pitied and misunderstood. +Misunderstood--that word might be my epitaph. It could certainly be +placed over my childhood's grave. + +"It was in college that I started thinking. Thought out my plan of +militant egoism. It seemed to succeed, but all the time I was afraid it +was only pity that sold my work. You know, Claire, as you said, I've got +to do it all over again. All of it, building a new platform, a new +work-bench. I've got to allow for things. I've got to understand." + +In her tension, Claire walked the floor. Would he never stop? That +glimpse into his life at the widow's--who was Pearly?--and what a tough +little gang he must have grown up with! Poor boy! + +He did not talk much for a long time, then he kept repeating: "I must +build a new work-bench, Claire. That's the thing to do." + +She felt at times that she must scream at him, then she would be all +motherly tenderness. "Lawrence," she would whisper, "do it, my man. You +can, my laddie." + +He tossed, and chided an unseen man or woman for having helped him +through charity under the garb of admiration. He was misunderstanding +again. He thought everything was charity, pity for his blindness, and he +raved. She began to see that this sudden bitterness which poured from +his lips was the outcome of years of sorrow, the product of a +deep-burning fire to see the beauty his soul craved. + +"Lawrence," she cried, "God knows if I could I would give you my eyes!" + +She knew that he was consumed with the pain of his struggle to +comprehend more beauty. Even exaggerating his hunger for sight, she wept +beside him. Her whole soul yearned to help him, to give him more of the +beauty which seemed the prime need of his nature. + +Sometimes he prayed for it, addressing Fate, Nature, Chance, anything, +everything but God. + +After a silence that was beginning to frighten Claire, he began again. +At first his words were indistinct, but as she leaned closer, they +cleared of guttural sounds. She listened spellbound. + +"You see, I hadn't done my thinking with allowance for the whole of +human character, Claire. That was what was wrong with me. I'm doing that +now. I'm finding myself again. It is back with the beginning of things I +must start. Back with the first squirm of life in the primordial mud. +It's no use trying further back than that. No use at all. Back of that +lies only conjecture. + +"There was existence, perhaps, inert unconscious existence waiting to +become suddenly aware of itself, aware of its parts and its difference +from other things. Well, existence struggling, dreaming of +self-knowledge, found in a wriggling, oozing spot of protoplasm--that's +the start of it all. Feeding without hunger, moving without knowledge to +food, reproducing mechanically by division, living without instinct, +without emotion, without death. For me, that must be the beginning. + +"Whether death came, or what it was--a long period without food, +perhaps--that started this stuff to changing, I do not know. Maybe it +was existence following the way of greatest pressure toward selfhood. +Anyway, it started and began its journey. Up and up, out of the mud and +ooze, into light and dry dirt. + +"The glory of light must have been a great thing then. Think of it, +coming into light, out of wet, dark mud. I know what it would be better +than you. Light, the first great discovery of life! It must have +hastened growth--warmth, sunrays, heat, cold at night and dark again. +The glory of it breaking at dawn over the squirming, groping blind +existence of things! + +"God said let there be light, and there was light. + +"Existence demanding the thing it craved. Was that it, or existence +finding light and learning to crave it? No matter--light, a thousand +miracles of warmth and wonder! Growth was inevitable, Claire. + +"Then the craving learned by experience broke into new form. I don't +know what it was; a two-celled bug, perhaps--only that it was craving +that did it. Hunger and thirst after light. + +"Pain came at the very start of things. Wants unsatisfied drove with the +scourge of hell, forcing eyes, ears, stomach, sex into being, and out of +the squalor of it all, still goaded by incessant want, there heaved the +gigantic scaly carcass of the dinosaur. Still unaware of things, but +driven to move, to grow, to expand. Existence demanding more expression +of its awareness of self. + +"The beast didn't know what it was. He only grew and grew and grew, till +he spread his ugly, yearning life over hundreds of feet of ground. Eye +and ear and touch and a peace of filled belly lay basking in the light, +glorying in what they found. Life was good, riotously good, finding +things, finding itself out. They fought, fed, killed, bred, all in the +effort of existence to know. + +"What a blood-drenched chaotic struggle for self it was, Claire! + +"And so, on and on and on. Touch didn't satisfy the incessant taste for +more knowledge, more life. Bodies rising like hills out of the marshes +couldn't give the keen joy that existence craved for itself. + +"New things again: changed, altered products of the old, bearing in +their frames the history, the memory of the old--it all came, and out of +it at last, hunger-driven for more keen life, sprang a biped, hairy, +tusked, savage, bloody, lustful, eager to live, live, live! + +"He was a glorious beast. In his flattened head that held the little +bloodshot eyes were memory, products of the past, things that harked +back for confirmation of present things. He had instincts--that's what +they are, instincts, memories of past sufferings--that whipped the +organism to go on into keener living. He was sexed, he was hungry, he +was vicious, he slept and ate, he bred consciously, carrying on the +eager shout within his being for more, more of life. More of existence +aware of itself! + +"If he killed, he gloried in the hot blood that drenched his hairless +nose, and he learned to laugh through the pleasure of a filled belly. He +learned to cry when he went hungry. Tears came, and emotions, a more +specialized instinct. + +"He was learning something else, too. But pain still whipped him on, +filled him with fear of non-life, and he grew cowardly. Nature had +created a new thing, a brain, a specialized mass of cells that can +comment, realize, criticise, warn, appreciate, choose better food, get +it easier, help to conquer and promote life; the biped used this new +thing to understand why he ran from the fingers that clutched at him in +the dark and he became afraid. If it brought him new pain, it also +brought him new pleasure. It was a great toy that could be used to enjoy +oneself with. + +"It can have the joy of bodily sensations and then recall them, study +them, comment on them, on its own instincts, its own memories. It can +dream of ways for procuring fuller life, and put the dreams into any +desired shape. Man struts from his jungle, laughing aloud, with lust for +life and joy at his fulness thereof. But all the while, pain, the +darkness, the still inert unconsciousness in existence that oppresses +and drags back into its own dead inertness, is laughing still more +heartily. + +"Everywhere it checks, but man in his egotism forgets that he is a +slave, bound and hampered, and boasts himself master. Death sweeps in, +lightning kills, thunder crashes over him, and filled with fear, with +something bigger than he can grasp, he falls upon his knees, and cries, +'God!' + +"Then begins the mess, the tangled, detestable, bloody, dirty, riotously +glorious, sublime mystery that is me. Me and you, Claire. Here we are." + +Claire leaned over him, her breath suspended in her eagerness. + +"Me, the man, specialized, sex-specialized, made to record, to enjoy, to +remember, to create, and to die at last from sheer wearing out myself +seeking life. + +"And you, you the woman, deeper, more vitally sexed, 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, passion, 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 lust 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 sex, 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 assurance 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 passed 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 shore 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 assail 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 pass 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 passing 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. + +"A woman's whim!" she said, and hated herself for saying it. + +"I don't understand women," he laughed softly. + +"Neither do I." It was Lawrence's voice. He had come in, just in time to +hear the last words. "Nor men, either--except in one thing." + +"What is the one thing?" asked Claire eagerly. + +"That, given a normal, healthy mind, they will sacrifice all their idols +for life. Life is the one eternally insistent thing." + +Philip chuckled. "You are yourself again, I see." + +"Yes, and stronger than ever in my faith," said Lawrence, sitting down. +"I know the price I would pay for life. It is the price every human +being would pay, if demanded." + +"What is that price?" Philip asked. + +"The whole of one's faith in God and man!" + +"Nonsense!" Philip spoke curtly. "I would die before forfeiting a dozen +ideals I hold dear!" + +"Would you?" Lawrence looked at him quizzically. "Would you sacrifice +your own life before you would the love of your sweetheart, for +instance, if you had one?" + +The conversation was similar to those which they had had months before, +but the fire was nearer the surface now. + +"Yes." Philip's answer came swiftly. + +"Then you are a sex-maddened mountaineer!" + +"And you are talking like the beast you are not. I know you do not +believe that." + +"I know I do. I would only die for a woman if she were my life." + +"But any real love finds her so." + +"Folly! I find my work, my future, my dream of a single immortal statue +more my life than any woman!" Lawrence exclaimed. + +"I wonder if you really do," Claire mused, half to herself. + +"Yes," Lawrence insisted, "although she might be necessary to that +statue. At least I believe she might--and I would feel sure of it if I +wanted her badly enough," he ended amusedly. + +"That merely means that you are still utterly selfish!" said Claire. + +"Yes, I am." Lawrence was thoughtful. "It is a paradox, I am so selfish +that, although I would sacrifice myself to the last degree for a person +I loved, yet I would all the time feel that I was a fool, that I was +doing an absurd thing when life was so good." + +"I see," Claire observed. "And I know I would do the same." + +"I would do it," Philip said, "but I would not feel a fool. It would +seem to me right." + +Claire looked straight into his eyes. "You would not, Philip," she +declared softly. "Your own happiness would come first--and you know it." + +The Spaniard's gaze shifted, and there was silence in the cabin. When he +looked up his eyes had changed their expression. + +"Yes," he agreed steadily, "I admit it. Hereafter I mean to have what I +want from life at any cost." + +"Yet you will go on talking ideals," Lawrence mocked. + +"Yes--and thinking them, too." + +"While Lawrence will make the sacrifice and go on talking his +selfishness," Claire added. + +Both men laughed constrainedly. + +"And I," Claire continued, "if it is necessary, will lie to preserve my +will, and, having it secure, will use it to obtain what I want." + +"We are at last three delightfully frank, insufferable, unpleasant, and +very natural, likable human beings!" Lawrence laughed. + +"And on that basis we will work out our fates," murmured Claire. + +"We will do just that," Lawrence answered gaily. + +"Be they good or bad, we will meet our futures with perfect +self-knowledge," contributed Philip. + +"Then most likely they will be bad," Claire added with conviction. + +They gave up talking, and each abandoned himself to his own reflections. +In the minds of the two men these thoughts assumed widely differing +words, though they were the same thoughts. + +Philip was garbing his impulses, desires, and determinations in clothes +that furnished his habitual mental wardrobe. With their marriage, he +thought, Claire would learn the real Philip. He would treat her with +such deference, such tender respect, and such devotion that she would +see the wisdom of her choice. He would prove to her that sex mattered +little, was altogether secondary. It was her great companionship, her +dear thoughtfulness, her charming personality that he loved. Respect, +first of all: happy married life depended on respect; then, common +interest, friendship between two human beings, and, last and least +important, that wonderful emotion springing out of the divine God-given +reproductive life of both. + +Lawrence was thinking very different words to the same end. He thought +of her as his mate, his comrade, and his equal. He admired her brain, +smiled at the thought of their hours of intellectual pleasure, dreamed +of her as the stimulus to creation which her mind should help shape into +master work. + +He loved her beauty and her measureless well of bubbling energy. What a +help she could be to him! She was the greatest of all women; he wanted +her, needed her. Could he realize his dream? That was the point. Well, +no matter, or, at least, no use in speculating. He would try. If she +were willing, what a life of joy and accomplishment lay before them! If +not, he had lived alone until this time, and he could continue to live +alone. Meantime, was Philip the barrier that would keep him from her? He +hoped not. He did not believe that she loved Philip. If she did, he +would be a good loser and wish her joy. His heart ached at the thought. +But, after all, one doesn't die over such things, and he would recover. + +"I'm going to get the supper," said Claire somewhat abruptly. She rose +and set to work. + +Here the thoughts of the two men flowed into an identical channel. It +was certainly good to sit and listen to her. That sound would be very +agreeable, indeed, at the end of a day, in one's own home. As for her +husband, he was out of the question. If Claire went back to him, she +might find him married or in love again, unwilling to receive her after +her long months with two men in the wilderness, suspicious of such a +thing being possible without more intimacies than he would care to +overlook. No, her husband did not matter. She would be justified and +safe in remarrying. Of course, not safe if she returned to America, but +that she would not do. + +At this point their thoughts diverged. Philip was seeing Claire as the +continued inmate of his cabin. Lawrence was painting a delightful mental +picture of Claire as the ever-present fairy of his studio in some South +American town, or perhaps in Paris. He preferred France; it was a land +of more brilliance, more freedom, and certainly much more appreciation +of the things in which they were interested. Besides, his work would +carry more prestige in the world if it came from Europe. + +He thanked the memory of old Roger Burton, of Cripple Creek, and he +rejoiced that he would be able to give Claire the home to which she was +entitled. He smiled as his thoughts went back to the mines and the dirty +little newsboy an old man had befriended. Burton's quarter to Red had +kept Lawrence, the boy, from becoming a coward, and Burton's slender +provision for the college graduate would now insure happiness for +Lawrence the man. Many times before he had laughed scornfully at the +untouched interest from the miner's bonds. He could make his own living. +But now there would be Claire. The old man would have been glad to see +his protégé happy in the love of such a woman. + +Meanwhile Claire was doing her work automatically. In her mind there was +pleasure at the thought that Lawrence was listening to her movements. +But she was filled with a dead weight that seemed likely to break her +down with its dreadful pressure. Vaguely she wished that she had never +seen Philip, even that she had never seen Lawrence, or that she had +perished with him in the mountains. + +How had she ever placed herself in the position she was now in? She had +come by the way of a terrible road and, looking ahead, she could see +nothing but sadness, anguish, and a life of dull discontent with +Philip--that or death! + +Lawrence had had time and opportunity since his recovery to declare +himself, and he had not done so. She had had time and opportunity to +tell him frankly of her own feeling, but she had not done so. She did +not know why. Now she could not. Philip had given her to understand his +desperate determination to marry her, and, after all she had said and +done, she had no right to refuse him. If she told him the truth he might +kill Lawrence or her, or both of them. These tragic idealists, she +exclaimed to herself, what a tangle they can make out of life! + +Oh, what a noose she had managed to fasten around her own neck! Would +the problem never be settled, one way or the other? + +What would she do if Philip tried to force her to marry him? Kill him? +Was she, then, so primitive, so savage, so much the slave of her own +desires that she would slay to gain her end? She remembered Lawrence's +talk when he was ill, "We killed those days, Claire, killed because we +wanted fuller life, fuller knowledge, fuller expansion of our own vital +existence; we were gropers after more light!" + +"Supper!" she said dully, and then sat down. + +They ate in silence save for the occasional necessary word, and +afterward went immediately to bed. + +Claire soon fell asleep, with the last thought in her mind--to live as +she wanted to live she would pay any price! + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE ROMANTIC REALIST. + + +It was the 1st of May when Lawrence at last found himself alone with +Claire and decided to speak. The instant he thought of declaring himself +he was surprised at his own mental state. A panic seized him, his heart +beat unsteadily, his mouth grew dry, and he could think of nothing to +say. + +They were out on the lake shore. Philip had left them on his last long +trip across the plateau before starting for civilization. The warm +spring wind blew around them, laden with scent of pine and flower. At +their feet the water rippled and cooed little melodies. Claire sat very +still, gazing wistfully at the man beside her. Her heart was a lead +weight, and her brain ached with the strain of her problem. + +It was late afternoon. All day she had wandered with Lawrence in +comparative silence, wishing that he would speak, and observing that +something troubled him. + +Finally she moved uneasily, took her hand from her cheek, and said +half-dreamily, "You aren't a bit talkative." + +He gulped, swallowed, and laughed. "I'm too busy trying to think of +something to say," he told her amusedly. + +"Oh!" She was provoked in the extreme. "Have I ceased to suggest +conversation? You are very tired of me, then." + +"Quite the contrary. So far from it, you paralyze my tongue." + +"How complimentary!" she said. "Then I suppose your excessive arguments +with Philip denote your weariness of him?" + +"They do." + +"I suppose, if you were really fond of a person, you would never talk at +all?" + +"Perhaps. I don't know but that you are right." + +She laughed gaily. "Lawrence," she said, "you are certainly amusing when +you attempt to be flattering!" + +He grew warm and uncomfortable. + +"I wasn't trying to flatter. Can't you see that?" He was almost wistful. + +"I don't see it. No, if you weren't trying to flatter you were surely +doing the unintended in a most intricately original manner." + +He shifted his position and did not answer. + +"Of course," she said, "although you aren't accustomed to flattering, +you've taken to doing it almost constantly." + +"Well, why shouldn't I?" he asked curiously. + +"Why not, if you care to?" Her reply was as gentle as if she were a +submissive object of his whims. + +He felt that now was the time to speak, but he could not bring himself +to the point. The thought of his blindness killed all confidence. + +"Hang it all," he broke out, quite as if it were a part of their +previous talk, "blindness certainly does rob one of his will!" + +She looked at him apprehensively. "I thought you had decided you were +the master of that." + +"I had, but it seems I was mistaken." + +Claire laid her hand on his arm tenderly. Her eyes were dazzling. + +"Lawrence, you must master that, you know." + +"Why?" he said thoughtfully. "If I shouldn't, it would mean only one +more human animal on the scrap heap!" + +"But you don't want to be there." + +"Of course not. No one does. I don't imagine any one chooses it." + +"If you go there it will be because you choose it." + +"I wish I saw things your way," he observed. "At times I feel as sure of +success as if it were inevitable, and then suddenly down sweeps the +black uncertainty, and I am afraid, timid, and unnerved." + +She looked at him sadly. + +"Don't you believe in your work, Lawrence?" + +"Yes, that is about all I do believe in." + +"Then what is the matter?" + +"It is that, after all, thousands of men have believed in their work to +no avail. One can never know whether he is a fad or a real artist. It +isn't only that, either. One's work, when it is his life, requires so +much besides to make it possible. It is that which gives me the blue +fear you see. I always imagine that the thing I want just then is +absolutely essential to my better work. Perhaps it is. I don't know. I +know only that I am persuaded that it is. Then I set about to get that +thing and I fail." + +"But do you always fail?" Claire was unconsciously pleading her own +cause. + +"Not always. Just often enough to scare me to death when the biggest +need of my life seems just out of reach." + +"Nonsense, Lawrence," she laughed. "When you were sick you talked as if +you could reach out and pull down the stars, if you needed them in an +endeavor to complete your life." + +"Sometimes I think I could, then the reality of life comes crashing +through the walls of my dream-palace, and, behold, I am standing +desolate and abandoned, grasping at lights which are even too far away +to be seen! I am clawing darkness for something I fancied I could reach, +while, as far as I am concerned, it is clear out of space and time." + +She sat pensively looking across the lake. + +"Yet you keep on reaching, don't you?" + +"Yes--and no. I always wish I could. There are times, Claire, when I +don't want to be a realist, don't want to face life as it is, when it +seems too tawdry to be valuable just as it is; then I reach out into the +night and cry, 'Let me be the maddest of dreamers, the wildest of +idealists, a knight of fancy seeking the illusive dream!'" + +Claire laughed aloud as she said, "And don't you know, dear man, that +that is just what you do become at times?" + +"I know it. That's the joke of it. All the while I mock myself for being +a romancing idiot!" + +"What a state of mind!" she exclaimed. + +"It isn't pleasant. Then, worse than that, when I attain my star, I +spoil it with too much scrutiny." + +She started. "What do you mean?" + +"Just that. I make a mess of it." + +"Still I don't understand." + +He thought for a moment, then said sadly: "Take the cherub I carved +there"--he nodded in the direction of the house--"I was wild with +creative fervor when I did that. I put into it a thousand little +thoughts that flashed with imaginative fire. I dreamed things, felt +things that should have made a masterpiece beyond all masterpieces, and +at last the thing was finished. Still under the heat of enthusiasm, I +felt of it, tested it, and found it good. Well, a week later, when the +imaginative flame was gone, I went back and looked at it again. It was +poor, cold, imperfect, not at all what it should have been. I dreamed a +star and made a block of poor wooden imagery." + +"But you underestimate your work. To me the cherub is still a star." + +He laughed. "It is what others see of good in my work that makes me hope +that sooner or later I will do the thing that will stand eternally a +star of the first magnitude." + +"And you will, Lawrence," she said earnestly. + +"Perhaps." He was pensive. "Perhaps not. That is where the rest of life +enters in. I want many things; they seem necessary if I am to attain my +eternal star. I am afraid I shall never get them!" + +"Have you tried?" + +"No, I haven't the courage. If they should be beyond my grasp, if +obtaining them, they should prove to be wrong and not the real things I +need, after all, what then?" + +"I don't know." She waited to watch a little colored cloud float by, and +then continued: "Isn't the real interest in life the game you play?" + +"I suppose it is, but it's hard on other people." + +"Why--and how?" + +"Suppose," Lawrence said slowly, "you were the one thing I thought I +needed." + +Claire leaned toward him, her lips apart, her heart beating wildly. + +"Suppose I were sure of it, and set about to make you part of my life, +well, if I succeeded and then"--he smiled sadly--"found that you were +not the necessity, not the answer to my need, what of you? It would be +an inferno for you, and none the less equally terrible for me! We +couldn't help it. Under such circumstances you would be right in saying +that I had been unfair. I don't know, certainly you would be right in +charging your possible unhappiness to me." + +"Under your supposition, Lawrence," she answered evenly, "if you +obtained my love, wouldn't it then be my game, my risk in the great +gamble for deeper life? Wouldn't it be my mistake for having thought you +were what I needed?" + +"What if you still thought you needed me after I was sure that I did not +need you?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. "I am too fond of life and too eager to know +its possibilities to let that hurt me long. Possibly I should weep, be +cynical, maybe even do something desperate, but at last I would come up +smiling, calm in the faith that my life was deeper, richer for the +experience, and that yours was, too. Or if it proved that yours was not, +I should be amused at the shallowness of the Claire that was, for having +been so simple a dunce as to imagine that you were worth while. I should +thank you for teaching the present Claire to forsake that shallow one, +and should find you a rung on my ladder of life!" + +He laughed merrily. "You are strong in your faith, Claire." + +"Yes. This winter and you have made me strong," she answered. + +"I have made you strong in it?" + +"Yes. Last summer, when you dragged me out of the surf, I was full of a +number of ideas I no longer possess." + +"But what have I done?" + +"You have lived stridently all your life." + +"Perhaps so. What of it?" + +"I see that is the thing most worth doing." + +"What will your husband say to such a doctrine?" + +"I don't know. I am not going back to him. We are not the same people we +were a year ago, and he would no more love the present Claire than I +should love the present Howard." + +The sky deepened from pink to crimson, but Claire's eyes were staring +blankly on the ground. + +"Claire, what do you think is essential to great work?" + +"I don't know. To keep at it most likely." She was digging with a little +stick in the grass. + +"Perhaps you're right," he agreed. "But sometimes I think it is a lot of +other things; romantic wandering over the earth, a deep and lasting +love, any number of such external factors." + +"You don't call love external, do you?" + +"I mean a permanent love," he laughed. + +"Oh, well, perhaps those are necessary, certainly they would be a help +to you, they would be to any one. But, after all, even a woman isn't +absolutely essential to a man in order that he create great art." + +"I think she is," Lawrence insisted. + +"Very well, perhaps she is, but"--Claire laughed skeptically--"I know +that she is not the all in all, the alpha and omega, the 'that without +which nothing,' that she is so often told she is by seeking males." + +"No," he agreed slowly, "in rare cases of great love that may be true, +but in most cases it isn't." + +"It is more likely that what you, the abstract male, really mean is that +you must have some woman as wife and housekeeper." + +"Perhaps that is so, although even that needs qualifying." + +"I know," she said, "but why not be frank about it both ways; that is +precisely her situation as well as his. There ought to be less +sentimental rubbish and more plain sense about all of it. Women would +suffer less from shattered illusions, they would grow accustomed to +reality, and be considerably less idiotic in their romantic caperings." + +"I admit it," Lawrence said, smiling; "and yet"--he paused--"I want to +be the maddest of romanticists, I want to say those things to the woman +I love, I want to think them about her, I want to feel them all, all +those dear, false romantic deceptions. I do, in fact, even though my +brain agrees with you." + +"So should I, and I would." Then she added softly under her breath, "I +do." + +Lawrence turned a little toward her, his fingers gripping the grass in +front of him. + +"Claire," he said slowly, "I--I want to say them, think them, believe +them about and with you." + +She did not move. Over her there swept a great joy, and her thinking +stopped. She was feeling all the dear things she had just condemned, and +she looked at her lover. He was blind. He could not see what was in her +face, and he was not sure that he interpreted her silence correctly. He +was waiting, anguishing, for her answer. She realized then what it was +he needed more than he himself knew. + +"Lawrence," she cried joyfully, slipping into his arms, "I know what you +need, beloved!" + +He laughed exultantly as he showered kisses upon her eagerly upturned +face. + +"I guess you do, sweetheart," he consented. "What is it?" + +She settled down with a sigh of content, her head against his shoulder, +and announced, very much like a child saying what it knows to be wisely +true: "You need a woman who is keen enough to think with you and be eyes +for you, natural and unspoiled by conventional sham enough to be your +heart's answer, self-willed enough to be herself and deny you and your +selfishness, and, above all, mother enough to care for you as she would +a child. I believe I am that woman, dearest boy!" + +He held her tight in his arms and smiled. + +"I not only think, I know you are." + +For a long time they sat in silence, dreaming, loving, enjoying, and +caring nothing for all the rest of the world. At last Claire raised her +head from his shoulder and whispered, "Lawrence, before I would be +separated from you, I am afraid I would kill!" + +He chuckled merrily. "Good!" he said. "That sounds proper. So would I. +We are alive because our ancestors killed to live, they fought to mate, +so shall we, if need be." + +She remembered Philip and shuddered slightly. + +"What is the matter, Claire?" Lawrence drew her closer. + +She did not answer. She was wondering how to tell him about Philip, and +afraid. + +"Are you filled with terror at the mere thought of murder!" he asked. + +She moved uneasily in his arms. "No, but I can't say I like to even +think of such a possibility." + +"Don't, then. It isn't very likely to happen," he comforted. + +She remained silent, but her pleasure was not untroubled. Her whole +impulse was to wait, but her brain kept demanding that she tell him now, +and she gathered herself for the effort. + +"Lawrence"--she hesitated--"I--I have something I must tell you." + +"All right. Go ahead; but confessions never do much good." + +She drew away from him tenderly. + +"Because my whole being wants to be in your arms, I will not--not while +I tell you," she said, sitting beside him. "I want you to hear and think +without my body in your arms as a determining factor in your answer." + +"Very well. Go ahead. I promise to be an emotionless judge." + +"Can you?" she asked quickly. + +"No," he said, "but I will." + +They both laughed, and she nerved herself to talk. + +"It's about Philip," she said timidly. + +He started. + +"Don't tell me about him, Claire," he said. "It can't do any good, and +it's hard for you, I see. Whatever you are or were to Philip doesn't +matter to me in the least. The Claire of this morning wasn't my mate. It +is only Claire from now on that counts, and she is not in any way bound +to Philip for whatever may have occurred in the past." + +"Oh, I wish that were true!" she moaned. + +"It is true," he asserted. + +"But you don't understand. Let me go on, please." + +"Surely," he answered. "Say as much or as little as you wish." + +She told him then, falteringly, sometimes wondering at his calm, +expressionless face as she talked. She was filled with dread, for he sat +as still as death, without a word, without a change of expression to +show her what he was thinking. She made many corrections to her +explanation, and supplied bits of comment in an effort to discover +herself how it all had happened. There was nothing of apology in her +attitude, however, and she finally concluded with an account of that +afternoon in her bedroom, and what she had said to Philip since that +day. + +"Now," she said at last, "you know all about it. You can do as you +please, of course. If you choose to go on, we will have to find some +solution together. Philip will not take it easily. Of that I am sure. He +is more than likely to become desperate." + +She waited. Lawrence did not move. His face was seriously thoughtful, +and she was filled with a growing fear that made it harder and harder to +wait for him to speak. + +When she could stand it no longer, she shook his arm. + +"Lawrence, why don't you say something?" she cried. + +He read the fear in her voice, and laughed caressingly, as he took her +in his arms. + +"I thought you knew it wouldn't alter our futures," he said. "I was only +trying to think out a just solution unpersuaded by your body in my +arms." + +"Oh!" She laughed comfortably. He was making fun of her, and she was not +averse to it. + +"It certainly looks as if Philip were up against a bad future," he went +on, amusedly. + +"Philip!" she cried, startled. "Are you pitying him all this time?" + +"Whom else?" Lawrence demanded. "We don't need pity, do we?" + +"Oh, you selfish lover!" she chided. "I have been needing and do need +it. Philip worries me." + +"I see," he mused. "Well, accept my condolences, and prepare to pass +them on to Philip. Poor devil! When you and I are back in our world, he +will indeed need pity." + +"Suppose he takes steps to see that I don't go back?" she chanced. + +"He can scarcely compel you to live with him." + +"He can, and he will. He isn't as civilized as he appears. If need be, +he would keep me locked up here and make me his by force, or kill me. +He told me so." + +Lawrence shrugged his shoulders. + +"Romantic raving for effect!" he exclaimed. "But if he should happen to +try that, well, I think my argument might be as effective as his." + +"But how do you propose to stop him? I tell you, he is in earnest." +Claire was insistent. + +"Why, in whatever way is necessary. If it is my life against his, I'll +give him the best I've got." + +She looked at Lawrence in wonder. He was as calm as if he had been +making small talk at a theater-party. + +"Can you plan it so--so carelessly, like that?" she asked. + +"Why not? I could hardly allow him to take you by force. I wouldn't +choose a fight as a diversion, but once in, I wouldn't stop short of his +life. And I wouldn't feel any compunction afterward, either." + +"Well," she said quickly, "it won't be necessary." + +"I think not." He smiled. "We need say nothing about our plans. Once we +get into town, all the world is ours, and we can quietly depart, leaving +Philip Ortez a very pleasant memory." + +They both laughed heartily. + +Neither of them allowed for that vast portion of human character which +lies beyond the knowledge of the most keen-visioned. Claire was more +familiar with the distinctly male phases of Philip than +Lawrence--perhaps a woman always is--but they were too happy to give the +matter any real consideration, and, after the fashion of all lovers, +they shut out the third person from their little self-bound universe. + +The whole world seemed a friendly sphere whose entire action was merely +to bring them together, and they were utterly oblivious to Philip and +his new attitude. It seemed so impossible that anything serious could +arise to separate them from each other. + +It was late when Philip returned, and he was instantly aware of the +change in his guests. The old, serious silence was gone from Lawrence; +he was not the speculative man to whom Philip was accustomed. His talk +was light, pleasantly humorous, and very genial. He was, in short, the +lover. Claire, too, shone with a new radiance. + +Doubt rearose in Philip's heart, and grew rapidly into suspicion. He +became less responsive to their chatter. His dark eyes grew somber with +misgiving, and love swelled into longing that made him feel sure that +Claire was necessary to his life. Without her there could be no living +for him. He wondered if she and Lawrence had found love. "If they have," +he argued, "there can be but one explanation. Claire is unreliable, +vicious, and dangerous." His aching desire to possess her did not +lessen, however. It became deeper, in fact, with each succeeding thought +of her as a wanton at heart, and he set his teeth over his will, +assuring himself that all would be well when Lawrence was gone. + +He took to avoiding absences, and to watching furtively for some +confirmation of his suspicion. Claire was instinctively cautious, and he +saw nothing that could actually be construed against her. He was of that +type of man whose love, burning into jealousy, does battle with ideals +which stand against his suspicions and demand actual physical proof +before retiring and allowing the beast to run riot. + +He knew no middle ground. Once he had seen that which would condemn +Claire, he would be utterly savage. His soul anguished to bitterness at +every thought against her purity and truth. He could not accept her as +she was. His suspicion painted her black with the sticky ink of a morbid +idealist, while his faith, rising from the same ideals, made her seem +almost ethereal. His longing for her was an acute physical pain, and he +never allowed his ideals to stop his romancing. He insisted that his +desire be stated in masking phrases and deceiving glories of chivalrous +prattle. He was so torn by his conflicting emotions and ideals that he +was fast arriving at a state where his action would be that of a wounded +beast at bay. He did not know and would not admit that his own distorted +view of Claire was back of his own condition. True to his type, he +carried this war in silence, and sought support for his fast-weakening +ideals in argument. He was wise. Defend your faith if you would keep it +glowing. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +THE LAST DISCUSSION. + + +The time of their departure was at hand. There had been two days of +intense packing of the food and clothing necessary for their +two-hundred-mile walk. Now that was behind them, and after a short trip +which Philip must take the following morning, they would be off for the +ten or fifteen miles they hoped to cover that day. + +When night came they were overjubilant, and they sat before the cabin +watching the lake as it shimmered in the moonlight. Claire was pensively +silent, though her heart sang. She was dreaming out her days, painting +them on the moonlit water, and she paid very little heed to the two men, +though unconsciously her whole personality leaned toward Lawrence. What +they were saying she did not at first know, but gradually her attention +was caught and she listened earnestly with an ever-growing fear in her +heart. + +She saw the deep fire that burned in Philip's eyes, and she realized +that Lawrence was unaware of how his provocative, half-humorous ironies +were stirring the volcano within the man who sat beside him. + +"No man has a right," Philip was saying, "to think of a woman in his +house unless he can think of her as altogether trustworthy, pure, and +beyond temptation. If he does think of her differently, he is a beast, +and wants a mistress, not a wife." + +Lawrence laughed carelessly. "The average man wants both in one," he +said. "Personally, so far as your talk about suspicion goes, who needs +to think either way? I'm sure I don't. I'm quite content to live with a +woman, giving and taking what we can enjoy together, and not asking that +she limit her time and devotion to me. She may have various outside +interests of her own. In fact, I would prefer that life should hold a +separate work for her." + +"Oh, you do not care. You are too selfish to feel any responsibility +for a woman's soul. I would feel depraved if I did not guard my wife's +soul by my very faith in her." + +"Why should you guard her soul? Isn't the average woman intelligent +enough to look out for herself? What she does, she does because she +wants to, and for Heaven's sake, man, let her have the right to freedom +of being." + +"But real freedom of being lies in her dependence on me as the head of +the house," Philip protested. + +"If you happen to be the head of the house," Lawrence added jestingly. + +"But I would be the head of the house. It is my right and my duty." + +"Poor Mrs. Ortez, if there ever is one," Lawrence continued, joking. +"She is to be guarded by a great, aggressive, possessing husband. What +if she happens to want something you don't approve of?" + +"She won't. A good woman doesn't." + +"But suppose your woman isn't good, and does?" + +"I should have to explain to her her mistake." + +"And then when she says, 'But I don't regard it as a mistake, I think it +was quite right,' what will you do?" + +"I wouldn't have a woman who would hold such views." + +"What is it you want for a wife, Philip? A brainless feminine body who +is content to be your slave?" + +"I should be ashamed to speak of any woman I cared for in those terms. +One doesn't marry a woman who can be thought of in terms of sex." + +"Perhaps 'one doesn't.' I would. I should want her to be very well aware +of her exact physical potentialities, and to think enough about them to +understand herself." + +"Then you would want an unwholesome wife, my friend." + +"Not at all. I want a natural one, that's all. Moreover," he added +joyously, "I shall have one." + +Philip glanced at him quickly. Into his mind flashed the memory of +Claire's words in the room that fatal afternoon. + +"I shall never marry such a woman," he declared, and added: "But I mean +to have one whose devotion is so pure that even her talk to me of such +things will be holy." + +Lawrence laughed heartily. + +"Philip," he said, still chuckling, "you seem to think we human beings +are half supernatural and half stinking dirt. Why, in Heaven's name, +don't you once see us as plain, healthy, intelligent animals?" + +"Because we're half gods, half beasts." + +"So I was once told by the son of an ancient mind whose farthest mental +frontier reached A.D. 1123." + +Philip rose and faced Lawrence, then looked shamefacedly at Claire, and +sat down again. + +"You think you are advanced because you are still unaware of anything +but beasthood!" + +Lawrence grinned complacently. + +"I am always amused at the way men speak of beasts as if they were +something base," he said. "'Beast' should not be a term of opprobrium. +The average dog or elephant, for example, is fairly wholesome and quite +naturally proper in his fulfilment of instincts. It is more than one can +say for men. Yes, I am a beast, if by that you you mean a physical +being; and if humanity ever does get anywhere in quest for a soul I +suspect it will have to start from that very admission." + +"Of course"--Philip hesitated a little--"we are animals in that sense. +But who can think of us as nothing more? Take Claire, for example. We +both know her better than any one else. I could scarcely think of her as +an animal, subject only to its instincts. Even allowing that she is a +very intelligent animal, it isn't all or even the better part of her, +any more than it is of any good woman." + +The speech was self-revealing, and Lawrence smiled. + +"Now, it is strange," he observed; "that is precisely the way I should +think of Claire if I wanted to see her in the best possible light, as +the most splendidly intelligent, healthy animal I ever knew." + +"You are more insulting than you intend. I am glad that you do not mean +to be," Philip growled. + +"Tra-la-la. I shouldn't insult her for a good deal." + +"Yet your attitude is debasing," Philip retorted. + +"Oh, well, perhaps. She has my apology if she thinks so." + +"But you can't actually mean what you say," Philip went on. "Your +attitude would lead you to make a cave of your home, and a mere lair of +your bed." + +"Which, by the way, very elaborately arranged, and embellished with +thousands of psychological phases, products of the most highly +specialized part of me, is exactly what my home would be." + +"Well, I certainly should deplore your household." + +"Go as far as you like. It ought to be a fairly comfortable home, with +its basis on frankness, oughtn't it, Claire?" + +Philip's eyes flashed. + +Claire hesitated, fearing lest she provoke him further, and said +cautiously: "Yes, it ought to be based on frankness." + +"But frankness doesn't mean an attitude of mind like that," Philip +protested. + +"What does it mean?" Lawrence asked. + +"It means an established order where love makes it possible for two +beings to speak their thoughts freely one to the other," Philip said, +with the air of defining infinity. + +"Does it? Well, if that is frankness by definition, I have known many +women with whom I was in love, but neither they nor I knew it until this +minute." + +Lawrence laughed. Philip flushed, shrugged his shoulders, and stood up. + +"I thank goodness I do not see things as you do," he said. + +"Even the parable of the Pharisee has its modern aspect," Lawrence +murmured chucklingly. + +Philip stood looking moodily across the lake, and fortunately did not +catch his words. + +"I think I shall walk a little," he said coldly. "I can't sleep until I +have walked some of your conversation out of my soul." + +"Go to it," Lawrence said with a smile. "I didn't mean to corrupt you." + +"You didn't. You simply make me angry. I'm sorry, but you do." + +"Yes? So am I. However, it won't last much longer, Philip." + +Both men smiled at the thoughts that came with those words. + +"I think I shall go in," Lawrence went on. "I shall want sleep for the +big start to-morrow." + +Philip looked hopefully at Claire. She rose with a sigh of weariness, +pretending not to see him. + +"So shall I," she said. "Good night, both of you." + +She was gone into the cabin, and Philip looked disappointed. He turned +down the lake shore, dreaming of the end of his journey, rebelling at +the necessity for Claire to listen to Lawrence's talk, and rejoicing at +how different his life with her would be. + +Inside the cabin, Lawrence closed the door and stepped into the room. +Claire stood waiting silently before him, and when he came to her, she +threw her arms happily around his neck. He laughed and caught her up. + +"So you lie in wait for me, do you?" he teased. + +"Why not? I want to capture my man," she said softly. + +"You have him, dearest. And, by the way"--he sat down and drew her on to +the arm of his chair--"permit me to extend you my sympathy for the +suffering you must have experienced at the thought of living with +Philip." + +She shuddered a little, and laughed. + +"Such frankness as his home would permit!" she said. "I'm afraid our +hearth would not radiate warmth." + +"Nothing could warm such a home into anything like the real thing," +Lawrence mused. "It was my privilege when in college to stay for a time +in a home where the people had really attained the ideal. It was the +only home that ever made me envious." + +"I shall make you such a home, dear," she whispered. + +"No, we will have a mere cave, a lair," he laughed. + +She shook her long hair down over his face playfully. + +"Will you be a savage old cave man?" she asked. + +"I shall. As savage as they ever made them in the golden age," he +answered, and drew her down against him. + +"I shall like that," she said, her eyes full of a warm, dreamy light. + +"You will be terribly abused by your beast husband," Lawrence said +gaily. + +"I think sometimes, Lawrence, that I could enjoy being hurt by your +hands--having them really cause me pain." + +He gripped her tightly against him and his hands tightened. + +"Claire," he said, "a man never knows what there is in his nature till a +woman like you whispers in his ear. You make me afraid at what I feel +within me." + +"I know," she said. "I'm afraid, too, of what there is in you, but just +the same I'm going to be the happiest woman in the world." + +"I hope so," he said. "But you will have to defend yourself against +selfishness." + +"I have to do that already," she laughed, "but I don't mind. I can, and +that is the main thing. Besides, when you really want anything very +much, you have a way of forcing me to want it, too, my master-lover!" + +He laughed joyously. "Claire," he said, "if we ever do go to smash, you +and I, there will have been a glorious day and a glorious house to smash +with. It won't be a petty breaking of toy dishes!" + +"No," she whispered, "it will be the breaking of life's foundations." + +She slipped from his arms and into her room. Philip was coming in. +Lawrence sat down in a chair and Philip threw himself on his bed in +silence. + +He was caught in the inevitable result of his beliefs. He had argued +with Lawrence because he was troubled. His whole being was filled with a +great fear. Remembering how Lawrence and Claire had acted lately, he had +been thrown into a fever of jealous rage. He was utterly beyond his +depth now, and he was silent because to speak would have meant to break +into accusation. His imagination had pictured Claire in Lawrence's arms +while he was gone; if he had actually known the truth it would have been +less agonizing than the picture. + +He lay there filled with his own thoughts and dreading the moment when +Lawrence would come and lie down beside him. Behind her curtain he heard +Claire moving about, humming a little song, and it added to his torture. +He turned restlessly on his bed and groaned. + +Lawrence raised his head. He, too, was dreaming of Claire, but his +imaginings, vividly alluring in their appeal, were filled with the +content of happiness. Claire was his. That was certain, and those sweet +dreams should be fulfilled again and again in his life, with a growing +depth that would make them the more beautiful. What a creature of wonder +she was--and she was his--his, to love, to enjoy, to master, and to work +for. Yes, and to work with. He would find her the needed impulse and +idea to form his great work. She would make him the creative artist, the +sculptor that he felt he had the power to be. + +Philip muttered something, and Lawrence turned toward him. + +"Feeling bad?" he asked genially. + +Philip did not answer. + +"You aren't ill, are you?" Lawrence's voice was full of real concern. He +was thinking that it would be bad if they had to stay here a while +longer. + +"No. Only in spirit. I will be all right to-morrow." + +Philip turned over, and Lawrence sat down again to dream. + +For a long time he remained there, meditating, and at last he arose to +go to bed. Philip was asleep and breathing heavily. Claire was moving a +little. Lawrence stopped to listen. The curtain parted, her arms slipped +around his neck, and silently there in the darkness she kissed him +passionately, eagerly. He held her tightly, her soft, warm figure +thrilling him with joy. + +Philip turned restlessly, and she hastily drew back, stealing a last +swift kiss. Lawrence walked toward his bed. He heard a low, stifling +little laugh, then all was still in the cabin. Claire had laughed for +very joy at her love. He smiled tenderly. Dear little woman, she was +indeed a wealth untold to him. What a life theirs would be after they +got away from Philip! + +Poor Philip, his would indeed be a sad fate, with his ideals here to +worry him after they were gone. Well, he wasn't the sort that one could +help. Let him work out his own destiny. Lawrence lay down comfortably, +and sending a thousand dear thoughts flying across the silent room, he +fell asleep while he smiled at his own romancing. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE LAW OF LIFE. + + +The last morning at the cabin was bright and sunny, with the warm +mystery of the day promising an infinity of strength for the future. All +three of them felt it and were carried along in dreams of anticipated +relief. Breakfast over, Philip helped Lawrence and Claire get their +packs ready. When everything was done, he said cheerily: "I will be gone +less than an hour in getting that farthest trap--I am going to make +quick speed--and then we will be off." + +They laughed with the joy that was filling their hearts. + +"Don't be longer than you can help, Philip," Claire admonished, and +Lawrence added: "Every minute that divides us from our life ahead seems +an eternity." + +Claire smiled at the dear thoughts his words provoked. + +"Good," said Philip in the doorway. "I'll hurry." And he was gone. + +Claire and Lawrence stood in the doorway while Philip went singing down +the lake shore. Her eyes filled with a warm light, and she slipped her +hand into Lawrence's. + +"At this moment, dear," she said, "I feel only pity for him. He is going +to be hurt." + +"Who wouldn't be, dearest, at losing you?" + +"Always flattering," she teased. They stood arm in arm, leaning against +the door-casing. + +"Claire," he said, "let's take a last walk around our estate. The place +where I first found the real, you will always be beautiful to me. I'm +less blind this morning than I've been in my life." + +"Of course you are," she said gaily. "You've acquired two good eyes." + +"And two dear hands and a very wonderful personality that makes me +doubly able," he said softly. + +They wandered out across the plateau in the direction from which they +had first entered it. Their conversation was broken and often +meaningless, but eminently pleasing to them both. + +"Dear heart," Claire mused softly, "you don't know what that poor, +freezing, underfed woman in your naked arms felt when she heard you +muttering that you needed her, as you stumbled down this ravine." + +"How did she feel?" + +Claire was dreaming back, and she wanted to tell him, but she found her +emotions too complex and too rapid for expression. + +"And then when you added that it was to use her as a subject for a stone +image," laughed Claire, "she was furious with you, and yet she was very +sure that she didn't want you to care about her in any other way." + +"Then perhaps I am making a mistake," he jested. + +"Perhaps, my dearest, but I am so glad of it that I don't care if you +are." + +He caught her in his arms. They were very near the great point in +lovers' lives when emotions always tend to break all restraint. She +clung to him passionately, her lips yielding and holding his in a +rapture of love. Together they swayed toward a great tree and sat down. + +When they returned to the cabin, they were surprised to find Philip +still gone. With the whimsicality of lovers, they dismissed him from +their thoughts and sat down in the armchair together, laughing and +talking of the past. Their conversation ran gradually into a clearly +defined discussion in which both minds were compelled to think quickly, +and they found new joy in their love. Even now, when their whole minds +were swayed by emotion, they were able to think, to talk, and to be +alive to everything in the world of intellect. + +Art, religion, and life, all in a grand mix-chaotic tangle. Lawrence +was talking for the joy of his thought to the woman who he knew would +enjoy it. + +"You see, Claire," he said after a long discussion, "in the religious +instinct we find very little besides a fear of the unknown. What else +there is in it is the more valuable part, and it is this lesser section +that we can develop and use to advantage." + +"What is this lesser section?" she asked. + +"The vital desire to create for our God's sake. If we could build that +into its real place, stimulated as it is by the overwhelming +appreciation of beauty in nature, we could establish something far more +worth while than a mere deceiving of men about their own kind, their +faults, and their relations." + +"You aren't quite fair, Lawrence," she protested. "In so far as the +church makes for a stronger socialization, it is a good." + +"But does it always promote that very effectively? Most of the +socialization could be better carried on where really educated people +were educators. The few of them there are in our schools now are +hampered as much as they are helped by the church." + +"I don't agree," she said. "The church does hamper education in higher +branches, undoubtedly, but in the kindergartens and grades it is a +good." + +"I don't know," he responded; "I never saw it." + +"Well," she cried suddenly, and laughed, "whatever we think of the +church, I agree that religion isn't always there, and when it is, +barring a few liberal exceptions, it is generally misdirected." + +"And here you and I sit in the Andes Mountains talking when we might be +making love," he laughed. + +"And here we are making love under the pretense of being intellectual," +she rejoined. "What would we do without the dear deceptions that make us +such pitiably delightful animals?" + +"We'd be a hopelessly unimaginative set of eaters." His answer was +quick. "I am convinced that it is our very power to deceive, plan grand +follies, though petty in deeds, that makes us artists, dreamers, +thinkers, and statesmen." + +"Perhaps," she agreed, and then slipped her arms around him suddenly. +"Is that what makes us able lovers, too?" + +He laughed. "By Jove, I believe it is!" he exclaimed. "Well, old +universal tangle, I do truly thank you for the power to be a foolish, +deceived, human being. Hurrah for the instinct that makes me call you my +divine necessity, Claire." + +She laughed happily and leaned against his shoulder. + +"For any instinct or deception that makes you more enjoyable, let us +give thanks," he repeated. + +"And for all the dear bodily claims that make me your adored one I do +give thanks, Lawrence," she whispered. + +Their lips met again. She drew back startled, and sprang to her feet +with a cry of terror. + +Philip stood in the doorway, looking at them with a face from which all +human sentiment was gone. He was a raging beast. + +"Lawrence," she screamed. "Philip!" + +Her lover sprang to his feet. Now he realized his blindness and its true +handicap. Philip was there, somewhere before him, thinking what he could +not know. He waited, every muscle strained with expectant fear and +anger. + +Claire was staring at Philip with abject terror in her face. Lawrence +could not know that, he only heard her breathing heavily, and +instinctively his arm went out to her. + +"Don't be afraid, dear," he said tenderly. + +The man in the door uttered an exclamation. "So"--and his words were +sharp as icicles--"that is your damned wanton way. You are the second +harlot I have loved." + +Lawrence started forward angrily. + +"Fool!" he ejaculated. + +Claire's warning scream gave him just time to brace his body. Philip had +sprung at him like a wild beast, and the impact of his weight sent +Lawrence staggering backward. In that moment the Spaniard's hand closed +on his throat. The blind man was paying the price of his defect in his +long-talked-of primitive battle for life. + +Even then he thought of the scene as it must be, and smiled bitterly, +while his hand went to his throat and tore at the wrist that was +steeling itself to rob him of breath. + +Had he been able to see, the fight would still have been unequal. Philip +was taller, wirier, and quicker on his feet. Lawrence's one advantage +lay in his keen, quick response to touch sensation, and that gave him +his sense of direction and ability to move rightly. + +With one hand he tore at Philip's wrist, while with the other he reached +steadily for Philip's face. + +They had knocked over the chairs and were staggering against the table. + +From the corner by the fireplace Claire watched them in an agony of +dread. It was indeed her time of test. + +She saw Lawrence's hand clutching at the flesh of Philip's cheek. They +were panting like two beasts. It was the primitive battle of males for +the female of their choice. + +Philip's hand was torn free from Lawrence's throat. The blind man +laughed as his lungs filled with air. She heard him mutter between +clenched teeth: "By God, I'll spoil your advantage." + +They were struggling again for throat holds. + +Lawrence was protecting his own, but the hand he had wrenched free +closed around his arm, bending it back slowly, irresistibly toward the +point where it must break. She screamed and covered her eyes for a +second at what her lover was doing--she saw him deliberately gouge at +Philip's eyes with his thumb held hard. + +She heard both men fall, and looked again in spite of herself. They were +on the floor writhing, their bodies against each other, clawing, +striking, digging, and biting like two wild gorillas. + +Now Lawrence was on top, now underneath, but she could not help but see +that Philip was slowly gaining. Though badly injured in one eye, he +still fought on unhesitatingly, forcing Lawrence nearer and nearer to +death. The artist was even now ceasing to resist, his struggle had +become spasmodic. Her lover was being choked to death. She sprang to her +feet. + +"Lawrence!" she screamed. "Lawrence!" + +He was being killed in a battle for the possession of her. Could she +stand still and see the man she loved murdered? Her hair fell about her +shoulders in a mass. She swept it back from her face, looked frantically +around her, then rushed to the wall-cupboard on the other side of the +cabin and drew out a long meat-knife. + +The touch of the steel in her hand carried her out beyond the last +barrier of civilized thought. For a moment she was the savage through +and through. With a scream like that of a wounded lioness whose cub is +in danger, she sprang toward them, the knife uplifted. + +Then she stopped. Something paralyzed her--generations of inherited +inhibition, conscience, what you will. "O God!" she moaned miserably, as +the weapon fell from her hand. + +It clattered on the wooden floor close beside the two men. Philip looked +up, and his white teeth gleamed in a grim smile. Claire realized what +she had done--she had placed the means of certain triumph within reach +of her lover's enemy. She stooped to regain the knife, but it was too +late. Philip released his grip on Lawrence's throat, leaned over, and +seized the blade. + +It was a mistake. Lawrence was far past consciousness of what he was +doing, but his body still instinctively obeyed his will. As the weight +from his chest was eased for a moment, he writhed his body into a freer +position and his arms struck out wildly. + +Philip saw his danger and raised the knife. The scene passed in a +second, but to Claire it was as if they were petrified for hours in that +position--she half-kneeling there, her arm outstretched, and Philip +astride Lawrence's body, holding the knife in midair. In that last +picture, carved upon Claire's agonized gaze, all the Spaniard's beauty +was gone forever--he was a monster, his face distorted, one eye closed, +his smile broadening into a hideous dog-like grin. + +Philip's arm came down. As it did so, it was struck from above by +Lawrence's, swinging aimlessly in a wide sweep. The blade, deflected +with double force, entered deep into Philip's breast. + +For just one instant an expression of angry and almost ludicrous +surprise leaped across the Spaniard's face as his teeth snapped shut. +Then his whole body twisted round violently, rolled over, and lay still +beside Lawrence's equally motionless form. + +Claire tottered back into a chair, and stared at them stupidly. Silence +reigned in the cabin where there had been chaos. Slowly from under +Philip's body a red line spread to a blotch on the floor. Lawrence was +lying there, his head almost touching it. + +Claire gazed and gazed, while she felt as if she must faint from the +dreadful illness which seized her. Suddenly Lawrence was sitting up, his +blackened face growing less terrible to look upon. He put his hands to +his throat, and then, as the pain in his lungs decreased, he rose +unsteadily. For a moment he balanced himself carefully, rubbing his +throat. + +Then he cried hoarsely: "Claire!" + +She moistened her lips with her tongue, but could not answer. + +He stooped and began to feel across the floor. She saw his hands, those +sensitive hands, move toward Philip's dead body. They would be in his +blood presently. + +She started forward. "Lawrence!" she screamed. + +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 grass. 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. + +"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." + +"I--sorrow--why?" She stared at him wonderingly. + +He looked surprised, then understood. Claire listened silently to his +brief, sincere sympathy as he told her how her husband had died during +the winter of pneumonia. + +"It has been nearly six months now," he finished, "and, of course, I am +very sorry for you. If I can do anything to help you, don't hesitate to +call on me, please." + +"Thank you. I--I won't." + +She heard her own voice change. Stifled, she fled up-stairs. + +Her grief was sincere, unshaded by any selfish thought that it made her +own course easier or more justifiable in the eyes of society. To her, +Howard Barkley's death changed nothing save that the man whom she had +once loved sincerely was now no more. + +But the living remained, and to the call of the living her life was +henceforth joyfully dedicated. + + +(The end.) + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the +original edition have been corrected.] + +In Chapter V, "tenements she had visted in her charity work" was changed +to "tenements she had visited in her charity work". + +In Chapter VII, a missing quotation mark was added after "What, indeed, +is moral law?" + +In Chapter IX, "disdiscover what she was" was changed to "discover what +she was". + +In Chapter X, "Disliking him as he did" was changed to "Disliking him as +she did". + +In Chapter XI, "as abnormal as her depondency had been before" was +changed to "as abnormal as her despondency had been before". + +In Chapter XVIII, "I promise to an emotionless judge" was changed to "I +promise to be an emotionless judge", and "harded and harder to wait" was +changed to "harder and harder to wait". + +In Chapter XX, "clearly defined discusion" was changed to "clearly +defined discussion", and "the overwelming appreciation of beauty in +nature" was changed to "the overwhelming appreciation of beauty in +nature". + + + +[Transcriber's Note: The following summary originally appeared at the +beginning of the serial's second installment.] + + +PRECEDING CHAPTERS BRIEFLY RETOLD + +When the City of Panama foundered off the coast of Chile, Lawrence +Gordon suddenly realized he had been left, in the frenzy of the +disaster, alone on the deck. + +Then, before he had fully recovered from the lash of the wind and the +violence of the waves, he was swept overboard and into the seething +maelstrom of an angry sea. + +As he came up from the depths he struck a heavy timber, and with the +strength of desperation he dragged his weight up on it and clung fast. + +"Land may be in sight," was his thought, "and I shall never know!" +Lawrence Gordon was blind. + +Hours had passed. The wind-lashed water beat him as he lay on the +timber. Fear and the cold drove him to rave at life and death alike. +Finally, over the roar of the wind, he caught the tumbling of breakers. +His plank was spun round, the swell lifted him from his position, and +the next breaker rolled him past the water-line. + +Once with the feel of the sand beneath his feet he ran until a rock +caught him above the knees and sent him headlong. + +When he regained consciousness he returned to the water to hunt for +clams. As he came ashore again he tripped over an object that on +investigation proved a woman. + +Claire Barkley answered to his ministrations, and recognized the blind +man she had observed on the boat. She could furnish the eyes for an +investigation of their situation inland, but her ankle had been sprained +in the wreck and she was unable to walk. + +When months after, just as they had reached the limit of human +endurance--what with hunger, the cold, and privation--they stumbled into +the cabin of Philip Ortez. The Spanish mountaineer declared it no less +than a miracle that a blind man should have carried a woman in his arms +half across the Andes--from the coast to the borders of Bolivia. + +Then they settled down to spend the winter in Philip's cabin. And now +the latent antagonism of the woman, who was so curiously stirred by the +apparent coldness of this blind sculptor to her charm, began to plan the +man's punishment. + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: The following summary originally appeared at the +beginning of the serial's third installment. The summary at the +beginning of the serial's fourth installment, if one was present, was +not available when preparing this electronic edition.] + + +PRECEDING CHAPTERS BRIEFLY RETOLD + +When Lawrence Gordon, numb with cold and hunger, after weeks of weary +wandering through the mountains in a desperate effort to find a +habitation, came in sight of the mountaineer's little cabin, he dropped +the woman from his breaking arms and fell, exhausted and unconscious, in +the snow. + +Flung into the sea when the ship foundered, he had eventually found his +way to the beach, and here he stumbled on the unconscious form of Claire +Barkley. + +Mrs. Barkley's ankle had been sprained in the wreck and she was unable +to walk. The man was strong, dominant, and unafraid; but he was blind. + +Carrying the woman in his arms the blind man had stumbled half across +the Andes, for the boat was wrecked off the coast of Chile, and Philip +Ortez, whose cabin they had reached, declared they were on the borders +of Bolivia, about two hundred miles from the nearest railroad station. + +This Spanish scholar, gentleman, and recluse readily welcomed two such +promising guests for the winter. A charming woman of twenty-six, with a +mind as well as emotions, and a man not much older, who was both a +philosopher and an artist, promised no end of diversion for the winter. + +And diversion, not to say, drama, came--the eternal triangle. + +Lawrence was slow in admitting his love for Claire, even to himself. And +Claire, who was affronted by the seeming cold and calculating +indifference of this big, blind god, suddenly realized his apparent +coldness held the very heart of passion itself. + +In the playful scramble of a snow-fight before the cabin, Lawrence had +taken her by the waist to wash her face with snow, and the contact of +her tightly held body betrayed the tensity of the man's feeling. Claire +broke from his grasp to look into the eyes of Philip, who had stood in +the doorway to watch the fun. In the eyes of the Spaniard she detected +the emotion she felt in the touch of the blind sculptor. + +The next day, to relieve the suppressed passion in her own as well as +Lawrence's soul, she proposed to go with Philip, as she sometimes did, +when he went out to spend the day with his traps. + +On the return journey, when the conversation was fast drifting into the +personal, Philip, carried off his feet by the nearness of the woman and +the madness in his blood, snatched Claire up in his arms and covered her +full lips with his kisses. + +The indignant woman brought him to an abject apology after his wild +confession of love, and entered into a compact of friendship with him. + +Reaching the cabin, the blind man, whose acute soul and senses had long +told him of Philip's passion, held out the finished carving he had been +at work on all these weeks--a winged cherub. + +In his eyes it was the symbol of his love for her. But her words of +acceptance made him think in her eyes it was rather a symbol of her love +for the mountaineer. + +To Philip it was a symbol of hope. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Claire, by Leslie Burton Blades + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30261 *** diff --git a/30261-h/30261-h.htm b/30261-h/30261-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ae341d --- /dev/null +++ b/30261-h/30261-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7820 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Claire, by Leslie Burton Blades. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + p { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + td.chapnum {text-align: left; padding-right: 2em;} + td.chapname {text-align: left;} + td.chappage {text-align: right; padding-left: 2em;} + td.issuedate {text-align: center; padding-top: 0.75em; + padding-bottom: 0.25em;} + + p.continue {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + text-align: center;} + p.continue2 {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 1.25em; + text-align: center;} + + h2.newchapter {margin-top: 2em;} + h3.newchapter2 {margin-bottom: 1.25em;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + visibility: hidden; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30261 ***</div> + +<h1>Claire</h1> + +<h2><i>by</i><br />Leslie Burton Blades</h2> + +<h3>THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO<br /> +<i>BY A BLIND AUTHOR</i></h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>[Transcriber's Note: This novel was originally serialized in four +installments in All-Story Weekly magazine from October 5, 1918, to +October 26, 1918. The original breaks in the serial have been retained, +but summaries of previous events preceding the second and third +installments have been moved to the end of this e-book. The Table of +Contents which follows the introduction was created for this electronic +edition.]</p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>On the editorial page of last week's <span class="smcap">All-Story Weekly</span> we announced a new +serial by a new author. "Claire" is a story of such subtle insight, of +so compassionate an understanding of human nature, and of so honest an +attack on the eternal problem of love and living, that it can well +afford to take its chances on its own merits. But <i>Lawrence Gordon</i>, the +blind hero of the triangle tragedy, which runs its inevitable course in +the mountain cabin of <i>Philip Ortez</i>, takes on a new interest, when we +learn that his creator is himself a blind man.</p> + +<p>Born of mining people in Colorado, Blades lost two fingers and the sight +of both eyes when as a lad of nine years he refused to take the dare of +some playmates and set off a giant firecracker. While still a youth he +entered the Colorado State School for the Blind. Here he spent six +years. In the crash at Creede, when the bottom fell out of so many +mining fortunes, the Blades family lost their all. Then young Blades +took up the burden of his own keep. For two successful years he +maintained himself at the University of Colorado by teaching music. When +the family moved to Oregon, the indomitable Leslie followed. At Eugene +he entered the State University and continued to support himself by +music and lectures. After receiving his degrees of B.A. and M.A. he was +a substitute teacher in the English Department.</p> + +<p>For some time he has made his home at San Dimas, where his regular +contributions on a variety of themes to the magazine section of <i>The +Express</i> have brought him something more than local prestige. He is +deeply interested in the drama, and has several plays to his credit. +"When He Came Home," a play of his dealing with the return of a blind +soldier from the war, has become a favorite with one of the California +circuits.</p> + +<p>"Claire" is his first novel, and though he is still on the sunny side of +thirty, this arresting story is a promising portent of what we may +expect from the powerful pen of this blind man with an artist's +vision.—<span class="smcap">The Editor.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> + +<table border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="2" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr> +<td colspan="3" class="issuedate"><a href="#Part_I">October 5, 1918</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">I.</td> +<td class="chapname">DISASTER.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">256</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">II.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE WATER OF LIFE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">260</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">III.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">262</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">IV.</td> +<td class="chapname">MUTUAL DISLIKE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">266</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">V.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE FACE OF DEATH.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">269</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">VI.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE STONE THREAT.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">274</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3" class="issuedate"><a href="#Part_II">October 12, 1918</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">VII.</td> +<td class="chapname">PLAYING WITH FIRE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">498</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">VIII.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE TIGHTENING NET.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">501</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">IX.</td> +<td class="chapname">CLAIRE'S ABASEMENT.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">505</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">X.</td> +<td class="chapname">HOW SIMPLE THE SOLUTION!</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">509</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XI.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE MAKING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">513</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3" class="issuedate"><a href="#Part_III">October 19, 1918</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XII.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE UNHORSING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">697</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XIII.</td> +<td class="chapname">FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">702</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XIV.</td> +<td class="chapname">PHILIP TO THE RESCUE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">706</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XV.</td> +<td class="chapname">UTTER EXHAUSTION.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">711</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XVI.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE QUESTION ANSWERED.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">714</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3" class="issuedate"><a href="#Part_IV">October 26, 1918</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XVII.</td> +<td class="chapname">ANGLES OF A TRIANGLE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">151</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XVIII.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE ROMANTIC REALIST.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">155</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XIX.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE LAST DISCUSSION.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">160</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XX.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE LAW OF LIFE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">164</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XXI.</td> +<td class="chapname">INTO THE SUNLIGHT.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">168</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><a name="Part_I" id="Part_I"></a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">DISASTER.</h3> + + +<p>In the confusion Lawrence stood still. Over the howling wind and +smashing sea, he heard thin voices shouting orders. Another mass of +water swept over the deck. Near him a woman screamed piteously. +Instinctively, the masculine desire to protect womanhood made him ache +to help her, but he bit his lip and clung to the rail. If he could only +see! Never before in his five years of blindness had he felt the full +horror of it. He had taught himself to forget his loss of sight. It is +useless to waste time in sentimental moping, he would say, but now—</p> + +<p>"God, when will it end?" he muttered savagely.</p> + +<p>The City of Panama lurched back and forth like a rocking-horse. +Somewhere forward they must be lowering the boats. He stumbled along the +deck, holding to the rail for support. The spray dashed in his face, and +he could feel the water from his hair trickling into his ears. He shook +his head and laughed grimly, but he could not hear his own laughter. The +terrific noise of the wind drowned everything else. It became +increasingly difficult to keep his hold on the rail. He was wet to the +waist. Each time the wave struck him higher, and he noticed that the +lurching grew heavier. He was strong, six feet of hard muscle,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> but the +water was stronger. His mouth was filled with it, and his ears seemed +bursting. His rugged features twisted into hard lines. As he struggled +forward, he raged at the blindness that kept him from seeing.</p> + +<p>"Not a chance, not a chance," he repeated over and over, as he strained +to hold the deck. There was a lull in the wind, and he marveled at the +absence of human sound. Suddenly he divined the cause. His mind became a +chaos of rage and fear.</p> + +<p>"They have left me," he cried; "left me without a thought." He shut his +teeth hard, then ducked as another heavy beating weight of water crashed +over him. It seemed it would never lift and leave him free to breathe. +His arms and feet no longer seemed a part of him. He wondered if the +vessel were under the surface, and nerved himself to let go. But he +could not. The rail was his only hope of life. Slowly the water began to +draw his fingers away from it. The next surge sent his body +out—somewhere. He struck forward with both hands and kicked his feet +mechanically. Was it the roar of the wind or the weight of the water +itself that beat into his ears? The sudden pain in his lungs, told him +that he had reached the surface. How good the air felt! Shaking the +water out of his ears, he listened. Nothing but the wind was audible.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that he had been swimming for hours in the icy waves. +Events on the ship, the shock of the boiler explosion, the rush for the +deck, all seemed to have happened long ago.</p> + +<p>"If I could only see," he thought, "I might find the ship again." It +occurred to him that he might be swimming in a circle, and he resolved +to keep in one direction, but how? He remembered that he had always +tended to swim to the left, so he increased his right-arm stroke. +Suddenly a heavy timber struck him. He gasped with pain, and sank under +the surface. When he came up, his hand struck the same piece of wood. +With a desperate effort, he dragged himself up on it, twisting his arms +and legs about it to maintain his hold.</p> + +<p>The water, swirled by the wind, lashed him as he lay on the timber. +"Land may be within sight," he thought, "and I shall never know." His +fear and the cold began to work upon his imagination. He had a clear +mental picture of a sandy beach backed with trees. He felt sure he was +being carried past it into the open sea.</p> + +<p>Hours passed. He began to rave at the water, at life, at everything. +Mixed, tangled masses of images heaped themselves in utter disorder in +his brain: passages of verse, bits of his trained laboratory jargon, +phrases from half-forgotten books, the delicate curves of the Water +Sprite at the exposition, and, above all, a fierce gnawing pain in his +side.</p> + +<p>Over the roar of the wind he heard something else. Was it the tumbling +of breakers? He listened, then concluded that it was his imagination. +But they came nearer, louder; he sat up on his plank, his nerves tense. +The board lurched sidewise, spurn around, and the swell it was riding +broke over him with a force that knocked him from his position. Over and +over he rolled, until, almost unconscious, he felt his body dragging +along the sand. The undertow was pulling at him. He fought furiously, +digging his hands into the sand, and clawing desperately up the steep +sloping beach. The next breaker caught him and rolled him past the +water-line. He scrambled to his feet, and ran shakily ahead, neither +knowing nor caring what was before him.</p> + +<p>Behind him he heard the water sweeping in. He was out of its reach, but +still he ran. A rock caught him above the knees and sent him headlong +into the sand. He became unconscious, and lay still, half doubled up.</p> + +<p>When he recovered consciousness and sat up, a fierce sun was beating +down upon him. His head ached, and he was hungry. "There may be people +within call," he thought. Rising unsteadily, the soreness of his muscles +coming home to him, he gave a prolonged "Hello-o." A faint echo was his +answer. He formed a trumpet of his hands and shouted louder. The echo +came back stronger. "Only cliffs," he concluded.</p> + +<p>The gnaw of hunger increased. "Clams<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> are my best chance," he reasoned, +and, turning, he groped his way to the water. When the incoming breakers +washed his knees, he stopped. The intense dread that his experience had +given him was crying retreat, but he stood his ground. Stooping over, he +began digging in the sand. His cut and bleeding hands burned with the +salt water, but he dug steadily, moving rapidly along the beach. At last +his fingers turned up a round, ridged object. Feeling the edge of it he +knew that he had found what he sought. He wanted to eat the clam at +once, but reluctantly dropped it into his pocket, and went on digging.</p> + +<p>When he had filled his pocket he straightened up and started toward the +shore. As he waded through the last shallow wash of the wave, his foot +caught in something soft, and he fell. He rose, and then on second +thought stooped to feel what had tripped him. His hand touched a mass of +wet, tangled hair. He jerked it back hurriedly and screamed. The strain +he had been under was telling. Nerving himself, he reached again, and +touched a face.</p> + +<p>"A woman! Another human being! Thank God!"</p> + +<p>Then he clutched his throat in desperation. She might be dead. He +stooped and dragged the body up on the sand. He was afraid to find out +if she were dead or alive, and sat beside her, timidly touching her +hair.</p> + +<p>"Fool!" he muttered at last. "If she is not dead, she soon will be." He +leaned over, listening for her breathing. At first there was only the +sound of the waves, then he heard her breathing come faintly. He took +off his coat, emptied out the clams, and dipped it in the ocean. Coming +back, he wrung it out over her face. He knelt beside her, and rubbed her +arms and throat.</p> + +<p>His hands were his trained observers. As he worked over her, they gave +him a detailed picture which sank deep into his memory. She was +splendidly made. His fingers caught the delicate curve of her throat and +shoulders. Her skin was satin to his touch. He knew that the fine hair, +the smooth skin, the curve and grace of her body belonged to a beautiful +woman.</p> + +<p>Taking her arms, he worked them vigorously. When he was beginning to +despair, she coughed, moaned a little, and turned over on her side.</p> + +<p>He wondered if she had her eyes open. He dared not feel to see, and sat +silent, anxious, waiting for her to speak.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that eternity passed before she murmured, "Oh, oh! +Where am I?"</p> + +<p>"I do thank God," he exclaimed earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Where am I?" she repeated as she sat up.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," he answered. "Presumably somewhere on the coast of +Chile." Her eyes opened very wide and gazed at him as she said, "Are we +the only ones?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell," he replied, smiling a little. "I am blind, you see."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," she said softly. "I saw you on shipboard."</p> + +<p>"The first consciousness I had of you," he continued, "was when I +stumbled over you while getting my breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Breakfast? Where is it?"</p> + +<p>He laid one hand on the pile of clams. She looked down at them, and +burst out laughing, uncontrollably.</p> + +<p>"It is not much," he said, "but we primitive people are simple in our +needs. I worked to get them, goodness knows."</p> + +<p>She was looking around her, twisting her long brown hair in her hands. +At last she shuddered. "It's desperately lonely. Nothing but sea and +mountains. I'm afraid I can't walk," she said.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he exclaimed. "Can't walk?"</p> + +<p>She turned toward him, smiling faintly. "I was struck when I washed +overboard, and my ankle, I think, is broken. I am sorry," she added.</p> + +<p>Her tone was slightly apologetic, and he laughed nervously. "Oh, that's +all right," he said, assuringly, then stammered, "I mean—" He +hesitated, and she laughed.</p> + +<p>"I mean that we can get along," he continued, stubbornly. "Heaven knows +I am sorry. But you can't realize what it means to have some one near +you who can see."</p> + +<p>She did not answer for a minute, then said quietly: "Shall we breakfast +before beginning anything else?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>He reached in his pocket for his penknife. It was gone. The blank +expression of disgust on his face made her ask: "What is it?"</p> + +<p>"My knife," he said. "It is gone."</p> + +<p>They sat opposite each other, the clams between them. Each followed a +different trend of ideas. He was raging at this last mishap, and +considering means of opening the clams. She was conjecturing over the +fate of the City of Panama and wondering what she could do, alone here +with this blind man. Her night-gown and a heavy skirt had been all she +had worn when she had rushed on deck in the night. She looked around her +at the rocks and thought how foolish she had been to leave her shoes.</p> + +<p>At last he rose and began to grope back along the beach.</p> + +<p>Noticing that his hands were torn and bleeding, she said, hastily: +"Don't do that. What are you looking for, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"Stones," he answered, stopping.</p> + +<p>"I will direct you," she to him. "Left—right—a little ahead now." +Guided by her, he moved until his hand touched a small stone. He found +two of them and came back to her side.</p> + +<p>She watched him while he tried to break a clam-shell between the two +rocks. "Let me," she said, taking hold of one of them. "Your hands are +too badly cut." He hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Please," she said. "I can at least do the woman's part and prepare the +meal. Especially when you bring it to me."</p> + +<p>He laughed and gave up the stones.</p> + +<p>"I am desperately thirsty," she said, breaking open the shells.</p> + +<p>"I feel as though my tongue were swelling fast," he admitted.</p> + +<p>They dug the tiny clams from the shells, and ate for a few minutes in +silence, then she said: "I can't go any more of them."</p> + +<p>He wondered if she were not hungry, but said nothing. After eating a few +more, he understood. Then he, too, stopped.</p> + +<p>"I've got to find water," he said. He waited for her to speak.</p> + +<p>At last she said: "I can see nothing that might indicate fresh water. +Where will you go?"</p> + +<p>"Up the beach, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"There are mountains up the beach, and back of us, too. You could never +find your way out." Her tone was despairing.</p> + +<p>"True," he admitted.</p> + +<p>There was a long pause. Then she said slowly: "It seems to be your only +hope, doesn't it? Well, I guess you had better go. God bless you!" she +concluded as though it were her last word.</p> + +<p>Suddenly it occurred to him that he had been thinking and talking of +himself alone. The idea of parting from this woman who could see, whom +it seemed to him he had found as his own means of salvation, immediately +became impossible.</p> + +<p>"I am going to take you with me," he stated quietly.</p> + +<p>"You forget," she said, "I cannot walk."</p> + +<p>He had forgotten it for the moment. Now it filled him with new terror. +He laid his hand on hers. "I can't help it," he said finally, "I can't +leave you. I will carry you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" Her protest was genuine.</p> + +<p>He felt her fear that she would hamper him. "Don't be foolish," he said +as though he had known her for years, "I am not being gallant. This is +not a time for gallantry. I am simply being sensible. You can't sit +here, can you?"</p> + +<p>"I can't help myself, can I? I can't walk."</p> + +<p>"I can help it," he retorted.</p> + +<p>"It would simply make your chance of escape impossible," she argued. "It +is preposterous. Why should you? Your life is worth to you as much as +mine is to me. I know what that means. I would not stay here if I could +help it. I would not sacrifice my life for yours. Neither shall you +sacrifice yours for mine."</p> + +<p>"See here," he demanded, "who are you and where did you get that +attitude toward life?"</p> + +<p>It was one he knew. It was the hard, relentless theory of the struggle +of animal survival which his thinking in college had led him to accept. +There was in it no touch of duty, no sense of obligation, and very +little pity. He had called himself a hard materialist, and had never +lived up to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> theory. Now here beside him in this outlandish +situation was a woman quietly arguing his own philosophy of life to him +against herself.</p> + +<p>She laughed. "It's my way of thinking, and I mean it," she said, +twisting her hair up on her head. "I got it out of four years of thought +and reading in a college, and I do not thank the college for it. I find +it very inconvenient, but it is my belief. I have tried to live by it."</p> + +<p>"So is it mine," he said, "and I mean to live by it."</p> + +<p>"Very well," she answered. "That aggressive tone against me is not +necessary. Go ahead and get through if you can. Good-by, my friend."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you do not understand," he answered her steadily. "I want to +live. To do it, you are necessary to me. I need your eyes. Very well, +whether you like it or not, you are going with me."</p> + +<p>He rose quickly, and stretched his muscles. His head ached, his whole +being cried for water. He knew he could not carry her far, but without +her he was powerless.</p> + +<p>"Suppose," she suggested, her eyes flashing from hazel to deep-brown, +"suppose you do take me. Have you any assurance that my eyes will serve +you rightly?"</p> + +<p>"Your own life, which is pleasant to you, will depend upon your eyes +serving me rightly," he said coldly, as he stooped over her.</p> + +<p>She laid a restraining hand on his arm. "And in the long days that we +may have to go on together, what will you do in return for my eyes?"</p> + +<p>"Carry you," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Very well, but there are two things you must know," she said quietly. +"First, that I am married; second, that I am quite as steadfast in my +belief as I said. If you make one single attempt to establish more than +a frank comradeship, based on mutual support in our unforeseen +partnership, my eyes will serve you falsely."</p> + +<p>He laughed a little as he picked her up. She gasped with pain.</p> + +<p>"I can't help hurting you," he said gently.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," she answered, putting her arm around his neck so that +he might the more easily bear her. "We are off on our great adventure. +The halt and the blind! Such a mad pair!"</p> + +<p>He smiled, and started slowly up the beach.</p> + +<p>"I shall have to develop a system of one word guides," she mused.</p> + +<p>"Left—right—slow—ahead—all right—and so on," he admitted.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she laughed out merrily. "My friend, a stranger pilgrimage the +world never knew. What is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," he said.</p> + +<p>"Mine," she answered, "is Claire. Go a little to the left."</p> + +<p>He turned slightly, and plodded through the sand.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE WATER OF LIFE.</h3> + + +<p>Still exhausted from his recent battle with the waves, Lawrence was not +in the best condition for this new struggle. Before he had gone far, he +was forced to rest. He lowered Claire to the ground carefully and +dropped beside her. His effort in carrying her had made him breathe +hard, the sun was beating down on them, and his throat was dry and +parched. Speaking was becoming difficult.</p> + +<p>"If we don't find water soon, we're ended," he managed to say.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid we are," she admitted. "Do you know, Lawrence, you shouldn't +try to carry me. I weigh over a hundred and thirty pounds. That is too +much for any man. Without me, you might make it, even though you +couldn't travel so steadily ahead."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," he agreed. "I've thought of that. But, you see, I would have +to feel my way. At best I'd get a lot of falls. I might walk off a +precipice. That doesn't appeal to me, now that I've set myself to +winning."</p> + +<p>"And yet you are almost certain to wear yourself out to no purpose if +you carry me," she repeated. "If you could do it and get me through, I'd +never stop you. I've a husband in America who loves me, and I want to +get back to him, but you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> aren't equal to it. I see no advantage in +dying a mile or ten miles inland. For one's grave, this is as good a +place as any."</p> + +<p>She spoke of dying in a matter-of-fact way that made him feel strange, +though he thought of it in exactly the same way himself. He believed +that he was a mere animal and that death was a mere cessation of energy. +"I wonder if she feels just as I do about it," he pondered. "Perhaps +not. But it can't matter anyway. Here we are, and death does seem fairly +certain."</p> + +<p>He was breathing more regularly now, though his throat burned and his +tongue stuck to his mouth disagreeably.</p> + +<p>"We'd better be moving," he said, rising with an effort.</p> + +<p>"As you please," she assented.</p> + +<p>Then, as he lifted her: "My ankle is swollen dreadfully. If we could +find water, I'd bathe it and put a stick splint on it."</p> + +<p>He did not answer. Silence fell between them while he plodded ahead. +They started up the mountainside, and the way became increasingly +difficult. There was a dense undergrowth through which he was compelled +to shove his feet. There were rocks which she could not see, down which +he was constantly slipping. Her directions barely kept him from bumping +into the trees that grew closer and closer together. Occasionally she +pushed a branch aside from before him, and laughed as he stooped to pass +under, throwing her forward so that she had to cling to his neck to keep +her position.</p> + +<p>On and on he forced his way, his teeth clenched, his breath broken by +the strain. She made herself as easy to carry as she could, but beyond +that she showed no sign of sympathy. Again and again he was obliged to +stop and put her down while he rested. His head was throbbing +frightfully. He gave up trying to talk.</p> + +<p>During one of their frequent rests she had asked him quietly, her eyes +filled with a soft, calculative haze: "How much are you good for, +Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>He had answered: "Till we find water." She had laughed a little at that, +and it had sounded unpleasant to him.</p> + +<p>Now she said again: "You don't face facts, do you?" He made no answer.</p> + +<p>She continued: "It's strange how we humans are always so overdetermined. +One ought to know by the time he is grown that he is a puppet in the +hands of circumstance. Now I go on hoping that you can carry me out to +life and my husband, and you plod determinedly on as if you were really +able to do it. Of course, you may, but it is entirely dependent upon +outside things."</p> + +<p>He was too tired to answer, even to think. Besides, that was exactly his +view of the situation.</p> + +<p>"You see," she went on, "here we are, two distinct groups of living +cells, each loving life and wanting it. Our pasts have been very +different, our futures would have been; but here we are. I am resentful, +because you are blind, because you are not stronger, because I cannot +walk. You are probably resenting the same things. Perhaps you resent my +saying what I do. You want me to reassure you and to promise success. If +I did, you would know in your real mind that I was lying to you for the +sake of getting you to do more. Yet both of us would feel happier if I +could do it. I can't."</p> + +<p>He stood up and took her in his arms without a word.</p> + +<p>"We are going a few yards farther," she laughed. "Well, if ever any +animal deserved life, you do."</p> + +<p>He bit his lip and climbed on up the hill. In his mind he was saying +over and over: "Just a mere intellect, nothing more. That's all she is." +Yet in his arms she felt very feminine. The sense of her body so close +to him seemed strangely out of keeping with her talk.</p> + +<p>He remembered a few other women of her type; he wondered what the end of +their daily association would be. Then gradually his thinking ceased to +be clear. His thirst more and more wove itself into his consciousness +until his mind was a blurred fantasmagoria, in which, repeating itself +over and over in the midst of strange ideas, would come the flashing +sound of unattainable water. He did not talk, he did not think. Through +the trees he wound his way with the grim determination of a beast +fighting against death.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>The sun passed its zenith and sank slowly. It grew cooler in the forest +through which he lurched, but he was hardly aware of it. Claire, too, +was rapidly losing control over herself. She had ceased to talk, save to +utter dull, monosyllabic commands to him. The pain from her ankle and +her own thirst were blending into a dizzying maze of torture.</p> + +<p>As darkness settled over the forest, she grew afraid. Ordinarily it +would have been a delight to her, here among the trees, but now the +shadowing night filled her with ideas of horror. She forgot her +theories, and clung to him so that he was the more hampered. She grew +afraid lest he should drop her, lest he should give up the fight, and +with that came an overwhelming desire to urge him on. She thought of +wild tales that she might tell to spur his faltering strength. At first +she resisted, then as her desire for life grew within her, she began to +lie to him. "It isn't far, just a little way to water," she whispered.</p> + +<p>He struggled unsteadily forward. They had passed the top of the ridge +and were descending the other side. He was scarcely aware of his own +motion. He did not hear her directions, and stumbled against the trees. +When her ankle struck a bough, she realized in a flash of pain that he +was not listening to her. Then she felt him sinking down.</p> + +<p>Gripping his shoulder, she shouted: "Go on! Water ahead!" He heard her, +his mouth opened, and he gathered himself up to stumble a few steps +farther through the darkness. They seemed to be deep in a wooded ravine. +He staggered again and fell.</p> + +<p>She was thrown violently forward, and flung out a hand to save herself. +As she lay there, half-dazed, suddenly she felt her fingers grow cold +and wet. Water! A small stream, no larger than that from a hydrant, was +trickling over the rock.</p> + +<p>Dragging herself to it, she drank greedily. She dipped her hands in it. +She laughed joyously and splashed. For a few minutes she played like a +child. Then she remembered Lawrence.</p> + +<p>Lifting her hands full of water, she threw it on his face. His mouth was +open, and a few drops fell upon his black tongue. She threw another +handful, then took her skirt and, wetting it, wrung it into his mouth. +He twisted over on his side and muttered: "Water."</p> + +<p>She gave him more, and as he sat up, she said eagerly: "Here, Lawrence, +here."</p> + +<p>Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the stream. He drank ravenously, +plunging his face and hands into the little line of water, making queer +noises over it.</p> + +<p>Claire began to grow cold, and her ankle pained her till she shook like +a fevered person. He turned and sat up.</p> + +<p>"You cold?" he managed to mutter.</p> + +<p>She wanted to say "No," but her will was worn out. "Yes," she answered, +"very cold."</p> + +<p>He laughed a little guttural laugh as he drew off his coat. "Take it," +he said, dropping it near her hand.</p> + +<p>She took the coat and drew it on. Lawrence was drinking again from the +stream. She listened to him for a time, as she lay there in the +darkness, then gradually her suffering and the strain under which she +had been, won the victory over her consciousness, and she heard no more.</p> + +<p>He lay where he was, half unconscious. At last he began to feel the +chill of the place and drew himself up toward Claire. She did not move. +"We've got to do the best we can," he thought, and moved close to her so +that their bodies might warm each other.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE.</h3> + + +<p>Claire was the first to wake. She sat up and gazed around her. The +morning sun was just breaking through a heavy fog that had drifted in +from the ocean. Her clothes were damp, and she was chilled through, +while her swollen and discolored ankle throbbed with steady pain. She +looked down at the sleeping man beside her, and her forehead gathered in +a little thoughtful frown. Then she looked around her again. Despite the +knowledge of their desperate situation, she could not help noticing the +beauty of the scene.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>Great trees grew in massive profusion all about them. Heavy tropical +moss hung from the branches and trailed its green mat over the stones. +Birds were beginning to sing, their notes breaking the silence of the +place in sharp thrills. Then she studied her companion. Finally, she +laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she said gaily.</p> + +<p>He turned and sat up, yawning drowsily. "What is it?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"We are certainly the primitive pair."</p> + +<p>"H-m, I suppose. Anyhow, I feel better for my sleep."</p> + +<p>"It's beastly cold," returned Claire, "and my ankle is playing fits and +jerks with me."</p> + +<p>"We'll have to do something about it," he said earnestly. She did not +answer.</p> + +<p>"We can bind it up, I presume," he went on. "But it's a frightful +inconvenience."</p> + +<p>"Admitted," she said quickly. "It can't be helped, however."</p> + +<p>"I'm very much for a fire," he suggested, as though he had not noticed +the hints of hardness in her voice.</p> + +<p>"Some twenty feet ahead is a flat rock. We might build one there. Have +you matches?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "We'll have to go it primeval."</p> + +<p>"But I don't see how," she began.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," he answered, with a malicious grin. "I do know some few +things."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you also know how to find food when there isn't any," she +retorted.</p> + +<p>He rose without replying.</p> + +<p>"Well," she continued, "I see plenty of roots and stuff. We may as well +prepare to eat them. It's unbelievable that I should be here, and with +you. It's a horrible nightmare, this being stranded and lame out here +somewhere with a blind man."</p> + +<p>He winced, but answered quietly: "I'm not especially charmed myself. I +could prefer other things."</p> + +<p>She looked at him and smiled. "Don't ever let me repeat those +sentiments," she said, simply. "I'm sorry. Of course you aren't to +blame, and I shouldn't have said that."</p> + +<p>He stepped forward timidly. "Will you suggest the best means of finding +dry wood?" he asked, as though the matter were forgotten.</p> + +<p>She pursed her lips and looked around her. "This moss seems to be feet +deep," she said at last. "You might dig up some that is dry, and with +that as a starter you can add twigs."</p> + +<p>He stopped and began to tear away the moss. His hands were stiff, but he +worked rapidly and before long he had a heap of the brown, dry stuff +from underneath.</p> + +<p>She watched him silently. When he stopped, she said: "Straight to your +left is the rock. Get the fire started. Then you can move the invalid."</p> + +<p>He took the moss and felt his way to the rock, which was eight or ten +feet square and practically flat, standing up almost a foot from the +ground.</p> + +<p>"Now, for a dry stick or two," he said, cheerily.</p> + +<p>She directed him, and at last he found what he thought would do. Then +began the age-old procedure of twisting a pointed stick between one's +hands, the point resting on another piece of wood, until friction +brought a flame. It was a long, hard experiment; several times he +stopped to rest; but the consciousness of the skeptical expression he +knew to be on her face sent him quickly back again to his task. At last +the moss began to burn. True, it smoked much and flamed little, but he +gathered twigs from the shrubs near by and in time had a good fire. Then +he carried Claire to the rock and set her down beside it. She leaned her +elbow on the edge and said, happily: "It's quite a success, Lawrence. I +really feel as though we were progressing."</p> + +<p>"Our woodcraft will doubtless improve with experience," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Next, I guess we had better bathe your ankle," he observed, as though +giving due care to the order of procedure.</p> + +<p>"Very well," she replied.</p> + +<p>At her suggestion he gathered moss and wet it in the tiny stream. She +wound it about her ankle and held it tightly.</p> + +<p>"Now the surgeon orders splints and bandages," she said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>He brought several sticks, and with a strip which she tore from the +lining of his coat, she bound them fast.</p> + +<p>"There," she said, sighing, for the pain was wearing. "That ought to +help. I wonder what our distant grandparents did in such cases."</p> + +<p>"Made the best of it," he said cheerfully. "Many of them died, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"And we are back again at their game. Whether we can outwit the master +strategist and survive, is at least interesting to try."</p> + +<p>"In any event, we'll have to eat to do it," he said shortly.</p> + +<p>She studied the greenery about her, meditatively. "It's probable that +most any of these things are edible, but are they nourishing?"</p> + +<p>"We'll try them. Which shall I get?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I hate to start in on roots or leaves. If we only had some berries!"</p> + +<p>He got up determinedly. "I'll go down the ravine and hunt. If I get +mixed in directions, I'll shout."</p> + +<p>She watched him go, and when he had disappeared through the trees she +felt strangely sadder and very much alone. She fell to wondering if he +were really so necessary to her. Sooner or later would come the +inevitable problem between them. Would he fall in love with her, and +would she, in the days that they might be alone together, find his +companionship growing into any really vital proportion in her life? That +she, Claire Barkley, rich and independent, whose life had been selfish +to a marked degree and who had never considered anything except from the +point of view of vigor, perfection, or beauty, should ever love a blind +man was incredible.</p> + +<p>"No," she thought, "not even the closest of daily relationships with him +could ever make me really care. He is not of my life." She wondered how +much she would sacrifice for him if it were necessary in their +pilgrimage toward civilization, and she answered herself, frankly: "No +more than I must to maintain a balance in our forced business +partnership." She knew that was all this meant to her.</p> + +<p>From down the ravine she heard him shouting lustily, and she answered, +her clear, rich voice waking pleasant echoes as she called. She waited +for some time before he came. In his arms he carried a bundle of +branches loaded with red berries, while in one hand was a clump of large +mushrooms.</p> + +<p>Claire watched him as he approached, and was surprised at the ease with +which he walked. There was less hesitation in his stride than she had +thought, and he came briskly through the trees, dodging as though by +instinct.</p> + +<p>When he reached the rock, it was characteristic of her that she said: +"You came through those trees remarkably well."</p> + +<p>He laughed. "I have an uncanny way of feeling things on my face before +they touch me. I experimented somewhat with it in the laboratory at +college. It's a sort of tropism, perhaps, such as bugs have, that +enables them to keep between two planks or that turns plant-roots toward +the sun. Anyway, I've brought some breakfast. These berries may be good, +and these other things may be toadstools. I brought them along."</p> + +<p>"How does one tell?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mushrooms are pink underneath and ribbed like a fan."</p> + +<p>She examined them and said they might be mushrooms, they looked it. He +sat down again, but not until he had replenished the fire.</p> + +<p>"They may be poison, both of them," he hazarded. "That's our sporting +chance. Will you try them?"</p> + +<p>Claire took some of the berries and ate them. "I don't feel anything +yet," she announced after a minute's solemn munching.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you probably won't for several hours anyway," he said lightly. Then +he continued: "If we could devise a way, we might heat water and cook +the mushrooms. Then, too, I've been thinking we might even catch a +bird."</p> + +<p>"Neither sounds very simple."</p> + +<p>"Nothing in life is simple," he replied. "At home, in America, where we +leave food-getting to the farmer, dress from a store, and go to heaven +by way of a minister, things are fairly well arranged, but here we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +aren't even sure of salvation unless we mind the business of thinking." +He continued after a pause. "Of course, I don't especially remember that +I counted on heaven. It always seemed a bit distant in the face of +living and working. Perhaps, however, you counted it as vital."</p> + +<p>"I was fairly occupied with more immediate things," she answered. +"However, that is a different world from this. What we did then can't +especially matter to us here. This is our place of business, so to +speak, and social life doesn't factor."</p> + +<p>"I see." He accepted the snub thoughtfully. "But this business of ours +will grow exceedingly irksome without talk. I doubt if we can find the +means of escape an all-sufficient topic."</p> + +<p>"We haven't boiled our water yet," she said. "And the bird is still free +to roam."</p> + +<p>He did not carry on his line of thought aloud. If she had known what was +going on in his mind, she might have been angered. He was wondering just +how much thinking she was capable of. Certain that she was beautiful, he +had scarcely allowed that to occupy him. His experience had led him to +estimate people almost wholly by their ability to be open-minded. In his +struggle against blindness, he had concluded that open minds were rare +indeed, and persons who limited his freedom of action or tended to baby +him he had grown to dismiss with a shrug. Claire did not belong to that +class. "She has shown remarkable willingness to let me go my own pace," +he thought, "but is this due to her mind or to mere indifference?" He +decided at last that the relationship would be tiresome for both of +them, and that she was not especially eager to prevent it from being so. +This conclusion led him to adopt a definite attitude toward her. She +could do as she pleased; he, for his part, would treat her simply as an +uninteresting person, a machine that furnished the eyes which he could +use in his travel to liberty.</p> + +<p>He recalled how, when he had been displeased with convention, he had +thought of life in the wild as the best possible means of liberty, and +he laughed.</p> + +<p>Claire looked up. "What is there amusing just now?"</p> + +<p>"Myself, and you."</p> + +<p>"Why, pray, am I amusing?" Then she was sorry she had said it.</p> + +<p>"Because you are you."</p> + +<p>"And are you other than yourself?" she asked scornfully.</p> + +<p>"Not at all, but my own particular interests seem infinitely more +important to me than there is any possibility of yours doing."</p> + +<p>"You mean to say that you are an egotist."</p> + +<p>"Frankly, I am," he agreed. "One is an egotist, I suppose, when he finds +himself and his needs and whims essentially worth while. I'll admit I +find mine so. Perhaps you feel the same about yours. One scarcely knows +where egotism and vanity meet or end in a woman." He smiled, for he +meant that to provoke, and it did.</p> + +<p>Claire's voice was edged when she replied. "A very penetrating remark. +With men generally, vanity seems to be a widely extended cloak to spread +over all things in a woman that they cannot dispose of in any other way. +If I find you dull, or if I am not struck with your ability, or if you +do not seem to me sufficiently fascinating, I am possessed of feminine +vanity."</p> + +<p>"Precisely. And why not? If I choose to regard myself as all those +things which you deny, why shouldn't I find the fault in you rather than +in myself?"</p> + +<p>"Because it may be in you," suggested Claire.</p> + +<p>"It may, but that doesn't alter the case. I quite agree that you are +right, but none the less you are at fault, because I, Lawrence, am the +most important of all things to me."</p> + +<p>She did not answer. The conversation seemed to her useless. She saw no +reason for arguing the matter, and she half suspected that he was simply +teasing her. Besides, she could not but feel that to sit here in his +coat and discuss egotism was a trifle ridiculous. He was merely trying +to establish a friendship in talk which she did not care to encourage. +That was her conclusion.</p> + +<p>As he rose to gather more sticks, he asked: "Do you happen to see a rock +that flattens to an edge?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>Told where he might find one, he brought it and struck it hard against +their boulder. It did not break. "It may do," he said thoughtfully, and +began to grind it against the side of the other rock. He worked steadily +and long, and the result was a fairly good edge, which was nicked and +toothed, but still an edge. He laid it down with a sigh of contentment.</p> + +<p>"My first tool," he commented.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">MUTUAL DISLIKE.</h3> + + +<p>All day Lawrence worked, and when night came he had hollowed out a piece +of log to a depth of some eighteen inches, leaving six inches of solid +wood in the bottom. Both were very well pleased with the result. With +the coming of darkness, he gathered more berries, and heated water in +his log kettle. They were able to cook the mushrooms and to bind her +ankle in moss soaked in hot water. The building of a shelter was +discussed, but both decided to resume their journey on the following +day, so they slept again in the heavy moss.</p> + +<p>In the morning, Claire was glad indeed of the hot water, for it warmed +her, and her ankle felt much better. They decided to follow the little +stream which would doubtless wind its way somehow around the present +ridge back to the ocean. Accordingly, they kept down the ravine, which +cut across the ridge in a southerly direction.</p> + +<p>For the whole of that day and the next they followed the stream, which +grew to a small creek. At noon of the third day they dropped suddenly +down a steep slope to find themselves at the juncture of their stream, +with a river which flowed through a deep gorge out to the ocean. They +determined to follow it up toward its head.</p> + +<p>"Somewhere inland must be a town," argued Claire. "At any rate, it's the +only way we can go."</p> + +<p>After living for four days on berries, they were beginning to feel +acutely the need of other food, but they discussed the problem at length +without arriving at any feasible solution. Two days later fortune +temporarily relieved their difficulty.</p> + +<p>They were following along the side of a steep ridge overlooking the +river, when Claire suddenly stopped him and gave a cry of delight. Near +them a small, furry animal, caught in a tangled mass of wirelike +creepers, was struggling to free itself. He killed the creature with his +stone-edged tool, and after barbecuing it on the end of a stick, they +ate it ravenously. Each of them would have disliked the whole scene at +any other time, but now neither thought anything of it until after they +were satisfied.</p> + +<p>Leaning back against a rock, Lawrence stroked his chin, rapidly becoming +invisible under a heavy beard. "I hadn't known I was so hungry for real +food," he laughed.</p> + +<p>Brown as a gipsy, her hair filled with tiny green leaves, Claire looked +at him, her eyes shining with the warm light of satisfied hunger. "We +ate like two beasts," she remarked languidly, and laughed. "It was +simply disgraceful."</p> + +<p>"I know," he began to muse, "it doesn't take long for the most polished +man—not that I ever was that—to become a savage."</p> + +<p>"You look the part," she laughed. "I suppose I do, too. My hair is +matted hopelessly; the curliness makes it worse. My face, too, is +rapidly hardening under this sun. If only I had a few more clothes—" +She stopped and looked at him. "I feel the need of them," she finished +lamely.</p> + +<p>Claire had worn his coat continuously from the first night, and his +undershirt was tearing from contact with bush and tree. He grinned +contentedly, however.</p> + +<p>"If you approach nakedness as rapidly as I," he chuckled, "I fear we +both will have to avoid civilization. Undisguised humanity isn't +tolerated there."</p> + +<p>She flushed warmly, then laughed.</p> + +<p>"I wonder why people are so afraid of being seen," Lawrence went on. "Of +course, there's the warmth and natural protection of clothing, but one +would feel so much freer without the encumbrance of shirt-stud and +feathered plume."</p> + +<p>"We need them to complete a personality," said Claire. "I know few +people who would inspire respect in their elemental state. Stripped of +advertising silk and diamond, they wouldn't be so suggestive of +wealth."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>"But why be so eager to impress others with your power?"</p> + +<p>She turned toward him with a faint smile. "If you didn't ask that as +mere conversation, I would think you childish. You know very well why. +It probably goes back to the days when the possession of a fish-hook, +more or less, meant surer life. It has come to mean, now, that the +decoration of an extra feather or white flannel trousers means +advantageous position, the place of more power, more pleasure; in short, +greater fulness of living."</p> + +<p>"But we are living fully, goodness knows," he interrupted. "This last +week we have had to exert our wits and bodies in more ways than we ever +did before in all our lives. True, I do miss my modeling somewhat." He +spoke the last with a soft mellowness in his voice and a wistfulness +that made her look at him quickly.</p> + +<p>"Modeling?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He nodded slowly.</p> + +<p>"What sort of modeling?" she insisted.</p> + +<p>"Oh, probably poor, for the most part. I did some work that was +beginning to make its way, though."</p> + +<p>"You mean sculpture?"</p> + +<p>He nodded again.</p> + +<p>She looked at him earnestly. Here was a new revelation. She had wondered +at this man's apparent keen sense of form, and his imaginative power +when he spoke of color or mentioned line, and she had been sure from his +occasional word that he was a wide student of literature.</p> + +<p>"What did you do at home?" she asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, played with living," he said indifferently.</p> + +<p>She felt irritated that he would not tell her more of his life, yet she +remembered that she had practically refused to discuss her own with him.</p> + +<p>"See here, Lawrence," she said suddenly, "we aren't quite fair with each +other, are we?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he answered quietly. "I carry you toward your old life, you +guide me toward mine. It's a fair business, with equal investment. I'm +not complaining."</p> + +<p>She was silent and watched him as he lay on his back, dreaming of days +at home with his work. As he lay there, she studied his hands. They +were practically healed, and she noticed they were well-shaped, the +fingers long and tapering, yet with an appearance of unusual strength. +She knew already that they were sensitive; when he had cut out a piece +of wood to heat water in, she had seen that. So they were sculptor's +hands. What a revelation, and what a pity that he was blind! She fell to +wondering if he really was good at his work, or whether he merely +fancied he was and hewed away without real artistry, deceived by his +blindness. She studied his face in repose. Then her mind came back to +his hands, and she felt a sudden sense of displeasure, a little chagrin, +and some wonder, accompanied by the feeling that she wished he had not +carried her. She did not quite know why, yet the dependence on him made +her restless. Suddenly she wondered poignantly what he thought of her. +The more she wondered, the more she wanted to know, and at last she +ventured, "Are you asleep?"</p> + +<p>"No, dreaming."</p> + +<p>"Lawrence."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" He sat up and waited.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of me?" She was surprised to find herself waiting +eagerly for his answer.</p> + +<p>He laughed outright, a gay, hearty laugh.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said merrily, "you embarrass me dreadfully. You see, I +haven't thought much about you. However, if you like, I'll study you for +a week and report."</p> + +<p>Hot anger surged up in her. "You needn't bother," she said dryly. "Our +lives are so utterly different in every phase that nothing could be +gained."</p> + +<p>He lay back carelessly. "So I had decided," he replied, and lapsed into +silence again.</p> + +<p>She could have cried with vexation. For the first time in her life +Claire was utterly humiliated, and there grew within her an aggressive +dislike for this man, a determination to make him feel her power and to +punish him for his indifference. She did not want him to love her, by +any means, but he had never even shown her the courteous deference, the +admiration or regard that she was accustomed to receive from men.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> Her +mind went back over the past week, and she grew more humiliated, more +angry. Tears of vexation came to her eyes, but she brushed them away +fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Shall we take the remains of our meat and move on toward the habitats +of men?" said Lawrence, sitting up.</p> + +<p>She controlled herself to answer, "As you please."</p> + +<p>He stooped to lift her into his arms. She flushed warm as his hands +slipped under her, and he straightened up. She hesitated, and wanted not +to do it, but realized the necessity, and put her arm around his neck.</p> + +<p>"I shall be grateful when I can walk," was her comment.</p> + +<p>"It will make our progress more rapid," he agreed, and she was angry +again. She knew that he thought only in terms of the most efficient +means of getting ahead. A longing possessed her to make him realize that +he was physically distasteful to her.</p> + +<p>"We are so vastly different," she said, "it is disagreeable to be +carried this way."</p> + +<p>Lawrence flushed, and she was pleased. At least he understood now.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he admitted calmly, "it isn't pleasant, but I suppose one +must make the best of a bad bargain."</p> + +<p>There was silence for a while, then he said suddenly, "I think I +realize, Claire, that a blind man is at best a poor companion for a +woman who is accustomed to being amused, and whose interests are those +of the society glow-worm."</p> + +<p>Claire resented the picture, but she kept her voice steady. "Surely at +home you had your own social group," she said pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Of a sort, yes. We were all workers, not going in much for form, +entertainment, and that sort of thing. We generally sat in the gallery +at the opera, and did mostly as we pleased everywhere. None of us were +rolling in wealth. We worked for the love of it, and looked to the +future for pay."</p> + +<p>"I see." She was thinking fast. "You were struggling young artists." Her +voice was sugar-coated.</p> + +<p>"We were struggling young artizans," he answered, seemingly indifferent +to her irony.</p> + +<p>As he made slower progress when he talked, she did not attempt to carry +on the conversation. The stops for rest were gradually lengthening out, +and he was getting hard and wiry so that his endurance was greater. He +was quicker at catching himself when he stumbled, and he did not puff so +hard between grades. Claire felt the easier swing of his body when he +walked, and noticed that he was growing surer of foot and more graceful +in movement, and she realized that except for his eyes he was a splendid +specimen of manhood. She now admitted all these things to herself, but +they only added to her feeling against him. She wondered if he had been +as indifferent to all women as he was to her, and was displeased that +she wondered.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Lawrence stopped and put her down by his side. Claire looked up +at him and saw his forehead gathering in a frown.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>"You are letting your thoughts obstruct your eyes," he said simply. "I +have walked into three boulders without your knowing it."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," she said earnestly. "It was silly of me."</p> + +<p>He laughed and sat down. "You see, as eyes you can't afford to think. At +other times perhaps I, too, should wander into abstractions, but at +present it won't work."</p> + +<p>"I know it," she admitted contritely. "I won't repeat it."</p> + +<p>"What," he asked, "is the subject of all this meditation?"</p> + +<p>She blushed, and her eyes darkened. She wondered whether she should tell +the truth, started to do so, then changed her mind. "I was asking myself +what my husband was probably doing and thinking."</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow!" Lawrence was sincerely thoughtful. "I can imagine what it +must be to him, supposing you lost at sea. Yes, he must be suffering +badly. I don't believe I would change places with him."</p> + +<p>Claire started at Lawrence. "Are you flattering me?" she asked coldly.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," he replied. "I am merely stating the truth. I have an +imagination, my dear lady. I can quite grasp your husband's position. +You would certainly be a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> loss to a man who loved you, and I shouldn't +care to be that man."</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't you?" she said instinctively, and bit her lip for saying it.</p> + +<p>"Not under the circumstances," answered Lawrence. "I never did fancy the +idea of death visiting my loved ones. I have never got over its having +done so."</p> + +<p>"Oh"—her voice softened—"then you have lost your—" She waited.</p> + +<p>"I am an orphan," he said bruskly.</p> + +<p>She was ashamed of her relief. How ridiculous it was to have imagined +him, even for an instant, as a married man! He was so cold, so +impersonal; of course, he had never married, and never would. Well, that +was best; a blind man had no right to marry. He owed it to himself and +to any woman not to place her in the position of caring for him, +handicapped as he was, and so unable to give her the companionship, the +comradeship a woman deserved. She could see how he would treat a wife: +feed her well, clothe her, care for her comfort, and talk to her if she +desired, but he would never be tender, loving, sympathetic, or +understanding. No, he could not be; he was too self-centered, too much +the artist. That last seemed to her a correct estimate of him, and she +settled her mind on it as being final.</p> + +<p>"So you are alone in the world?" Claire said, renewing the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Quite," answered Lawrence. "I am as free from family hindrances as a +young wolf that runs his first season's hunt alone."</p> + +<p>She thought how apt a comparison he had made. "So you regard the family +as a hindrance?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—no and yes. One can never do quite as he pleases while a family and +its wishes, aims, and loves are concerned. They always hold him down to +some extent. He is an equal hindrance to them. They love each other, and +as a result they have to sacrifice their individual wishes. But the +family keeps man more social, more gregarious, and less selfish. If we +were as free from family love as is the wolf I mentioned, we would be +able to live our lives more completely, and, on the other hand, we would +die in greater numbers. The love of man and woman for each other and +their children lifts humanity out of its serfdom, but it also places +limitations. You ought to know more about that than I, however," he +laughed. "I merely theorize."</p> + +<p>"So I noticed," Claire observed. "One can easily gather that you aren't +experienced."</p> + +<p>"No. My parents died when I was small. I had to work my way through +school. The accident made it somewhat harder, but I got along." He was +plainly matter of fact.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" She exclaimed at his words more forcefully than she had intended.</p> + +<p>He smiled a little, comprehendingly. "Yes, it explains a lot, doesn't +it?" He spoke carelessly. "You doubtless can now understand my lack of +social grace."</p> + +<p>She thought to deny it, but that seemed foolish. He was silent, and +there seemed little use in talking. Claire knew she understood him well +enough.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE FACE OF DEATH.</h3> + + +<p>In the days that followed they talked but little. Lawrence had fallen +into the habit of speaking only when she seemed to desire conversation, +and his mind was occupied with planning their escape. If he thought of +her in any other way than merely as his eyes, he never showed it. Though +watchful of her comfort, in every act and word, he was markedly +impersonal.</p> + +<p>Following the river, they had progressed steadily north and east over +increasingly higher and rougher ground. The tropical vegetation of +intertwining crimson was now changing to a faint gold. There were days +when they were forced to make long détours over broken ridges to get +around some deep gorge through which the gray-green stream dashed its +foamy way downward. They were well into the mountains, and above them +the higher Andes raised their snowy peaks in forbidding austerity. It +was daily growing colder, and their clothes were now only ragged strips. +Then came days when sharp, biting winds whipped through the cañon they +followed, or headed against them on some plateau, and they were forced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +to face new issues. Food was less plentiful, and winter was at hand. To +be sure they were in the tropics, but on the mountains the air was cold, +and warmer clothes became imperative.</p> + +<p>Claire's ankle was almost well. After weeks of pain, which she had borne +bravely, it was healing, and the time was near when she would be able to +walk. Shoes were absolutely essential for her. Furthermore, Lawrence's +own shoes were worn through, and his walking was becoming a continual +pain. In spite of Claire's increasingly careful guidance, he stepped on +small, sharp rocks that dug into his flesh. He did not complain, but +Claire knew that he was suffering. The times when he stepped out freely +became more and more seldom, and his face was usually taut.</p> + +<p>They were, indeed, a pitiable couple. Lawrence's thin face was shaggy +with hair. Claire's once soft skin was now brown and hard. Both were +thin and wiry, with the gaunt lines of the undernourished showing +plainly.</p> + +<p>One morning, to fight the frost that bit into them, they were forced to +build a fire long before dawn. As they sat huddled together over it, +Lawrence finally broached the subject that had been engrossing both +their minds for days.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said thoughtfully, "we can't make it through. We'll have to +find a place somewhere and prepare for winter. It's tough, but it's +inevitable. I hate to give up now, but it will be even worse for us if +we don't get meat, fur, and a house against the snow that will soon be +covering everything."</p> + +<p>"I know," she said sadly, her thin hands supporting her chin. "It seems +as though we had played our long farce to its end. Death is as +inexorable in its demands as life." The circles under her eyes were +great half-moons.</p> + +<p>"We have done well, though," he argued. "We've done better than well. +Who would have believed that a blind man and a crippled woman could have +come as far as this?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't believe it, Lawrence," she said, and her voice and eyes were +full of a warmth that had grown of late to be fairly constant. "I +didn't believe it, and I wouldn't believe it now if I were told the +story back home."</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure; I might have," Lawrence said proudly. "I know the blind +and their capabilities."</p> + +<p>"I'm learning to know them," she admitted, and lapsed into silence.</p> + +<p>"Shall we go into camp, then," he asked, as if they had not mentioned +anything else.</p> + +<p>Claire hesitated, then said slowly: "It's our only chance. Are you +willing to spend a winter with me?" Her eyes glanced amusedly at him.</p> + +<p>Catching the note in her voice, Lawrence laughed. "It seems inevitable," +he said, "and, anyway, I couldn't ask for a better companion. You don't +disturb me, and I don't irritate you—that is, not especially."</p> + +<p>She looked at him impatiently. "Don't you?" she said, meditatively. +"Well, I'm glad I don't bother you."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he assented seriously. "You've been mighty open-minded, Claire, +and you haven't hampered me with incredulities."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is what you mean."</p> + +<p>He moved uneasily, his muscles drawing a little. Claire saw and +wondered.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Lawrence said shortly. "When morning comes, we'll hunt for a +location."</p> + +<p>They ceased speaking, each occupied with his own thoughts.</p> + +<p>Claire was asking herself what the winter would mean to her, spent with +this silent man, and he was questioning how long she would continue to +regard him as a mere imperfect carrier, devoid of the stuff that men are +made of. Sometimes when her body was in his arms, he had wondered if she +was capable of love, but always he had remembered her husband, her +social life, her assumption of superior reserve, and had forced himself +into a habitual attitude of indifference. The strain was telling on his +will, however, and often he longed to make this woman see him as he was. +He thought of the old days in his studio when he had proved himself +master of blindness in his power to imagine and carry the sense of form +into the carved stone. He recalled the praise of his comrades, and over +all else there surged in him the swift, warm blood of the artist.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>"Lawrence," said Claire suddenly, "at what do you value human life?"</p> + +<p>"That depends," he answered, "on whose life it is."</p> + +<p>"Well, at what would you value mine?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"From varying points of view, at varying prices. From your husband's +point of view, it is invaluable. From your own, it is worth more than +anything else. From my point of view, it is worth as much as my own, +since without you mine ceases."</p> + +<p>"Then your care of me and all your trouble is merely because you value +your own life."</p> + +<p>"What else?" He moved uneasily.</p> + +<p>She ignored that question. "If you could get through without me, would +you do it?"</p> + +<p>"That depends on circumstances. If I could get through without you, and +do it quickly, and could not get through with you"—he paused—"I should +leave you behind."</p> + +<p>"And suppose, when I can walk, I do that myself?"</p> + +<p>He smiled. "As you please," he said quietly. "I advise you to make your +estimate well, however. My hands and strength are assets which you might +have trouble in doing without."</p> + +<p>"And do you estimate the whole of our relationship on a carefully +itemized basis of material gain and loss?"</p> + +<p>"Claire, isn't that your understanding, stated by yourself, of our +partnership?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but—well, it's hard to estimate human companionship."</p> + +<p>"I know it." He shifted nearer the fire. "I've tried to estimate yours."</p> + +<p>"Indeed?" Her voice was full of interest.</p> + +<p>"I've failed. You are worth a great deal, potentially."</p> + +<p>"Exactly what do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean just this"—he stood up suddenly and faced her, his shadow +covering her like an ominous cloud—"that as Mrs. Claire Barkley you are +worth nothing to me except eyes, and, therefore, your personality and +conversation are of value only as time-fillers."</p> + +<p>"Go on," she said steadily.</p> + +<p>"But as Claire, the almost starved, ragged human being who is living +with me through a prolonged war with death, you are worth everything to +me—everything that I value."</p> + +<p>"But isn't that what I have been from the beginning?" she flashed.</p> + +<p>He answered slowly. "Yes—in a way."</p> + +<p>Once more they lapsed into silence. In turn she tried to estimate his +worth to her, but failed. She began to recall the men she knew, and +concluded that she was without a standard of measurement. One by one she +pictured them and cast them aside, as somehow not the scale by which to +evaluate this man. At last, she began to think of her husband. It had +not occurred to her to think of him in comparison with Lawrence before, +and it made her wonder at her doing so now.</p> + +<p>She fell to dreaming of the man who had been her lover in girlhood, and +her husband and dear companion these past six years. He was surely at +home, aching, yearning for the little girl he had lost. She could see +him sitting before the fireplace in their big living-room, his head on +his hands, his tired face in repose, while he gazed into the flames and +longed and longed for her. The picture grew in clearness. She saw the +joy that would be his when they met again, and she felt around her those +dear arms, crushing her against him in a rapture of reunion. In sudden +contrast, she was again conscious of the cold, impersonal arms of the +man beside her. As she thought of the difference she hated Lawrence +wildly. At least, her husband knew her worth. He knew her golden +treasure-house of love; he knew her as she was.</p> + +<p>This blind man before her there, unkempt, hard, expressionless, what did +he know of her? What could he know, born of poor people, and working his +way among inferiors? She almost laughed aloud. Why, at home this man, +who had carried her in his arms, would have been one of her wards, an +object of her charities. But would he? Lawrence was an artist. She +considered that.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it light enough to get moving, Claire?" His rich, warm tones +broke in upon her thought like a shattering cataract. How musical and +vibrant his voice was!</p> + +<p>"I think so." She stood up unsteadily.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>"Good. We'd better go down nearer the river. We will want a sheltered +ravine for our winter camp."</p> + +<p>"Very well." She threw her arm over his shoulder. "It isn't far down, +and it's clear going. When we start again, I'll be able to walk. And +then I'll lead you, Mr. Lawrence." She spoke half in jest.</p> + +<p>"And if we are alive, I shall make it possible for you to do so +comfortably. I hope for something to make shoes of." He answered with a +frank, sincere joy at her being able to walk, and she was ashamed of her +anger. He was not to blame for being anxious to have her well, to have +felt otherwise would certainly have been to be a fool indeed. She should +rejoice with him, for then they could get home that much sooner, home to +her husband and her old life. She warmed at the idea, and felt a sense +of gratitude toward Lawrence that was good and wholesome. "I have been +silly," she thought. "He is really not to be expected to fall and adore +me, and certainly I ought not to blame him for being blind. He couldn't +help that, either."</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she said aloud, "I am a beastly unjust wretch."</p> + +<p>"I don't see it," he protested.</p> + +<p>"But you ought to see it. I don't play fair with you."</p> + +<p>"You said that once before, I believe. I don't agree any more now that I +did then."</p> + +<p>"But I think all sorts of beastly things." She could not understand her +frankness.</p> + +<p>"Oh"—he paused. "So do I. But as I am not a Puritan, I scarcely hold +myself responsible to you for my thoughts. One's thoughts are his own, +and, as long as he keeps them to himself, he is entitled to as many as +he pleases, of whatever variety he prefers."</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, and so do you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did—but it seemed to me," she faltered, "that in the present +case—oh, well, let it go." She laughed nervously, and said no more.</p> + +<p>Lawrence wondered at her silence, and wanted to know very much what she +thought, but he told himself that after all it was none of his +business.</p> + +<p>They had reached the river. The water rushed from the mouth of a gorge +in rapids that sent its every drop sparkling and flashing over a great +rock into a mass of white foam below.</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Claire, "it's beautiful, beautiful!"</p> + +<p>He put her down and laughed. "It sounds as if it were leaping from +points of light into cloud-banked foam."</p> + +<p>She stared at him in amazement. "It is," she said in a subdued tone. +"How did you know?"</p> + +<p>"One learns," he said carelessly. "And how about a camp?"</p> + +<p>Her admiration of him vanished into the commonplace.</p> + +<p>"We can't find it here," she said, hiding her appreciation of the scene +under her professional-guide tone.</p> + +<p>He frowned. "Nowhere close?"</p> + +<p>"No. And what is worse, we'll have to go over a mountain. The stream +here is rushing right out from between cliff walls."</p> + +<p>Lawrence's spirit sank, but he did not show it. "We'd better eat what +little we have left and then be off," he suggested simply.</p> + +<p>That morning was the beginning of their hardest experience since they +first left the beach. Scarcely had they started to climb over the great +ridge, which broke into sheer precipice at the river, when a sharp wind +rose and cut through their unprotected bodies. Claire drew in against +him as close as she could, while he tried to give her more protection +with his arms. The slope was steep and filled with loose rocks so that +he lost ground at every step. They were forced to stop often, and by +noon he was worn out, and they were both bitterly cold. Claire thought +they were near the top, so Lawrence nerved himself to press on.</p> + +<p>Night found them standing on the crest of the ridge, in the face of a +bitter wind; before them, across a small plateau, rose a still higher +mountain around the northern side of which a ravine cut its jagged gash +away from the river. Claire stared at the scene until her courage broke +down.</p> + +<p>"We can never do it, Lawrence," she moaned, and her head sank wearily +against his shoulder. Her cry was the aching moan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> of a heart-broken +child. The proud, self-contained Claire was gone. It stirred Lawrence +strangely, and for the first time a warm tenderness for her came over +him. He drew her to him, and tried to comfort her. Her poor +undernourished body shook with the sobs that despair and the cold wrung +from her, and, though his own hands and body were blue, he tried to warm +her. Had he seen the ground ahead of them, he, too, might have given up, +but blindness was the barring wall of black which shut out even defeat. +He clenched his teeth firmly, and lifted Claire in his arms again +resolutely.</p> + +<p>"We've got to do it, Claire," he said, "and we will."</p> + +<p>She attempted to paint the scene before him in graphic detail, her words +broken by sobs. When she finished he started forward.</p> + +<p>"We'll follow the gulf," he stated. "We must keep going, Claire. We +don't dare to stop."</p> + +<p>"We can't. It's dark, and will be black soon," she answered.</p> + +<p>"We've got to do it," Lawrence repeated. "It isn't the first night of my +life I've struggled against a black so dense its nothingness seemed +overpowering."</p> + +<p>She strained her eyes through the gathering night to turn him into the +smoothest way, lapsing into jerky, habitual words of guidance.</p> + +<p>In the darkness they entered the ravine and staggered down to its broken +bottom. The time soon came when she could see hardly anything until they +were almost upon it, and the white face of a boulder spotting the +endless black before her filled her with a vague dread. Often they +paused to rest, but the cold drove them on again. Claire almost ceased +to direct him, and Lawrence gritted his teeth till they hurt him and +forged ahead.</p> + +<p>Once he slipped and fell, but got to his feet again and went on. Claire +was not injured beyond a few bruises, but she noticed that he limped +more than before and her fear increased.</p> + +<p>How they ever fought that night through neither knew, but morning came +at last and found them still staggering down the ravine. They were +almost out of it now and were entering a rather heavy pine forest. +Fortunately the gulf they followed had turned around the mountain in the +direction of the river, and their desire for water drove them to keep +on. To their blue and shaking bodies all feeling had grown vague, +tingling, and uncertain. When Claire looked at Lawrence she could have +screamed. His lips were drawn back, and his hairy cheeks and sightless +eyes flashed before her the image of a dehumanized death mask. Her own +face must look like that, she thought, and buried her head on his +shoulder. Through that morning he struggled on, faltering, lurching, +resting a little, girding himself against the death now so surely at +hand. In his mind thought had ceased to be coherent; his starved body, +whipped by the cold, was beginning to play with the imagery.</p> + +<p>He gurgled a grim little laugh, and all clear thought was at an end. +Claire heard and looked at him wonderingly. She knew that she was +freezing, and she had resigned herself, but this man, what was he doing? +He still lunged through the trees, where, at all events it seemed a +little warmer. She heard him muttering incoherent jargon that gradually +cleared to speech. "We'll go on, Claire. We'll go on to the end. I've +got to do it. I need my life. I need you!"</p> + +<p>She started and listened, though even in her present state she grew +resentful. "So that was it," she thought; "he's waiting to get me out +before he breaks into his love. He wants his rescue as an argument." +Then her thinking was broken into detached images. She saw her husband +and cried aloud to him. She had pictures flashing in her mind of him, of +old scenes, parties, places they had been together, tenements she had +visited in her charity work, the beach that morning when Lawrence had +found her, and in and through it all she heard words falling from his +lips that recalled later, stung her to wrath.</p> + +<p>"I need you, Claire," she heard him again, and then, "I shall use you, +Claire. You will be my masterpiece. It is you, proud, superior, human, +social, intellectual, sexed, vital, you, carrying in your being the +whole tumultuous riot of the ages gone, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> hiding it under a guarded +social exterior, not knowing when in a sentence it breaks through, you, +you, Claire, you, the woman!"</p> + +<p>He stumbled, regained his balance, and plunged through a fringe of +pines, staggered against one, then another, cursed, and went again +forward and out into a clearing. She saw it vaguely before them. At +first she doubted, then, as he let his hold on her slip, she gripped his +neck with arms that scarcely felt the body they closed around.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she screamed in a voice that was shrill—"Lawrence, a cabin, +a cabin!"</p> + +<p>He sank down with her clinging to him still. "I know," he muttered, +"I've got to find one." Then he lay quiet.</p> + +<p>She freed herself and crept toward the house. She was at the back of it, +and she was obliged to crawl slowly on hands and knees around to the +front. There was a door, she pushed on it, but it did not open. She grew +angry at it, and beat against it with her fists, abusing it for its +obstinacy. When at last it opened she laughed wildly.</p> + +<p>Before her, his tall body, clad in warm, heavy clothes, stood a man +whose dark eyes grew wet with tears of pity the instant they saw her. He +lifted her in his arms like a child and carried her inside. She had a +fleeting sense of being at home, she thought he was her husband and +threw her arms around him passionately, then, remembering Lawrence, she +murmured as he laid her down, "Out there—behind the cabin!" and was +unconscious.</p> + +<p>The man turned and hurried out. In a few minutes he came back, carrying +Lawrence, and his face was lined with pity at the state of these two +human beings.</p> + +<p>He laid them together on a wide berth at the side of the cabin and began +to work over them alternately. Swiftly and deftly he heated blankets and +prepared food. He wound them in the hot cloth, chafed their hands and +arms, and forced brandy down their throats.</p> + +<p>Lawrence's eyelids drew back.</p> + +<p>"The man is blind," muttered the stranger in Spanish.</p> + +<p>Claire was looking at him dazedly and reaching greedily toward the +kettle that simmered over a great open fireplace.</p> + +<p>He brought a bowl of hot savory soup and started feeding them. Lawrence +swallowed mechanically, but he could hardly get the spoon out of +Claire's mouth.</p> + +<p>"Not too much, <i>señora</i>," he said, turning away.</p> + +<p>When he looked again toward them they were both asleep. The utter +exhaustion of their long night claimed rest. He walked over to Claire +and stood looking down at her.</p> + +<p>"She was beautiful," he thought. "And he is blind. Ah, well, for her, +beauty is again possible, but for him"—he shrugged his shoulders—"it +is bad, bad!" he said softly, and, turning to a shelf of books that +stood against the wall, he drew out a volume and sat down before the +fire to read.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE STONE THREAT.</h3> + + +<p>When Claire awoke she stared around her for a few minutes before the +events of their frantic struggle came back to her. Her eyes strayed to +the figure before the fireplace. Idly she noted the lustrous, wavy black +hair and deep brown eyes protected by unusually heavy lashes. It was +clearly the face of a thinker, a dreamer, yet there was something +sensual about the mouth, potentially voluptuous, abandoned, and +suggestive of tremendous passion that slumbered close beneath the brain +that was so actively awake. Claire ached, and her body tingled with the +unaccustomed warmth. She lay quiet, looking at the fire, her mind still +uncertain in its action, weaving sharp, dynamic images about this new +personality. While his appearance gripped and awed her strangely, at the +same time she felt drawn to him. She turned and threw out her hand. Her +host closed his book and looked up, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Ah, <i>la señora se siente mejor</i>?" His deep, rich voice, although +lighter than Lawrence's, was full of music, but she did not understand +his words. Her blank expression told him, and he smiled again.</p> + +<p>"I remember, you spoke English," he said with only the slightest accent. +"Are you better, <i>madame</i>?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>She answered his warm smile and said weakly: "Much better, thank you!"</p> + +<p>"And your husband?" Claire saw that he was looking beyond her, and she +turned to find Lawrence at her side. Instinctively she resented his +being there. The warm blood rushed to her face.</p> + +<p>"He—oh—he will be all right, I trust!" she stammered falteringly, and +her host looked puzzled. Her impulse was to tell him that Lawrence was +not her husband, but she thought better of it and said nothing about the +relationship.</p> + +<p>"He had a long, desperate struggle to bring me here," she said instead. +"You see, I broke my ankle and he had to carry me."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" The man rose, his face filled with respect as he looked at +Lawrence asleep beside her.</p> + +<p>"From where did he carry you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"From the coast," she shuddered. "It has been terrible!"</p> + +<p>His face expressed utter amazement as he repeated: "From the coast? It +is a miracle!"</p> + +<p>She made no reply, for Lawrence stirred and tried to sit up.</p> + +<p>"You'd better lie still," the stranger said kindly. "You deserve rest, +my friend." Then, as to himself, he added: "It is the first miracle in +which I can believe."</p> + +<p>Claire stared at him, and he laughed softly. "Pardon, <i>madame</i>! I am an +unhappy seeker after truth," he apologized, throwing a log on the fire.</p> + +<p>For Lawrence and Claire the days that followed were uneventful days of +recovery from their hardship. Slowly both of them grew stronger and +resumed their normal habits of thought and speech. Their host was a +gentle nurse, kindly and considerate. Claire assumed her wonted attitude +of the cultured woman, a guest in the house of a friend, and the +Spaniard met her with the polished courtesy of a cosmopolitan. Lawrence, +too, became the usual man that he was, careless of little niceties, +indifferent to form, but a charming companion and a delightful guest.</p> + +<p>From the first he and Philip became intensely interested in each other. +They discovered early that each was a thinker and a searcher in his own +way for the one great solution of life.</p> + +<p>During the first half-hour Claire had demanded of their rescuer where +they were and how soon they could get back to civilization. Philip had +laughed gently.</p> + +<p>"You are on the borders of Bolivia," he told her, "and the nearest +railroad is two hundred miles away. It is impossible to get out until +spring. Long ere this snow will have barred the way through the one pass +that leads out and we are prisoners—the three of us. You will have to +accept the hospitality of Philip Ortez until the spring."</p> + +<p>Lawrence had accepted the verdict with calm indifference.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," he said, "it's hard on you, but as far as I'm concerned, one +place is as good as another."</p> + +<p>"I shall enjoy your company," their host laughed.</p> + +<p>After voicing polite thanks, Claire, in her own thought, had rebelled +against the situation vehemently. She wanted to get home, she wanted to +get away from everything that suggested her last weeks of suffering, she +wanted to get away from these men. Her heart leaped to the +ever-recurring dream of the husband, whose arms should take her up and +hold her warmly against the memory of their separation.</p> + +<p>"Then there is no way out?" she asked again.</p> + +<p>"None, <i>madame</i>," and Philip Ortez bowed. "You will have to be the guest +of a humble mountaineer."</p> + +<p>"I shall enjoy it, I am sure," she answered. "It is simply a woman's +natural desire for home which leads me to ask again."</p> + +<p>His eyes clouded. Claire somehow found herself fancying a tragic mystery +in the life of this man, and then rebuked herself for romancing. +Certainly, such fancies were not her habit, and she wondered why they +were occurring to her.</p> + +<p>The cabin stood on the very edge of the forest through which Lawrence +had carried Claire the last morning of their long march. Protected by +its pines, the little house fronted on a small lake, a place where the +river which they had followed widened to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> half-mile, and stayed thus +with scarcely any current save directly through the center. All around +the lake the forest stretched its massed green, and here Philip trapped. +The lake, in its turn, provided him with fish.</p> + +<p>The week after their arrival snow had heaped itself into the ravine and +piled up high around the cabin. Ice was beginning to form on the edge of +the lake, and their host was preparing for his winter's work. They were +too weak to go with him, and he left them in possession of the cabin.</p> + +<p>At first there had been an unaccountable awkwardness between Lawrence +and Claire, and it had left a reserve which was difficult to overcome. +Lawrence had explained their situation to Philip; the Spaniard had been +apologetically gracious, but there was something in Claire's nature that +made her wish that Lawrence had never been thought of as her husband. +Dressed in Philip's clothes, and in the presence of a roof and fire, she +felt a desire to be free from the memory of the days when she had clung +about Lawrence's neck, and, above all, she felt that she was not able to +meet him with understanding. His blindness in these surroundings seemed +to set a sudden and impassable barrier between them, and made her ill at +ease when she was alone with him.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was irritated that she should so immediately react into what he +called the old conventional habit toward blind people, and keep it +standing like a stupid but solid wall between all their talk. Now that +she was no longer dependent on him, she appeared to him more attractive. +He thought of her husband, and wondered if Claire's attitude toward +himself was tempered with the thought of the man at home. "Surely," he +told himself, "she can't be allowing that to come between us, for it is +so obviously quite unnecessary." Then he began to wonder how much of her +life was centered about her husband. What sort of man was he, and did +she love him devotedly? As he thought, there crept into his feeling a +sense of irritation against the unknown man who was obstructing his +friendship with the woman he had carried half through the Andes +Mountains.</p> + +<p>Then the longing for his work came over him, and there were times when +he felt he must do something. He spoke needlessly sharp words to +Claire. Though she concealed her anger, there grew between them a +continuous straining born out of mutual misunderstanding and a great +submerged tangle of emotions.</p> + +<p>One morning when Ortez in snow-shoes and fur had gone for the day to +look after his traps, Claire washed up the tin dishes they used, and sat +down before the fire opposite Lawrence. His head was in his hands and +his face was somber.</p> + +<p>"You look sad this morning," she said casually.</p> + +<p>"Do I?" he answered. "I'm not—especially. I was just planning a piece +of work, dreaming it out in outline."</p> + +<p>She looked at him thoughtfully. His forehead was high and broad, she +thought, and his hands— Their days in the wilderness rushed back over +her. She was angry at the memories they brought her, and doubly angry at +Lawrence, as if he only were responsible.</p> + +<p>"It's inconceivable," she said calmly, "that you, without seeing, can +really carve anything true to form and line." In her voice was +incredulity and unbelief.</p> + +<p>He rose suddenly, his face white, and said, with an intensity that +startled her: "That sentiment is as familiar to me as my name. I have +heard it from sight-bigoted people from the days when I made my first +attempt to go back to my school work. I am rather weary of it."</p> + +<p>She sat staring at him for a moment, then she laughed. She could not +have told why she did it, and she was instantly sorry. The blood rushed +to his face.</p> + +<p>"I shall create that which will forever assure you that I can carve true +to the most familiar form and line you know," he said fiercely.</p> + +<p>Her face was as crimson as his now, though she felt ice cold.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice unsteady.</p> + +<p>He laughed bitterly. In his own heart a fierce volcanic surge was raging +which he did not attempt to control.</p> + +<p>"Do you think that I, trained as I am to gather fact from touch, could +carry you through weeks of hell in my arms, against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> my breast, and not +know you, you as you are, Claire Barkley? I shall carve you, you with +your cold reserve suppressing the emotional chaos within you, and you +will not fail to recognize yourself."</p> + +<p>Claire gripped the chair arms. Anger, fear, doubt, then the knowledge +that he could do as he said, swept over her in rapidly succeeding waves, +and gathered at last into a steel hate that she felt must last through +eternity.</p> + +<p>"You, you would do that, after I guided you here! You would take +advantage of what I could not help, and—and—" she choked, and then +said swiftly—"so, under your indifferent exterior you used your touch +that way these days! Oh, you—you beast!"</p> + +<p>Lawrence laughed coolly. "I could no more help it than I can avoid being +here."</p> + +<p>"Lies!" she exclaimed. "A gentleman could help it!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, but not an artist."</p> + +<p>"And what of beauty, of your boasted purity of art, is there in that?"</p> + +<p>"All," he said calmly. "If you knew, oh, if I could make you see what +every artist knows"—he was talking passionately now, his face illumined +in spite of his blind eyes—"you would realize, that I could not help +it, that I glory in it, and that it was and is the way of art."</p> + +<p>He rose and walked the floor, pouring out his creed in a stream of +burning words. "I am a machine, a sensitive thing that registers what it +feels and knows, that is all. You touch me, my brain registers that +touch, and something in me, the will to live, the desire to create, the +insistent shout for expression says, 'Take that and carve it in stone.' +If I could see, if I were not blind, I would have been a painter. I +would have painted you, almost naked as you were, your eyes filled with +the hunger for life, your face tense with racing thoughts, I would have +painted you fully, all of you, as you were in night-gown and skirt there +in that forest, and you would have shouted to all the world from my +canvas, 'Look at me, I am the primitive, the wild, the passionate, the +tender, the selfish and unselfish living woman. See me as I am, +cultured, refined, educated, elemental withal, and the emblem of +humanity as it is, still stained with the traditional mud of +superstition and blood that marks its origin. Oh, I would have painted +you so, and now I shall carve you so!"</p> + +<p>He stopped, and Claire looked at him wildly, her eyes aflame with hate +and admiration.</p> + +<p>"You would use another human being that way?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"I would use any one, I would, I will, at any cost to them, to me, if +the outcome be a piece of art, a work that in its truth, its immortal +beauty, shall stand a lasting testimony that I, Lawrence Gordon, have +mastered blindness and registered life correctly."</p> + +<p>A great light swept over her mind; that was the key to him. He would +sacrifice himself to conquer blindness—but would he, she wondered, and +instantly her thought found expression.</p> + +<p>"Would you crush yourself to create that mastery of blindness?"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "I have, I am doing it," he said. "I would go through all +the torment of the world if I might create something lasting, true, and +beautiful."</p> + +<p>Claire leaned forward, her lips apart, her eyes bright. That she hated +this man she was sure, yet all her woman's soul was awed by what she now +saw behind his mask of blindness. Then a new thought came to her.</p> + +<p>"Might it not be," she asked subtly, "if you hold suffering to be the +key to beauty that you would profit more at last by denying the impulse +to create the thing you are planning?"</p> + +<p>He laughed again. "I hold that pain is only the spur to progress. I care +nothing for the sentimentalism you are talking now. I carried you +through the wilderness, I suffered and bore it, I staggered through +nights and days with your warm body against mine that I might live, and +now—now I know the value of life, I understand as never before the pain +our fathers paid. I know the bitter animal war against environment, +evolution whipped into action by pain, hunger, fear of death, and I +shall carve that, all that, into the statue of one woman."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>"And what of me, me and you as such, Claire and Lawrence, who were there +through that struggle in the wilderness?" The speech leaped from +somewhere in her being before she knew it, and with it came knowledge +that stung her into tearful self-hate.</p> + +<p>"We shall go back to our old lives, I suppose, and live them out."</p> + +<p>It was what she had expected him to say, yet the calm matter-of-fact +statement hurt her as nothing he had ever said before.</p> + +<p>Lawrence dropped into the arm-chair again, and rested his head on his +hand. He was calmer now, and, reviewing in his mind what he had said, he +was beginning to ask himself why had he given way to this sudden +resentment against Claire. If she doubted him because he was blind, was +that any more than others had done? He had never burst out against them. +What was the matter with him? He surveyed the whole trend of his life up +to this minute: how he had broken at late adolescence from a glowing +idealist to a wanderer through varying paths of thought; always stirred, +stimulated, and swept on by contact with other people, books he had +read, women for whom he had occasional fancies of love, until gradually +he settled into his assured manner. It was exercise he needed, that and +work.</p> + +<p>He asked himself if he seriously loved Claire, and answered +unequivocally that he did not. He wanted her friendship very much, +indeed, but love, not at all. If she had been single, perhaps—but no, +he did not care about her that way, that was all. He had been too long +shut up here in the cabin with her and without work. He must get some +wood and amuse himself carving things with Ortez's knife; it would be +good practise, and, at the same time, relieve his nerves. He was sorry +he had let himself go; Claire must not be hurt.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said quietly, "if I wounded you, if I said things I ought +not, pardon me! I am getting nervous doing nothing, and I am not myself +these days."</p> + +<p>She laughed calmly. "Oh, very well!" she said. "I wonder that we don't +come to blows, cooped up here as we are. I think next time Philip makes +his rounds I'll go with him."</p> + +<p>"It would be a good thing," answered Lawrence. "I'd like it myself."</p> + +<p>Claire did not keep up the talk. She, too, was thinking fast, and facing +new problems that demanded her attention. She was surprised to find that +her resentment toward Lawrence was completely gone. What would her +husband think of him? What would he do when she returned, when she told +him of her journey with this blind man through weeks and weeks of +wilderness when they were almost naked. She stopped, that was what +Lawrence had said, 'almost naked.' Her flesh tingled as she saw the +picture which he said he would like to paint of her.</p> + +<p>What would she, Claire Barkley, do if such a picture were painted? She +buried her face deep in her hands, but in her heart she knew that she +would respect the man who painted it. And if Lawrence carved her so in +stone, and did it as he thought he could—she pondered over that for +some time.</p> + +<p>"I think," she said aloud, and Lawrence raised his head, "that if I were +to stay shut up here alone as Philip does, I should go crazy before +spring."</p> + +<p>"It all depends on how your mind is occupied," he laughed.</p> + +<p>She blushed guiltily, and was glad he could not see her face.</p> + +<p class="continue" style="margin-top: 1.25em;"><b>TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.</b> Don't forget this magazine +is issued weekly, and that you will get the +continuation of this story without waiting a month.</p> + +<p class="continue" style="margin-top: 1.75em; font-weight: bold; font-size: 120%;">WHAT LIBERTY BONDS MEAN</p> + +<p class="continue" style="font-weight: bold;">PATRIOTISM, VICTORY, THE SOUNDEST INVESTMENT IN THE +WORLD, A PERFECT MEANS OF SAVING</p> + +<p class="continue" style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 120%;">BUY ALL YOU CAN</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1><a name="Part_II" id="Part_II"></a>Claire</h1> + +<h2><i>by</i><br />Leslie Burton Blades</h2> + +<h3>THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO<br /> +<i>BY A BLIND AUTHOR</i></h3> + + +<p class="center">This story began in the All-Story Weekly for October 5.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498">[Pg 498]</a></span></p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">PLAYING WITH FIRE.</h3> + + +<p>In the late afternoon, Philip returned to find Lawrence still sitting +before the fire, his mind centered on ideas for his future work. Claire +had disappeared behind the canvas curtain which was stretched before her +bed.</p> + +<p>"It is almost Christmas," announced Philip, as he entered.</p> + +<p>Lawrence straightened up. "Back again?" he said, carelessly. "It's been +a beastly day."</p> + +<p>Claire came out from her partition, laughing. "If you don't take one of +us with you next time," she said, "I won't answer for the tragedy that +may follow."</p> + +<p>Philip laughed, and shook the snow from his big coat.</p> + +<p>"Too much of your own continuous company?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes"—her tone was light, but he saw that she was in earnest—"we are +so accustomed to each other that we both need a rest." She drew up a +chair for Philip before the fire.</p> + +<p>His dark eyes looked searchingly at her.</p> + +<p>"If you knew the path to peace," he said, "you would be happier. I see +that I must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[Pg 499]</a></span> take you out with me and teach you the hidden entrance to +that mystic roadway."</p> + +<p>"You know one, then?" Lawrence's voice was amusedly skeptical.</p> + +<p>"It lies through the heart of man into the heart of"—Philip +paused—"shall I say God?"</p> + +<p>"You may as well, though it isn't especially clear." Lawrence smiled. +"God is a big, but vague, term."</p> + +<p>"I find it so," Philip answered, seriously. "There are days, however, +and this was one of them, when I am sure of the meaning of that term. +Claire must go forth with me and see."</p> + +<p>"Yes, do let me go," she said, eagerly. Then, with a little laugh: "If +your mystery out there is as discomforting as the Lawrence mystery in +here, I sha'n't worship him, however."</p> + +<p>"He isn't." Philip arose and crossed to his books. "He is the mighty God +who speaks in solitude." He drew down a volume, and returned to his +chair.</p> + +<p>"I find here in these mountains the medicine that <i>Hamlet</i> should have +had. He would have been no <i>Hamlet</i> had he ranged this plateau for a day +in winter."</p> + +<p>"And the world would be the loser," Lawrence interposed.</p> + +<p>Claire rose and started to prepare their evening meal. She had taken +over the duties of housekeeping from the time her ankle had allowed her +to walk.</p> + +<p>"If you two are going to plunge the house into an argument such as that +one promises to be," she said gaily, "I am going to reenforce the inner +man so that at least you won't suffer from physical exhaustion."</p> + +<p>Both men laughed, and one of them listened to her thoughtfully as she +moved about, while the other watched her, his dark eyes full of a keen +appreciation of her grace and her concise, accurate movements.</p> + +<p>"How good it is to have her here," thought Philip. Aloud, he said, +seriously: "I do not think the world gains enough from <i>Hamlet</i> to make +it worth the price he paid."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" Lawrence was quick to respond. "Whatever his agony, whatever +his failures and his death, he left the world a picture of man's heroic +struggles to solve the riddle of the universe, his wisdom, his +strength—and his weakness."</p> + +<p>"But that is just what we don't want—the picture of man's weakness. It +is made all the worse when it is presented with the power of a sublime +work."</p> + +<p>Claire turned from the stove, and looked at Philip. His eyes were +burning with a deep, earnest fire that held her fascinated. She thought +him the most beautiful of all the men she knew. It was not his face, not +his appearance generally, but his eyes. Oh, the loss of such eyes! she +thought—yes, they are what makes him a finer man than Lawrence. Why +hasn't Lawrence such eyes?</p> + +<p>"Believe me, friend," Philip was speaking again, "if I could erase from +my knowledge the weakness of man, I would not need to trail my feet +through these snow-buried forests to find an hour's rest from life."</p> + +<p>Claire saw his fingers move nervously on the arms of his chair, and +thought: "That is it, then; I was right; he has his tragedy." She looked +at him again, and as she met his eyes she felt that she was sorrier for +him than she had ever been for Lawrence. Yes, she was sorrier for this +man whose soul burned out of his eyes than for that other whose soul was +always curtained by the expressionless mask that hid him.</p> + +<p>"I can't quite agree with you," Lawrence was saying; "I, too, know the +weakness of man, but there is, nevertheless, the glory of sublime beauty +which alone stands, immortal. I should indeed mourn for man if he were +unable to be truly immortal even in his created work. That, it seems to +me, saves him."</p> + +<p>"Or loses him," Philip added. "One golden life of unbroken sunshine, +dead at last and laid away in the memory of friends is worth more than +your greatest poem."</p> + +<p>"I should call that sentimentality," Lawrence laughed.</p> + +<p>"So it is," Philip flashed, "and why not? Must we kill sentiment and go +about with hearts of ice because our world is hard?"</p> + +<p>"Is there no way to keep ourselves warm without poultices?" retorted +Lawrence.</p> + +<p>Claire sat down at the table. "Come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[Pg 500]</a></span> on and enjoy your venison, you two, +and have done with the ills of the universe."</p> + +<p>The two men joined her. It was a strange trio: Claire, a dashing boy in +Philip's made-over corduroys; Lawrence wearing his host's summer serge +as though it were his own, and Philip looking at them, amusedly.</p> + +<p>"I never quite recover from the charm of you in male attire," Ortez +remarked, looking into her face.</p> + +<p>"I've tried at times since our fortunate misfortune to imagine her in +evening gowns and furs," said Lawrence; "but I always fail and end by +getting her into some sort of barbaric costume belonging to the distant +past."</p> + +<p>"You are both flattering and both foolish," she told them. "It's my +business to look well in clothes, you know, and it's masculine to admit +my efficiency in a particularly feminine line."</p> + +<p>"You were scarcely fascinatingly efficient in the garb in which you +first appeared to me." Philip laughed at the recollection.</p> + +<p>"That isn't fair. I would have been if I had had enough to eat."</p> + +<p>She looked at him, and her eyes sparkled gaily.</p> + +<p>"I surrender," he said. "You would have been. Too fascinating!"</p> + +<p>"That also depends on circumstances," said Lawrence. "She wouldn't be +fascinatingly efficient in that back-to-nature garb if she were doing +charity work at home or if she were taking a trip in an airplane."</p> + +<p>"You carry your point," she agreed. "I shouldn't care to try."</p> + +<p>"Which leads me," Lawrence went on, "to observe that our friend, +Shakespeare, was, after all, right in bequeathing <i>Hamlet</i> to us. He +might not look well in our own castle, but as a portrait viewed in our +neighbor's house, or in a house unspecified, he is the high point of +subjective tragedy."</p> + +<p>Ortez did not answer for a moment, then he said, quietly: "I had rather +lose my winter's work than lost <i>Hamlet</i> from my memory, yet when I +think of what there is in life for a man, did he not have <i>Hamlet's</i> +doubt to face, I think perhaps we would all be better off for no +knowledge of that subjective war. Man has too much to do to lift himself +out of the still clinging primordial slough to dally with +subjectiveness. We should be acting, aggressive, strident in the +strength of the war we wage toward freedom."</p> + +<p>"Of course," agreed Lawrence, "but that requires only one thing, the +master passion to do, because for us, doing is life. I cannot regret +<i>Hamlet's</i> hesitating failure. It was his life. To every man there is +but one way, his way, and whether it be failure or success does not +depend upon an avenged wrong, a successful marriage, or even a great +work done for humanity. The test is, is his life worth the price he pays +to live it? I imagine <i>Hamlet's</i> was."</p> + +<p>"Fallacies!" interrupted Claire. "Why, then, the tragedy?"</p> + +<p>"Because <i>Hamlet</i> did not know that the governing laws to which he +strove to hold himself were not laws, not true, not necessary."</p> + +<p>"You mean," Ortez inquired, "that he was not bound to avenge his father +and punish his mother?"</p> + +<p>"I mean just that. Why should he? She was satisfied, his father was +dead, and <i>Hamlet</i> gained nothing by his moral strutting and raving +against his own hesitating hand."</p> + +<p>"But you have swept aside all moral law," protested Philip.</p> + +<p>"What moral law is there that is external to me? What, indeed, is moral +law?"</p> + +<p>"That which makes for life, perhaps, as some one has said," offered +Claire.</p> + +<p>"For my life, yes. That which to me means life, is good. That which to +me means less life, is bad."</p> + +<p>"Yet you carried Claire through the mountains," Philip's voice was hard.</p> + +<p>"Because I needed her, because she was essential to my life."</p> + +<p>"Then you would have left her, had she been a hindrance?"</p> + +<p>"That depends," answered Lawrence slowly. "Had she made my life +uncertain when otherwise I might have lived, I think I would. Of course, +if her being there merely increased my trouble, I should have brought +her."</p> + +<p>Claire was watching Philip's face. It was a study. On it there was +something that made her heart beat faster, she found her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[Pg 501]</a></span>self unable to +tell why. She glanced at Lawrence. There he sat, his strong, stern face, +calm and soulless. She wondered why blindness robbed this man of his +rightful appearance. He had a soul, and it was a wild, beauty-loving +soul, she knew, but blindness quite mantled it. On the other hand, +Philip's was a mighty fire within, which shone in beauty through his +eyes. Lawrence had quietly spoken of how he would have left her under +other circumstances. Philip would have died at her side, she knew it. +What a difference between them!</p> + +<p>"But if you feel as you declare, why take that extra trouble to save +her?" Philip asked.</p> + +<p>"Because I have a certain dislike of death and don't care to cause it +myself if I can help it."</p> + +<p>Claire laughed. "But death, you said once, is a mere stopping of animal +action. Why dread that?"</p> + +<p>"Because I myself do not care to die, I would not care to cause your +death."</p> + +<p>Philip rose and went to the fire. "I do not believe you could live by +your theory," he asserted.</p> + +<p>"I do live by it. There is but one thing I dread worse than death. I +would die rather than give up my creative impulse."</p> + +<p>"And he would sacrifice your life or mine for art's sake," merrily added +Claire. "It's a good thing he doesn't think we are hindrances to art."</p> + +<p>Philip also laughed. "Well," he said, "there might come a time when I, +too, would want a thing enough to kill in order to obtain it."</p> + +<p>"What, for example?" asked Lawrence. "That is the best way to determine +your value of life."</p> + +<p>Philip did not answer for a few minutes, then his voice vibrated.</p> + +<p>"The things that mean more than life to me. I know that one holds his +own life dear, but there are things, love, courage, honor, for example, +that he holds even above life."</p> + +<p>"Would you kill me, for instance," asked Lawrence pleasantly, "if I +stood between you and Claire?"</p> + +<p>"That is scarcely answerable," nervously interposed Claire. "You see, +you don't and the man who does—though it's all absurd, since we none of +us here are the least in love—is my husband."</p> + +<p>"I had almost forgotten him," said Lawrence, his voice lingering softly +on the word "almost."</p> + +<p>Philip laughed. "Why, yes, in the abstract, I should say that if +anything would make me kill you, it would be your standing between me +and the woman I loved. Of course, the case is fair, but scarcely +probable enough to make any of us worry."</p> + +<p>"True"—Lawrence joined him at the fire—"and by the way, while I think +of it, I want a knife and a block of soft wood. I'm going to entertain +myself these days."</p> + +<p>Quickly Claire looked up.</p> + +<p>"And you shall entertain me, Philip," she said gaily.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE TIGHTENING NET.</h3> + + +<p>Christmas was upon them. They gathered before the big fireplace in +silent meditation, while outside the wind whipped sheeted snow against +the walls and wailed dismally its endless journeying. They could not +help but feel the something melancholy in the air. The little cabin, +standing so far away from civilization and all the things they were +accustomed to know seemed somehow to set them apart from the rest of the +world and leave them stranded as it were, upon a barren stretch of +thought.</p> + +<p>In keeping with the setting, solemn questions of destiny, death, and the +meaning of things took the place of the usual Christmas festival and +glitter.</p> + +<p>In Lawrence's mind, Claire was growing more and more predominant. He +found her constant association weaving itself into his life until, when +he looked ahead toward the day when they must part, he discovered +himself asking what he could find that would take her place. Her voice, +her little habits of speech, the unexpected question that showed her +deep interest in him, in his work, and in his attitude toward her, these +had gradually stirred in him the desire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">[Pg 502]</a></span> to establish in his own mind a +definite relation toward her which he could maintain.</p> + +<p>When Claire went out for a while with Philip, Lawrence spent the interim +in trying to reason out his problem. He told himself that he would feel +differently in his old environment with friends and work, but the answer +was not satisfactory. He knew that even there, he would miss the quick +sound of movement, the quick phrase that was Claire.</p> + +<p>Did he love her then? He asked himself that, and could not answer. What +was love to him, anyway? He sought to think out a scheme of love that +would fit into his system of utter selfishness, and failed. The memory +of her in his arms came to him now with a warm, emotional coloring that +had been absent during the days of their journey.</p> + +<p>Had he been so impersonal then at first? He remembered his first wild +joy at finding her there in the surf, and he admitted that even then +there had been a subtle heightening of his pleasure, because it was a +woman. Since his blindness he had been separated from the other sex even +more than from his own, and now he was to live with one daily, having +her alone to talk to, to watch, to be interested in, and to know—yes, +that had been a part of his feeling that morning. He remembered that he +had been slightly irritated at her when he had first decided that she +was cold and intellectual. He had wanted her to be warm, colorful, +vivid, and feminine. He had found later that she was all these things, +but not toward him. It was a man whom he had never known, her husband, +Howard Barkley, for whom she was wholly woman. Always when she spoke of +him her voice had warmed, grown softer, subtly shaded with color.</p> + +<p>Claire opened the cabin door.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Mr. Dreamer! Still in the land of to-morrow?" she called, taking +off her heavy wraps.</p> + +<p>"Where's Philip?" Lawrence demanded gruffly, without moving.</p> + +<p>"Working over a trap in the ravine. I was a little tired, so I didn't +wait."</p> + +<p>Lawrence could hear her brushing her hair. He was glad she had returned +without Philip. Now at least they would have a few minutes alone.</p> + +<p>"Snow bad?" he asked. If he could only have run his hands through that +curly mass! The memory of her hair brushing against his face made his +temples throb dully.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my hair is filled with it. I caught my cap on a branch, and the +whole load of snow came down on top of me."</p> + +<p>"How old are you, Claire?" he demanded suddenly.</p> + +<p>She laughed. "Guess! Don't you know it isn't good form to ask a lady her +age?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes you are quite thirty, and other times—"</p> + +<p>"Well, go on." Claire was standing at the opposite side of the fireplace +with her back to the flame.</p> + +<p>"Other times, you are two," Lawrence continued calmly.</p> + +<p>"I thought that was coming. Well, just to prove what a really nice +person I am, I'll tell you. I'm twenty-six."</p> + +<p>"When were you married, Claire?" Her breath tightened at his question.</p> + +<p>"Curiosity is a wonderful thing, and the impudence of man passeth all +understanding. I have been married exactly six years, three months, and +twenty-four days." The last sentence brought the catch into her voice +that Lawrence had expected.</p> + +<p>"I know you miss your husband," he forced himself to say formally.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you see"—Claire hesitated—"ours wasn't like some marriages one +hears about. Howard and I were both very much in love." She realized too +late the past tense. Had Lawrence noticed it? "I miss him dreadfully," +she added desperately.</p> + +<p>Lawrence said nothing. He had noticed Claire's slip, and the verb had +sent him into a thousand realized dreams. The next instant he was +cursing himself for a fool. "Fools, all of us," he thought. "Philip, +too, warming himself with dreams of Claire." Before the nearness of the +Spaniard's personality, Howard Barkley faded into the background. +Lawrence reviewed his own position moodily.</p> + +<p>Blind, unable to do the work that Philip did, certainly unable to use +the million little ways of courtesy-building as Philip did, his chances +were unequal.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[Pg 503]</a></span>Did he want Claire for Claire, or was it only the fighting instinct, the +desire to overcome men not handicapped as he was? Would he still want +Claire after he had won her? After the intimacies of home life had made +her familiar as nothing else could, and had dispelled all romance, all +the alluring appeal that sprang from the deepest sex-prompted desire yet +unattained, would he still want her? That was the question, and he could +not say. The experience alone could tell him—and would that experience +ever come?</p> + +<p>Claire watched Lawrence's face, the while her own thoughts raced on. It +had been love she felt for her husband. She was sure of that. Of course, +in the years of their life together, the old, wild passion had gradually +retired into its normal proportion, leaving them free to go about calmly +and untroubled. But it was there, as she well knew in the hours when +they became lovers again. Certainly those hours had been joyous, happy +ones, unclouded by any suspicion of mere gratification of impulse or +desire. Yes, they had been hours of love claiming its rightful +expression over the more constant hours of daily living.</p> + +<p>Then she recalled her experience of the night before. She had been +dreaming of her husband, but he possessed Lawrence's features, illumined +with the glow of Philip's eyes, and she had started into full +wakefulness with a sudden sense of her position. Now she sat before the +fire, and resolved grimly that no matter what happened she would be +faithful to Howard. Of course, she would go with Philip to look after +his traps, the exercise was the best antidote to such morbid thoughts, +and he would never make advances to her, of that she was sure. As for +the days that she might spend alone with Lawrence, he was too +self-centered, too much wrapped up in his wood-carving, to think of a +woman—and she disregarded the little pang of discontent that +accompanied her thought.</p> + +<p>Philip was hanging the skins over the door. Claire realized that she had +been too engrossed to notice his entrance.</p> + +<p>"I break a six weeks' fast to-day"—and he turned toward Lawrence. "Do +you smoke?"</p> + +<p>"Man!" said Lawrence, springing up, "if I'd known you had tobacco in +store I'd have murdered you long ago to get it. I would be a more +agreeable companion if I could taste tobacco now and then."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me for not thinking to ask you. I was declaring a six months' +course in self-discipline for the good of my soul."</p> + +<p>"Bring forth the smoke," said Lawrence joyously.</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately"—Philip turned to Claire—"a bachelor's storehouse +contains no treat for a lady. Your visit was unexpected."</p> + +<p>"I shall gain my pleasure through watching you two sink back into a +beloved vice," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Horrible!" Lawrence sat down, and took the cigarette which Philip +produced. "To enjoy seeing one succumb to vice."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it characteristic of scandal-loving humanity?" she rejoined.</p> + +<p>"And on Christmas Day!" Philip chided her lightly. Then he went on, +seriously: "But one should really be above all things save love and +gratitude to God on this day."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," said Lawrence, "but it's difficult to determine just +where this object of gratitude abides and what He is."</p> + +<p>"Is it necessary to locate Him?" asked Claire.</p> + +<p>Lawrence breathed deeply with the satisfaction in his cigarette. "I +should hate to direct my gratitude toward some one who missed it, and +thus have it lost in desert space," he answered.</p> + +<p>"It isn't that we need God so much as it is simply the good we gain +ourselves," said Philip slowly. "I still follow the old trail for my own +heart's sake."</p> + +<p>"And does it get you anywhere?" Lawrence's question was characteristic.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so. I find myself nearer to the source of that which is +worth while."</p> + +<p>"What is worth while?" Claire asked.</p> + +<p>The answers she obtained were the two men revealed.</p> + +<p>"The fullest life possible for me," said Lawrence.</p> + +<p>"The fullest heart possible for me," followed Philip.</p> + +<p>"But you both mean the same thing, don't you?" asked Claire.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">[Pg 504]</a></span>"I mean the fullest number of my own desires gratified," Lawrence +avowed.</p> + +<p>Philip leaned back in his chair and looked at Claire, meditatively.</p> + +<p>"If he did as he says, we should have to lock him up," he observed.</p> + +<p>They all laughed.</p> + +<p>"Not at all." Lawrence was amiably argumentative. "To be sure, if my +desires were gratified at your expense, as this smoke, for example"—he +laughed—"and on an all-inclusive scale, you might have to resort to +personal violence. But, in fact, many of my desires would bring you joy +in their gratification, you know."</p> + +<p>"I do know," said Philip cordially, "but the danger in your point of +view is that it allows for no check. You would sacrifice both of us if +it were necessary to gratify your desires—that is, if you lived true to +your assertion."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I would. I don't know. There is the weak point in my whole +scheme. I evade it by failing to sacrifice you, but I support my theory +by saying there is no occasion to do so."</p> + +<p>"I don't like your principles," Philip rejoined, "though I admit that my +own fail me more often than not."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. We humans do fail, and the conclusion to which it brings me +is, why hold principles that you find unworkable? I prefer a standard to +which I can at least be true, in the main, and avoid self-condemnation, +pricks of conscience, and other little inconveniences."</p> + +<p>"Such as a sense of duty?" interrupted Claire.</p> + +<p>"That above all, Claire," he laughed.</p> + +<p>"And obligation?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that too, if you mean a sense of being bound to one because of +something he has done in the past. For instance, I am obliged to Philip +for his food, his house, my life, and this cigarette, but I scarcely +feel that that would imply that I must sacrifice my greatest desire in +life as payment if necessary. Of course, it isn't necessary, but if it +were, I should refuse."</p> + +<p>"I think you would not," asserted Philip.</p> + +<p>"I know I would. I rather believe you would also, though it might be +that you would not."</p> + +<p>"I would sacrifice anything to pay a debt of gratitude." Philip spoke +warmly.</p> + +<p>"You would—perhaps—but in so doing would you not feel that gratitude +was the thing of supreme worth to yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Not necessarily. I might even suffer all my life for having done so."</p> + +<p>"Impossible. You would either redeem your sense of life's value by a new +belief, or you would die."</p> + +<p>"Then you think a man can do as he pleases and maintain his +self-respect, his personal integrity?"</p> + +<p>"He will find some way to make himself feel worth while, or he will +cease to be."</p> + +<p>"You think that a criminal, or perhaps better, a person abandoned to +vice, feels justified?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He creates a belief by which his abandonment is not destructive to +himself, or he is converted, which is simply a convulsion of nature for +the same end, to preserve his life and make it seem valuable to him."</p> + +<p>"Could you, for instance, murder a man, and do it believing that +afterward you would somehow make it seem right, or at least so necessary +that you would feel as self-respecting and sin-free as before?" Philip +was speaking earnestly.</p> + +<p>"I should not do so unless I were forced to it, but if I were, I know +that I would somehow reconstruct my mental life so that I would still +feel existence worth the price."</p> + +<p>Claire leaned forward. "Lawrence," she said jestingly, "you have swept +away the bulwark of the home, made infidelity easy, and numberless +separated families inevitable with your bold, bad talk. Aren't you sorry +for all those tragedies?"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "Very," he said, "though it was watching such proceedings +take place so frequently that led me to accept my theory. Think of the +men and women who are unfaithful, who leave their wedded partner for +another, and still find life worth while."</p> + +<p>"But that is their failure to live true to their principles," said +Philip. "It is commonly called sin, my friend."</p> + +<p>"It may be, according to their light, but they generally get a new light +afterward. You see, I do not believe that God joins<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[Pg 505]</a></span> men and women. I am +persuaded that a very natural physical desire does so, and it doesn't +follow that the first is the only or best union."</p> + +<p>"My husband would simply dread me if I held your view, and I should feel +very wary if I were your wife, Lawrence," remarked Claire.</p> + +<p>That was the central point in the whole discussion, though none of them +were aware of it. Vaguely they felt that they were groping their way +toward the future, but they did not allow the feeling to reach a +conscious state, and Philip laughingly broke up the talk.</p> + +<p>"Here we are," he said, yawning, "the fire is making us all sleepy, +we're talking foolishness, and we need exercise. Why not get it? I think +we might all of us go out and face the wind for a quarter of an hour, +then let it blow us back to camp like three children. I have the skis +for us all."</p> + +<p>"Great!" Claire clapped her hands in applause.</p> + +<p>"It's a splendid idea," agreed Lawrence, and they set forth.</p> + +<p>It was hard going against the wind; Philip was the only one who managed +his skis very satisfactorily, and Lawrence, of course, had to be +assisted, but the crust was smooth and clear, and they made great sport +of it. The two men placed Claire between them and crossed hands in front +of her, like skaters. The fresh snow-filled air blew into their lungs, +and they laughed like boys on a holiday. Claire glanced at the two and +thought: "What a pair to be between!" Then laughed again. All the +morbidity was gone, she was not thinking follies now, and neither of +them was more than a good friend. Philip was thinking that Claire was +good to see as she moved along between them, her graceful stroke +carrying her over the snow, her cheeks stung red in the wind. Lawrence +was not thinking at all. He was simply moving, deeply enjoying the wind +and the exercise and the soft, strong little hand upon his own, helping +to guide him through his darkness.</p> + +<p>When they turned and stood close together, the wind caught them like a +sail and sent them skimming before it. The sense of tobogganing was +keenly exhilarating. Home, problems, worries, the future, all seemed +very simply, very easy, and not at all a matter for long conversations +before a hot fire.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">CLAIRE'S ABASEMENT.</h3> + + +<p>The following days and even weeks passed quickly, carried on the wave of +light-hearted play which Philip had so wisely started that Christmas +night. February came with clear sun that set the snow glittering like a +field of crystal under the dark pines, and they laughed with exuberance +of spirit as they swept over it on their skis. Even Lawrence became an +adept as long as he had one of their guiding hands to hold. All +speculation was gone for the time being. Lawrence and Claire gave +themselves up to a frank comradeship, in which Philip formed a splendid +third, so that they seemed a trio of happy, healthy animals whose lives +flowed without a break in the mere pleasure of living.</p> + +<p>But one morning early in the month, Philip said after breakfast, over +his coffee and cigarette, "I'm going for the day to my farthest traps +across the river. Claire, would you care to go? We'll get back late this +evening."</p> + +<p>"I would," she said promptly. "I'll be ready in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>Lawrence did not say anything, but to his sudden surprise he felt his +heart sink. An insistent inner voice was saying, "I wish she wouldn't +go."</p> + +<p>He heard her, back of the curtain, dressing for the trip, and his little +petulant thought grew into gloom at the prospect of her being away. He +felt irritated at Philip for suggesting that she go.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to leave me a good spread, Claire," he said finally when +she emerged into the room.</p> + +<p>"I'll fix you up a great meal," she laughed. "You can eat all day, if +you like." In her voice there was an unusual warmth, for at his words +she felt suddenly as though she were thoughtless of him in going. For a +minute she pondered giving up the trip, then concluded that to do so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[Pg 506]</a></span> +would seem ridiculous, and set about preparing his lunch.</p> + +<p>Philip rose and, putting on his heavy coat, said carelessly, "You can +carve us a new wooden image, Lawrence."</p> + +<p>The words were casual and without intention, but they angered. Lawrence +felt as though both of them were trying to make amends to him for their +going, as though, being blind, he must of course stay at home, but ought +to have something to occupy his time. His resentment grew stronger as he +continued to think of their supposed condescension.</p> + +<p>When the lunches were ready Claire and Philip started. At the door she +paused and said gaily: "Keep the house warm for our returning, +Lawrence."</p> + +<p>He was sullenly angry and made no reply. The frank way in which she +spoke of herself and Philip somehow recalled to his mind other couples, +married lovers starting out somewhere, and his heart tightened +perceptibly. After they were gone he sat thinking for a long time, and +his impulsive feeling clarified into certainty. Claire and Philip were +in love. Perhaps they did not know it yet themselves, and had not +spoken, perhaps they had; at any rate, they were in love. It had grown +between them in his very presence, and he, doubly blind fool, had not +known. If he could have seen, it would have been clear to him, of +course.</p> + +<p>He thought of Claire's husband, and grew virtuously angry at Claire. +Howard Barkley would mourn his days out, never knowing that his beloved +wife was living in Bolivia with a Spanish trapper! He saw Claire going +about the cabin as Philip's wife and doing for love the things she now +did out of a desire to be of use, and his rage grew. Was it not for love +that she did them now? But she was just as thoughtful of him as she was +of Philip. "Of course, idiot," he muttered, "she pities you; you poor, +abandoned, blind man, you are to be cared for, don't you see?" He strove +to shake himself into a different mood by self-ridicule. Was this the +philosopher who made life a matter of calm acceptance of circumstances +which he knew to be his master? He laughed at himself, but the laugh was +bitter, and he knew that he was not willing to accept this particular +turn of circumstances.</p> + +<p>But what right had he to judge what she did? She was not his wife nor +the woman who would be his wife. She could never be his wife. There was +her husband. No, it was not her husband that counted, but Philip! +Suddenly Lawrence realized the point that he had reached.</p> + +<p>He loved Claire Barkley.</p> + +<p>The admission of that at last in frank, utter avowal set him dreaming of +the joys she might have been to him. He thought of a thousand little +intimacies, cares, thoughtfulnesses, that she might have given him and +received from him, and they were all made vital, real, by the now ardent +memory of her in his arms, of the hands he had held in his own so often +of late in the open.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon he grew disgusted with himself. He had moped all day in +his chair, moving only to replenish the fire or get a cigarette, and he +now shook himself vigorously free from his thoughts. "You love her, yes, +and she obviously does not love you," he told himself. "Why, then, make +the best of it, if you can't do better, and at least don't be a beast in +your treatment of your host when he comes back to his own hearth."</p> + +<p>With that he dragged out a block of wood, took his knife, and went to +work. As was his way, he was soon unconscious of everything but the +piece of wood beneath his hand. He had never done wood-carving before, +and he was learning the technique that made it very different from clay. +He had gone at this piece without any special intent and was shaping it +into a cherub merely out of whim, but he was giving to the task every +atom of his skill, and his hands worked with every nerve strained to +detect and keep line and proportion.</p> + +<p>Swiftly under his knife the child's body grew in shape, and he caressed +the rough form tenderly. He would polish it later, and then what +pleasure it would represent! It would make a great decoration for the +cabin—for her cabin. He winced—yes, for hers and Philip's cabin. +"Fool!" he ejaculated. "Forget it!" He bent again to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[Pg 507]</a></span> work, but it +did not go so smoothly. Out there she and Philip would be laughing +merrily together, skimming over the snow in long, sweeping strides, hand +in hand. Would they think of him? Probably not, or if they did it would +be to say, "Poor Lawrence! It's a pity he's blind. He has real talent."</p> + +<p>He gritted his teeth. Well, he had real talent, and they should know it. +She should know it. He would show her such carving as she had never +thought possible. After all, was her love to him, Lawrence the artist, +the capable, blindness-conquering artist? "I am reconstructing my life," +he thought, "so that I can still find it valuable without the woman I +want." He again laughed bitterly and said to himself, "You poor, blind, +groveling beast, you, what a poor excuse for life you have, and what a +tawdry substitute you would offer Claire for the vast joy that is hers! +Oh, it is contemptible!"</p> + +<p>He bent over his work again, and the door opened.</p> + +<p>Claire came across the room and leaned over him, her body radiating a +cool, healthy perfume as she laid her hand on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a splendid piece of work, Lawrence!"</p> + +<p>Her voice was joyous, triumphant, and his heart beat desperately against +his chest. "They've declared their love," he thought, and then he said +simply, his voice vibrant with the emotion he did not otherwise show, +"It's been beastly lonesome to-day, Claire."</p> + +<p>She laughed gaily, while her eyes clouded. Then she noticed the +untouched food on the table.</p> + +<p>"Why, Lawrence, didn't you like the lunch I fixed for you?"</p> + +<p>"It was bully, Claire," he answered quickly, "but I wasn't very hungry +to-day—I don't know why."</p> + +<p>The emotional coloring in his voice set her whole being atremble. She +had come in, radiant with the day's pleasure, and he had met her with +his need. He had been too blue even to eat. She was suddenly seized with +pity for him, as she thought of his long day alone. But more than that, +over and over in her heart she kept saying, with a joy she could not +conceal from herself, "He loves me! He loves me!"</p> + +<p>Philip came in and bent over them both to look at the wooden child.</p> + +<p>"<i>Caramba!</i> it is a marvelous thing!" he exclaimed. The unconscious use +of the Spanish word showed the genuineness of his admiration.</p> + +<p>Claire laughed joyously. She was glad that Philip knew the power of this +blind man who loved her, and a vague feeling came over her that she was +now somehow safe from Philip. Instantly she wondered at her feeling the +need of safety from him. Glancing back over Lawrence's head, she met +Ortez's eyes and read in their look a tenderness that he did not know +was there. Her heart leaped unsteadily, and her lashes dropped. She was +saying to herself, "How wonderful he is!"</p> + +<p>Then she turned and almost ran behind the curtain that walled her room. +On the edge of her bed she sat, her face in her hands, hot tears burning +her eyes, while over and over the blood rushed into her cheeks and out +again.</p> + +<p>"Claire! Claire! What sort of a woman are you?" she moaned.</p> + +<p>Her heart beat irregularly under the surge of emotion that shook her. +She was glad, glad that Lawrence loved her. She had looked into the eyes +of Philip Ortez, and her own had dropped, while her mind had leaped into +admiration of him, warm, yielding admiration. What was it that had swept +her on the discovery of one man's love to a deep, vibrant gladness—that +another man's eyes had been filled with tenderness for her? Was she so +changed from the Claire of old? Was she utterly degraded? Did she want +both men to love her? Did she love either of them? What of her husband? +She sank down on the bed and wept silently.</p> + +<p>They were talking out there in the cabin. She heard Lawrence say +laughingly: "One gets accustomed to hearing your voices around, and to +hearing Claire do things, so that a day alone seems endless."</p> + +<p>"Hearing Claire do things"—that was it—and suppose he knew what she +was, would he want to hear her then?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[Pg 508]</a></span>"Oh, I know," Philip was answering. "It gets to be a sort of necessity, +doesn't it, when we have so many associations and memories all among +ourselves? I shall find the place dreary next winter, I am afraid, when +you are back among your friends, and Claire"—he paused slightly—"will +be going about as ever, doing things for her husband somewhere up there +in the States."</p> + +<p>Would her husband ever imagine or discover what she was? If he did, he +would leave her. She remembered a girl in the slums at home who had +refused to be uplifted. "Aw, one fellow ain't enough. A plain ham is all +right for some, but I want a club-sandwich." She shuddered now at the +memory of the girl's words, and shrank together on her bed. Was she +another of that sort, abnormal, degenerate, whose life must find its +level at last in the sordid riot of promiscuity, disguising itself as +love? If Claire had never touched the bed-rock of self-abasement before, +she was doing it now, there in that cabin.</p> + +<p>She heard Ortez starting to get supper, and she sat up quickly. With +stern control she forced herself to seem composed and quiet, while +within her passions raged like a tornado. Self-contempt, wonder, +amazement, pity for her husband, for Lawrence, and hatred for Philip +Ortez swept round and round in her brain like a maelstrom.</p> + +<p>She stepped through her curtain and said gaily: "You're preempting my +privilege, Philip."</p> + +<p>He laughed. "I thought perhaps you were tired," he said.</p> + +<p>"She ought to be," remarked Lawrence from his chair, and in her present +state she imagined in his voice a tenderness, a worry for her, and a +distrust of her.</p> + +<p>She took up the kettle, and hung it on its hook in the fireplace. "I +never in my life imagined myself cooking over an open fire in this way," +she said as she turned toward the little storeroom adjoining.</p> + +<p>"You like it?" Philip asked carelessly.</p> + +<p>She felt sure that his eyes had read her heart and that he was looking +toward the future, his future with the wanton mistress he had found.</p> + +<p>She could have screamed, "I hate you! I hate you!" but she said only, +"It's great fun for a while; I wouldn't fancy it as a permanent thing."</p> + +<p>"It surely must be different from the conveniences of your home."</p> + +<p>"Rather," she laughed as she began cutting from the smoked meat that +hung in the storeroom.</p> + +<p>Now it was Lawrence who was speaking. "I guess she'd surprise us if we +could supply her with a chafing-dish. I'd like to see her at work over +one in my studio with the bunch around waiting hungrily for results."</p> + +<p>Would these men never stop saying things that made her want to scream? +What was the matter, that all at once the beauty of her day should be +smashed into a discolored memory of self-hatred? Was there nothing in +all the world but sordid thoughts of oneself and of men who, causing +them, said things to make them worse?</p> + +<p>After they had eaten she went to bed as soon as possible, leaving the +men to smoke before the fire. She had pleaded weariness, and they had +laughingly told her to get to sleep. They were out there now, talking in +subdued tones so as not to disturb her—as if their voices did not ring +through her suffering mind like clarions of evil! What should they say +if she should suddenly spring before them and shout out her mad fancies? +For a moment she had the wildest of impulses to laugh aloud, then +suddenly she turned on her face as she recalled the emotion that had +swept her when she saw Philip looking at her over Lawrence's head. Sleep +finally stopped her tears.</p> + +<p>The two men went to bed, and there was silence in the cabin. Lawrence +was smiling, as he felt Philip's body there beside him in the darkness. +"I could kill you now," he was thinking ironically, "and end all +question of your loving Claire."</p> + +<p>Philip, too, was awake. He had seen the hot flush that came into +Claire's face that evening, and he knew that she had been troubled +during the supper. He wondered if she were ill. Then suddenly he asked +himself, "Is she in love with one of us?" He immediately tried to +dismiss the thought as unworthy of her. She was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[Pg 509]</a></span> the kind of woman +to forget her marriage vows. But what a home she could make for the man +she loved! If he had only known her in time!</p> + +<p>But there was still friendship—yes, surely she could give that. +Complete understanding and perfect sympathy would be the basis of a +lasting attachment. "Who knows?" he pondered. "It may be that fate has +sent her to me to teach me what a great self-denying love can be. In +Claire I may find my dream-star again."</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">HOW SIMPLE THE SOLUTION!</h3> + + +<p>When Claire awoke the next morning her whole being seemed gathered into +a tense strain that made her feel as though the least thing might snap +the taut nerves in her body and leave her broken and stranded on some +far, emotional shoal. Her heart beat unevenly, while her lips and hands +felt dry and hot, as if she had spent hours in a desert wind. She did +not experience the bitter anguish of the night before; such storms are +too wild to last, but it had left her deadly heavy within, and she was +unable to recover her usual calm.</p> + +<p>One great determination dominated her, to prevent these men, at any +cost, from knowing her real feelings. It was a determination born out of +the sheer force that was carrying her on, a struggle that came from the +very strength of the tide she sought to resist.</p> + +<p>She had been awakened by a sudden and clear image, the result of her +unsettled mind. Her husband was beside her, leaning over the bed and +looking down at her with a great love and a greater pity shining in his +eyes. She thought that she had thrown up her arms to close about him +with the frantic joy of a rescued person, only to have them meet in +empty air and fall listless at her sides again.</p> + +<p>Beyond the curtain she heard Philip saying cheerfully: "It is a great +day outside, one of Claire's days for play."</p> + +<p>"Good!" Lawrence answered. "We'll go out, then, and play."</p> + +<p>A rush of self-pity, anger against her situation, fear of she knew not +what, and a gnawing desire to escape blended in her thoughts, while her +heart warmed at the sound of Lawrence's words.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she thought, "I can never, never stand this day!"</p> + +<p>She got out of bed and began to dress, her nervous hands fumbling at the +buttons on her clothes. Her eyes, deeper and shadowed in dark rings, +stared vacantly at the white canvas before her. Lawrence was talking +again, and she listened. Presently he started across the room and bumped +into a chair. The incident was one which had become long familiar to +her, and ordinarily she would have thought nothing of it, but this +morning she flushed with sudden anger that a chair should have been left +in his way. Then she realized that she was foolish, stepped through the +curtain, and said before she thought:</p> + +<p>"Lawrence, I do wish that you'd look where you are going!"</p> + +<p>He laughed merrily. "So do I," he rejoined. "For some years failure to +do so has kept me with at least one skinned shin. But just think of the +cost of stockings had I been blind as a boy!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she had a vivid picture of him as a ragged, little fellow, +stumbling about through his unfathomable darkness, bumping into things +and leaving jagged holes in his child's black stockings. Whether she +wanted to laugh or cry she did not know, but a great, warm surge of +motherliness came over her for the child she imaged, and she said aloud, +"Poor little urchin!"</p> + +<p>Philip turned and looked at her, smiling. "It would have been a picture +indeed," he said.</p> + +<p>"I had enough troubles during my rebellious childhood at the orphanage +without adding imaginary woes," Lawrence went on, amusedly +retrospective. "I remember one day when I was at the awkward stage. I +was all dressed for church and happened to stumble over another boy +lying in the grass. I fell against a bench, my trousers caught on a +projecting nail, and ripped dreadfully. The matron gave me a scolding +and sent me to bed for the day."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[Pg 510]</a></span>"Brought up in an orphanage!" thought Claire. "No wonder he is +pessimistic."</p> + +<p>"I didn't mind missing church," Lawrence continued; "but it struck me as +a piece of gross injustice that I should be punished for a boy's lack of +muscular coordination. I've experienced the same fate over my blindness. +It seems to be a special trick people have, and they play it +incessantly. I should think it would get as tiresome to them by and by +as it did to me some years ago."</p> + +<p>Claire felt as if she were included in his casual criticism of mankind, +and wondered just how she had been addicted to the practise. A dozen +different instances came to her, and she felt very penitent.</p> + +<p>"It's because we're all so thoughtless," she said.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. I rather choose to state it differently. It's for the same +reason that I do thousands of things, because I'm more interested in +myself than I am in any one else. I'm selfish, and so is the rest of +humanity."</p> + +<p>"But we aren't deliberately so," Philip protested. "Isn't it rather that +we are short-sighted and unimaginative?"</p> + +<p>"It may be. The end is the same. If I am too short-sighted, too +unimaginative to know how a fellow being feels, I can do nothing but +blunder along. He may be hurt by me. I may do him an injustice, I may +even cheat him of his chance at life, but it can't be helped, and again +the result amounts to my being selfish."</p> + +<p>As she worked over her biscuit dough, Claire listened to their talk +resentfully. She wished they would keep still, but she said nothing. +They went ahead, demonstrating, she thought bitterly, the truth of +Lawrence's argument.</p> + +<p>"I suppose mankind generally does the best it can," Philip said +thoughtfully. "If you ask a man, if you really talk with him, you will +find him kindly, inclined to be generous, and willing to do what he can +for another. I have always found that true."</p> + +<p>"So have I, in a way. He is kindly, he is inclined to be generous, and +he is willing to do what he can for another. The trouble is, he makes a +maudlin sentiment of his kindliness, a self-flattering charity of his +generous inclinations, and is unable to do what he can for another +because he is quite sincerely persuaded that he can't do anything."</p> + +<p>"My friend, I have had men help me when it cost them trouble to do it. +We all have. Without it, we would none of us accomplish anything of +value."</p> + +<p>"I, too, have had them help me, from the lending of money down to +guiding me across a traffic-blurred street, but I have never yet found +more than three or four whose imagination was keen enough and whose +judgment clear enough to give me a square deal at living."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that the same man who will help me across the street, lend me +money, and be a splendid comrade, stops short when he comes to the field +of self-support. He will say sympathetically, 'I don't see how you can +do it,' or 'I admire your grit, old man, and I'd like to see you do it,' +and then begin scheming around to direct my interests, aspirations, and +efforts into some other channel from where I want them, as though, out +of his own great wisdom, he knew much better than I what a blind man +could do. If you want to learn just how small the imagination of mankind +is and how obstructive to progress is their fool good-heartedness, go +among them as a capable mind with a physical handicap. You'll size them +up, yourself included, as the most blindly wall-butting set of +blundering organisms that ever felt their way through an endlessly +obstructed universe."</p> + +<p>"Breakfast!" Claire broke in with an unwonted sharpness in her tone. +"And do let the biscuits stop the argument."</p> + +<p>They laughed and sat down to a silent meal. When it was ended, and the +men took their cigarettes to the fireplace, she said: "I wish you would +both do me a favor to-day."</p> + +<p>"We will! Name it!" They spoke at the same time.</p> + +<p>She turned toward them with an earnestness which she had scarcely meant +to betray.</p> + +<p>"Go out, both of you, and leave me here alone a while."</p> + +<p>Lawrence was silent. Her words and her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[Pg 511]</a></span> tone sent a sharp pain through +him, and he wondered if she were ill. He wanted to say something to her, +started to do so, checked himself, and laughed embarrassedly.</p> + +<p>Philip stared at her. He noticed the pale face and the dark rings under +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly," he said, and rose. "You aren't looking well, Claire. +Is anything seriously wrong?" He looked at her again with the same +unconsciously tender warmth in his eyes.</p> + +<p>She saw it, flushed angrily, wanted to scream at him, and said simply, +"No, I just want to think, and want it quiet. You two talk too much +about yourselves and about things that you don't understand."</p> + +<p>"Very true"—Lawrence also had risen—"if I did understand them, I'd +show humanity how to stop being animals and be men."</p> + +<p>"While as it is," she said nervously, "you allow them to blunder along +and help the good work out by making plenty of trouble for them by your +own blind shortness of vision."</p> + +<p>He stood, wondering at her. How had he unintentionally hurt her, and +what exactly did she mean?</p> + +<p>Philip laughed heartily. "A just judgment on him for his sorry view of +the world," he commented, opening the door.</p> + +<p>"We'll tramp back into the hills," he said to Lawrence when they were +both outside, "and see what there is of deficient imagination in them."</p> + +<p>"There isn't," Lawrence said quietly; "they and the ocean are +testimonials to the real potential power of an otherwise very faulty +artist."</p> + +<p>Left alone, Claire worked furiously at setting the house to rights. Her +nervous state led her to throw herself into the work with an energy that +kept her from thinking. She sought for things to do with the desperation +of a person whose only escape from the furies that followed him is utter +physical exhaustion. When the cabin had been arranged and rearranged +until there was no possible excuse for further effort, she took her +heavy man's coat from its place and stepped out upon the snow-covered +plateau before the house.</p> + +<p>Along its edges the lake shone milk-white in the sun, while farther out +the ice glinted a clear, watery blue that made a gleaming jewel set in +the sparkling snow around it. She stood gazing across the ice to the +forest beyond. Its still beauty crept over her, and she breathed deeply +of the cold, crisp air. Her head ached dully, and her chest felt tight +as though trying to expand beyond its limit to make room for the trouble +that filled her being. After standing motionless for a few moments, she +started briskly across the snow toward the far side of the lake. She +walked carefully over the ice and into the trees beyond. In her mind was +one thought, to escape—but escape from what? From herself, she +answered, and then suddenly, with a panicky bursting of the tension, she +thought that is done only through death.</p> + +<p>She stopped and let the word "death" fill her mind, as a word sometimes +does, growing and growing until its increasing weight oppresses the +brain with a sense of physical pressure. "Death"—is it an escape? She +tried to imagine herself dead, and failed. She could find no adequate +image to express oblivion, and she gave up trying, while she began to +wonder if she actually were immortal, and if she were, what would she +say to herself beyond the edge of life?</p> + +<p>She thought of herself as standing, naked of soul, unbodied, in some far +etherealized atmosphere, and she shuddered. "I would still be Claire, +loving these two men and fearing a third." Tears crept down her cheeks. +No, she did not want to be immortal and have no escape from herself.</p> + +<p>If she would only be able to endure the months still remaining before +she got home, then everything would be settled. But would it? Did she +want Lawrence to go out of her life, did she want to lose him? She could +have him still as a friend, her home open to him always, her husband as +glad to welcome him as she herself—yes, that would be best.</p> + +<p>She was walking again now, rapidly, thinking as she moved, and it all +seemed very clear to her. She would tell her husband how Lawrence had +suffered, how brave he had been, and how he had carried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[Pg 512]</a></span> her on and on, +when death seemed inevitable. Howard would owe Lawrence a tremendous +debt of gratitude, and would make existence easier for him. Lawrence had +had a hard life, his bitter attitude showed that he deserved a less +obstructed road, and she would give it to him. In their home all three +would talk, laugh, and be, oh, so happy, while Lawrence could work +better with his studio near her, perhaps in her own house where care +could be taken of him. He would create great art there, and his +bitterness would end. She would show him that her husband was +understanding and imaginative. Again she stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>But Lawrence—would he accept? He was so independent, so doggedly +determined to fight his life out while his very battling made him +ironical and darkly pessimistic. She tried to imagine him agreeing to +her plan, and instead she heard him say, "I'm sorry, Claire, but I can't +do it. I've got to go it alone and win or go under. I can't accept the +charity you offer me in place of love. Gratitude, I know, prompts you, +but you owe me nothing, you paid your debt by being eyes for me. No, if +we can't be lovers, we can't be anything else. I know my limitations."</p> + +<p>Why had she put in that about "lovers"? He had never said anything to +lead her to think he would say that. She answered herself that it was +because she would want him to say it. And if he did say it, what would +she answer? She would say—no, she couldn't do that—she would want to +say, "Then let us be lovers!" But that was impossible. In her own +husband's home!</p> + +<p>And what would she think of Philip when she was again in her old world? +He, also, was deserving of gratitude. She stamped her foot in the snow. +She hated him, hated him, and he would drop out of her life, utterly and +forever. She would be glad when she saw the last of him with his +seductive eyes. Those eyes—why did he, and not Lawrence, have them? +They should have been Lawrence's. It was one more instance of the +endless ironic humor of the universe.</p> + +<p>Lawrence—Lawrence and her husband! She turned wearily back toward the +cabin.</p> + +<p>It was nearly noon when she reached home again, and Lawrence, a worried +look on his face, was standing in the door of the cabin.</p> + +<p>"You beat me back," Claire said, as she approached, and her heart leaped +at the look of relief that came into his face.</p> + +<p>"Claire, you ought to be punished," he said in gay, tender tones.</p> + +<p>"What sentence would you pass, Mr. Judge?" she questioned.</p> + +<p>He stepped out toward her.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps your fate needs a good washing in cold snow," he laughed.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it does," she said, caressingly. "Do you think you could +administer it?"</p> + +<p>"I know I could."</p> + +<p>He stooped and took up a handful of snow.</p> + +<p>She did the same and said gaily, "Two washed faces seem inevitable."</p> + +<p>Lawrence laughed and caught her around the waist. Her blood tingled, and +her throat hurt as if she would choke. She began to struggle +desperately, frightened at her own emotion. He laughed, and held her +tighter with one arm while he tried to reach her face with the other +hand. She was pressed against him, and they swayed back and forth, while +Philip laughed from the doorway. Her heart was beating trip-hammer blows +against her breast, she gasped for breath, and her eyes closed. His hand +reached her face, and she ducked against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence! Lawrence!" she sobbed. Her voice startled him. Its pleading, +yielding intensity sent his own blood racing. He let her go, and stepped +back quickly while his breath came short.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Claire," he muttered, and turned away.</p> + +<p>Claire saw Philip watching them, in his eyes a strange, new glitter. She +rushed past him to the cabin and into her little room.</p> + +<p>It was a silent dinner they ate that day.</p> + +<p>Claire was deeply, bitterly humiliated, and she kept seeing again and +again with exaggerated clearness that look in Philip's eyes when she had +staggered free from Lawrence's arms. It burned in her mind like an +unquenchable coal, and she revolted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[Pg 513]</a></span> at it. She was utterly unable to +collect her thoughts. She fancied she could still feel the warm pressure +of Lawrence's body while she suffered untold agony of soul for having +been carried away by his touch. She reproached herself with a scorn that +seared for having ever allowed herself to engage in that silly scuffle.</p> + +<p>She could scarcely bear to sit at the table with Philip, and she did not +once look in his direction. In her heart there was no anger against +Lawrence, only a dull, aching dread, tempered with a longing she did not +attempt to analyze.</p> + +<p>Dominating her thought was the one phrase, "Why need Philip have seen?"</p> + +<p>That look in his eyes—oh, God! would she have to go on day after day +facing those eyes that compelled her in spite of herself? Must she feel +his glances burning through her when her soul was filled with hatred for +him? But was it hatred? Surely his eyes, those lights that made her +marvel, were the windows to a high and noble soul. Yes, he was fine, yet +she wished he was not there, that she had never known him. She asked +herself if she would rather have perished, and she knew she would not. +Better to have lived forever with Philip's eyes piercing into her than +to give up life when Lawrence was with her, needing her, and—she +stopped—loving her, yes, loving her. It was true. She remembered his +voice when he had released her, and thrilled again at the tense note.</p> + +<p>He did love her! And Philip? She felt her heart sink, and then a +strange, subtle warmth came over her. It was good to be loved by two men +so powerful, so worth while, each in his own way.</p> + +<p>Of course, she could never care for Philip. He was beyond her power to +love; besides her heart was filled with Lawrence. But her husband, yes, +she had loved her husband. Her many days of happiness with him proved +that. She could never have lived with him as she had if love had not +been between them. She must remember that, and be true to him. It would +be hard to see Lawrence go out of her life, but it was her duty, she +owed it to herself, to her husband, and to society.</p> + +<p>If she could only get through the remaining months without allowing +Lawrence to hope! She must not give him another opportunity to want her +or to discuss his feelings with her. She would be very, very careful.</p> + +<p>She must plan it as easily for him as possible. The way to accomplish +that was not to be with him. This would necessitate her associating more +with Philip. After all, why shouldn't she? He was good and strong, and +not really in love with her. Of course, he might be, if she allowed it, +but she would stop that. She would show him by word, look, and act that +any such love was inconceivable. He would understand and forget his +earlier feeling, for after all he was not yet alive to the situation. It +was merely circumstances that had brought that look into his eyes.</p> + +<p>Disliking him as she did, it would be hard to associate with him. She +studied this last problem carefully, and at last arrived at a new state +of mind. She did not dislike him, it was merely the natural unconscious +trend of male and female that she hated. He was not to blame, neither +was she, and they were, fortunately, beings with mind and will. They +could use their God-given power to talk it out and face the situation. +Then Philip's natural nobility would make the solution easy. They would +be on a splendid footing of frank understanding; their foresight would +have saved them from a ridiculous and criminal mistake.</p> + +<p>In these mountains she would have found two real friends and a higher +ground of life. After the first painful talk with Philip they would go +out from the cabin, warm comrades, with nothing to regret.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE MAKING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT.</h3> + + +<p>Silently, Lawrence rose and went to his work-chair. The zeal with which +he began to cut his wood showed more clearly than any of them quite +knew, the turbulent state of his mind. He was carried far into +speculative possibilities that shook him with their power. He was +ab<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[Pg 514]</a></span>solutely in love with Claire, that was undoubted. He knew it, and he +was determined to tell her so. To continue living in this uncertainty, +with the memory of her pressed against him always compelling him to put +out his arms and draw her again to himself, was intolerable. He would +speak, and settle it once for all, nor would he take any compromising +negative as a reply. That tone she had used could indicate but one +thing, she loved him, and whether she knew it or not, whether she wanted +to know it or not, should not matter. He would argue it out with her, +showing her with the inexorable logic back of their whole experience how +she was his, his in spite of her husband, in spite of blindness, in +spite of everything. Without her, life was useless, barren, and dead. He +must have her!</p> + +<p>He carved viciously but accurately, while his mind and body yearned +toward the hour when she would be in his arms, yielding, abandoned, +loving.</p> + +<p>Claire watched him from her place at the table in calmness of mind that, +following her day of tumult, she could not understand. Peace, the peace +that comes when one thinks he has settled something forever, was hers.</p> + +<p>"Philip," she said, "our artist has buried himself in his work. Shall we +go forth on a chance adventure?"</p> + +<p>Lawrence choked back a whirl of jealous suspicion that swept to his +lips, and said from his corner, "Do! I'll have a surprise for your +return."</p> + +<p>He wanted to say, "No, stay here, Claire. I wish to tell you something, +to make you see that I love you, that this Philip is not for you, that +he is outside our real lives," but his tongue refused to obey his will.</p> + +<p>"It sounds inviting," said Philip, rising. "Suppose we do."</p> + +<p>They were gone.</p> + +<p>Lawrence worked savagely, his mind grasping at impossible thoughts which +kept struggling for expression. He was afraid, afraid till it chilled +him, lest, after all, she loved Philip. If her voice had sounded so +intense that noon, it had been because she resented his holding her +while her real lover looked on.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Claire and Philip tramped through the pines in silence. She +was wondering why she had come. She hesitated before speaking to him as +she had determined. Perhaps he would be hurt at her imagining he could +think of making any advances to a married woman, he would feel that she +had suspected and accused him of a thing of which he was incapable.</p> + +<p>Speech was difficult, so she trudged along, feeling very uncomfortable. +Her heart ached as she saw again the lonely look on Lawrence's face +bending over his work back there in the cabin.</p> + +<p>"The adventure is slow in coming," Philip said, genially.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we don't know how to find it," she answered, not heeding her +words especially. "To find adventure, one must be awake to +possibilities."</p> + +<p>"True," he mused, looking at her. "So much depends on a man's +experience, knowledge, and imagination."</p> + +<p>"I suppose life itself may set us, even calmly walking here, in the +heart of an adventure."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt it does," he said.</p> + +<p>Claire looked at him in faint alarm.</p> + +<p>"Why," she stammered, "I didn't imagine it was true when I spoke."</p> + +<p>"To him who has faith, the wildest dreams are always possibilities."</p> + +<p>"Do you believe that, Philip?"</p> + +<p>"I have found it to be quite true. I often dreamed of good company here +in my wilderness and a charming woman about my cabin. It has happened."</p> + +<p>"But even that has its very strong drawbacks, hasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"What, for example?" He looked at her, earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she hesitated, laughed, and said, "the rapidly depleted food +supply, your time for thought broken, and all the rest."</p> + +<p>"One sometimes finds a relief from thought very agreeable."</p> + +<p>She wanted to laugh at the force with which his words struck her. "I'm +sure that depends on the thought, as Lawrence would say," she answered, +smiling.</p> + +<p>"It does. And there is nothing I would not give to escape from my +present thoughts." His voice was pitched low.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[Pg 515]</a></span>Her heart failed her, but she said bravely, "Perhaps you need a +confessor, Sir Philip."</p> + +<p>"I do, a gracious one, who can listen well."</p> + +<p>"Then a woman would never serve," Claire laughed. "She would want to +talk, you know."</p> + +<p>Philip stopped, and looked at her. As far as he could see, she was calm, +indifferent, the lady making talk.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," he said, lightly. "They have that reputation, I know."</p> + +<p>"Now, I"—she laughed—"I, also, need a confessor."</p> + +<p>"You?" His look searched her, incredulously. "What in the name of all +the saints have you to confess?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Many things. Misunderstandings, social follies, mistakes in +character reading, mean thoughts, lots of things."</p> + +<p>"Absurd!" His tone was amused. "Who of us is not a sinner in those +things?"</p> + +<p>"But suppose," she ventured, hesitant—"suppose I had misjudged you? +Suppose I had suspected you of things you were not at all guilty of?"</p> + +<p>"I should be sorry if you told me of them."</p> + +<p>It was impossible, she thought, to go on. He would indeed be sorry, and +how foolish she had been! But what had he meant a moment before?</p> + +<p>"Is your confession worse?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I think so. A man is so apt to be a mad fool," he said, and lapsed into +silence.</p> + +<p>They walked some distance before either spoke. Then Claire laughed +suddenly. "Philip," she said, "we all three need a change of scene."</p> + +<p>He turned, and his face was crimson as he looked at her. "It will be +here soon. We can go out in April."</p> + +<p>He had answered her dully, with a heavy sadness in his voice. It was her +golden opportunity; and she took it.</p> + +<p>"Splendid!" she cried—"splendid! I so want to get back to my husband. I +am scarcely able to wait at all."</p> + +<p>"I suppose," he said, "it seems a long time that you have been +separated."</p> + +<p>"Oh, so long," she answered, softly. "And I do so want him."</p> + +<p>He walked on, slowly. "I shall miss you very much."</p> + +<p>Her manner and expression were those of a pleased, frank child when she +answered. "Really, I was so afraid I had been stupid company, and I owe +so much to you. My husband will want to come clear back here to thank +you for your winter's hospitality."</p> + +<p>"It would hardly be worth his while. The debt is more than paid."</p> + +<p>"I shall be sorry—in a way," she went on. "We have become such good +friends, such good comrades with not the least bit of unpleasantness to +remember. I shall always be glad of that."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said. "I am glad, indeed, that you feel so."</p> + +<p>"If any one had ever told me that I should find so rare a gentleman +here"—she laughed—"I would have thought they were talking medieval +gallantry."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. A gentleman is always himself when a lady is a lady."</p> + +<p>Claire flushed a little, and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"I shall remember you with pleasure and regret," continued Philip, his +head high.</p> + +<p>Her eyes opened wide, like a child's. "Oh, with regret, too?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Regret that you did not come to my cabin sooner, freer, and to +stay longer."</p> + +<p>"You are a consummate flatterer, Philip," she chided.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it seems artificial; one can scarcely imagine that I should +be in earnest," he said, a little bitterly.</p> + +<p>Her conscience hurt her, though she did not know why. She could have +said those things before and thought nothing of them. Why did she feel +sorry now?</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that," she said, earnestly. "Believe me, I did not."</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, "you answered out of mere indifference."</p> + +<p>"But I am not indifferent to you, Philip. I like you very much." She was +afraid she had hurt his feelings, and she, herself, was so tense, so +troubled, that she was uncertain of her emotional attitudes these days. +She felt that somehow she had been cruel and very ungracious toward the +man to whom she owed so much.</p> + +<p>"I know," he said, "one is interested, of course, in a novel, foreign +mountaineer."</p> + +<p>She was beginning to feel achy, and tears were near the surface.</p> + +<p>"Philip, why do you misunderstand me?" she cried. "It isn't that at all. +I like you for the man you are."</p> + +<p>He smiled sadly. "And did it ever occur to you that I might love you for +the woman you are?" he said suddenly, his good resolutions all gone.</p> + +<p>She stopped and her breath quickened. Over her rushed a tide of fear, +regret, sorrow. Even then she wondered that it was pity and not anger +which moved her.</p> + +<p>"I do not believe that. How could you?" she said swiftly.</p> + +<p>"You cannot even conceive of my loving you?"</p> + +<p>"I—I can, Philip—it isn't that, I—I"—she was floundering among her +own emotions—"I can under other circumstances, different conditions. +Oh, don't you see—think of"—she had almost said "Lawrence," but +hastily substituted—"my husband."</p> + +<p>"I have thought of him. From the day you came, he has haunted my +footsteps. But after all, he thinks you are dead."</p> + +<p>"But I love him. Think of that, too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Claire, Claire, I have seen you when I felt perhaps you +might—might learn to love me."</p> + +<p>"Philip, it is impossible!" she cried. "Please don't let's spoil +everything now. I so wanted to be just friends."</p> + +<p>His faced kindled and his deep eyes glowed with a fire that both +terrorized and fascinated her.</p> + +<p>"We cannot be that, Claire." His voice vibrated with growing passion. +They stood, facing each other, and she trembled like a reed in the wind.</p> + +<p>"I saw you this morning in his arms," he was tense and speaking rapidly, +"and I knew then that I loved you. Loved you with all the soul of me. I +could have killed him, I tell you. Claire, Claire, I love you! You must +not deny me love."</p> + +<p>She did not, could not answer, her tongue refused to move, and her dry, +hot mouth felt as if she would smother. She looked into his eyes and +said nothing, while she shook violently.</p> + +<p>"Claire!" he cried. "Claire! I love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[Pg 516]</a></span> you!" His arms closed around her +and he held her tightly. His eyes burned into her own with a flame that +was contagious in its intensity. She gasped, trembled, and did not +struggle, though in her mind she was crying, anguished, "Lawrence! +Lawrence!"</p> + +<p>He pressed her more tightly, and his body against her own stirred in her +a passion beyond the control of will. Her eyes lighted warmly and then +closed. She felt suffocated, weak, and her senses reeled. His head bent, +and his lips were pressed fiercely against her own parted ones, stopping +the cry that rose to her throat. He held her fast, keeping his lips +against her own until she felt her strength giving. She half leaned +against him, letting the weight of her body sink into his arms.</p> + +<p>A savage joy sprang into his eyes. She opened her own and saw. Throwing +up her hands wildly, she struck his face, twisted her body free, and +shoving him from her, stood, white, defiant, and determined.</p> + +<p>She was not angry with Philip, only with herself, but the storm of +self-reproach that swept over her burst into bitter, scorching words +against him.</p> + +<p>"You, you coward! You dare to touch me, to take me that way! If I had +only known what sort of a thing you were, you, you viper! Oh, to be here +with you!"</p> + +<p>His dark eyes flashed with sudden rage, and he moved to seize her. She +stood defiantly before him, her white face cold as outraged chastity +itself, and his anger died. Into his face came the dejected, suffering +look of a man whose passion ebbs before the compelling force of a +woman's scorn.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, Claire," he moaned, "forgive me. I was mad, mad."</p> + +<p>She knew he was sincere, and she smiled sadly.</p> + +<p>"I know, Philip," she said. "I understand, but you must realize that it +is impossible. Won't you see that? It was, perhaps, partly my fault. +Forgive me if it was, and let us be friends. Philip, I want a friend," +she continued. "I need one, a big, strong man whom I can trust, whom I +know to be my loyal friend and my husband's friend."</p> + +<p>He put out his hand, shame and love mingling in his face.</p> + +<p>"I will be that friend, Claire," he said, earnestly.</p> + +<p>She took his hand, her mind breaking with relief. She felt she was going +to cry, and she leaned forward to hide her filling eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Philip, God bless you! You do not know what this means to me! You +will never know. I thank you, I thank you!"</p> + +<p>The tears rushed down her cheeks and dropped upon their clasped hands.</p> + +<p>"Claire, don't, please—please don't," Philip pleaded, anguish in his +tone.</p> + +<p>She stopped, forced back her sobs, and smiled at him.</p> + +<p>"Philip Ortez," she said, "I shall make you glad of this."</p> + +<p>Deep in his heart, the words gave him hope. He grasped at them as a +drowning man at a life-belt, but he did not voice the hope.</p> + +<p>"I want to spend much of my time with you, Philip, in the out-of-doors. +I must do it, and it is such a relief to know that I can do it +without—without fear. You will be just my friend, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"If it is in my power, I will." He spoke as a knight of old, taking a +holy vow, and in his heart was the deep, sacred sense of the spirit that +still moved in his idealistic soul.</p> + +<p>Claire laughed joyously, almost hysterically, with the peace that came +over her at the sound of his words. She was sure that all was well. If +she had known that already he was building on the promise of frequent +days alone, she would have been more afraid than ever. But she did not +know that, neither did she know that in her very promise she was +preparing a more difficult situation for her own struggle with herself +than any she had ever faced in her life. She was only aware of the +crisis passed and the peace that was now hers.</p> + +<p>"Let us go back," she said gaily.</p> + +<p>They found Lawrence smoothing his little carved child with a stone. +Claire was effervescent with joy. Her great plan seemed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[Pg 517]</a></span>sure of +success, and she greeted him with a gaiety that was as abnormal as her +despondency had been before.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she cried, "we have had such a walk! And here you have +finished for us this beautiful cherub as the symbol of our little home."</p> + +<p>Her words stung him with savage pain, filling him with a great fear born +of love and jealousy. For a minute he did not know what he was doing or +saying, and he was scarcely aware of the words that fell from him.</p> + +<p>"Cherubs are said to be symbols of the greatest love." He laughed +tonelessly. "It belongs to you, Claire. Take it."</p> + +<p>The child was carved standing upon a stump with wings outspread. In the +form and face of the figure there was so much of benevolence, love, and +charity that the imaginative power of this blind artist filled Claire +with awe. She stood reverently before it, her heart singing with pride +in the handiwork of the man she loved. She interpreted his words as a +confession that he had carved it for her as a symbol of his love, and +she was humbled before him, before his work. She wanted to throw herself +in his arms and to tell him with the gift of her unreserved self how +grateful she was for his gift, but she only said, very softly, taking +both his hands: "Thank you, Lawrence."</p> + +<p>The words struck his ear with a strangely mixed power in their sound. He +wanted to laugh at the bitter mockery that swept into him. He had made +the image for love of her, and he presented it to her as a symbol of her +love for Philip. It was cruel, but he could endure it. Oh, yes, he was +accustomed to life's little jokes. He did not answer her thanks, only +gripped her hands in his own capable ones till he hurt her.</p> + +<p>To Philip, the child brought still other suggestions. Moved by his +present feeling of great, chivalrous guardianship of the woman who had +said she needed him, he felt that it was a symbol of the great +sacrificial love which he was privileged to know, and at the same time +he felt that it was a symbol of hope.</p> + +<p class="continue2"><b>TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.</b> Don't forget this magazine +is issued weekly, and that you will get the +continuation of this story without waiting a month.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1><a name="Part_III" id="Part_III"></a>Claire</h1> + +<h2><i>by</i><br />Leslie Burton Blades</h2> + +<h3>THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO<br /> +<i>BY A BLIND AUTHOR</i></h3> + +<p class="center">This story began in the All-Story Weekly for October 5.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_697" id="Page_697">[Pg 697]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE UNHORSING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT.</h3> + + +<p>Between men and women who have established what they believe to be an +unemotional friendship there nearly always springs up a relation +franker than any which is otherwise possible. Such was the experience +of Philip and Claire during the days that followed. They took many walks +together, and their conversation grew daily more exclusive and more +personal.</p> + +<p>Lawrence, through ignorance of their situation and jealousy of Philip, +grew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_698" id="Page_698">[Pg 698]</a></span> daily more dissatisfied. He would hear the intimate ring in their +voices and writhe within. The artist felt keenly that he was being set +aside, and his eager determination to live and be in the front rank of +warring manhood made him determine to win Claire against this man who, +it seemed to him, was taking her from him by mere advantage of sight. He +felt that they were shelving him as a blind man, a very nice fellow, but +quite outside the possibility of any relation with their real lives. He +now thought that Claire was kind to him as one is to those whose +situation makes them objects of pity.</p> + +<p>There were days when he sat alone before the fire in the cabin brooding +until he was filled with savage hatred of Philip. He would think of all +sorts of impossible means of eliminating this Spaniard from Claire's +life; then Philip would come in, talk to him, seem so very normally +friendly as man to man, that his reason mastered his fancies and he +laughed at himself. He ridiculed his own thoughts with an irony that +inwardly grew in bitterness with his growing love for Claire, and he +would end by admitting that Philip was only doing what he himself would +like to do.</p> + +<p>In his fair-minded moments he did not blame his friend. "I should be a +fool to expect him to act differently," he told himself. "In this +struggle for meat and mate which we all wage, he is doing what any one +would do. I who am losing must at least be just to him." He resolved to +be just, and in a little while was again ensnaring himself in his own +notions. "She is throwing herself away upon this Spaniard," he thought, +"while I sit by. If I were not blind, she would see that after all I am +the better man. I put all my power into the carving of that little +statue, and she knows it is good, better than anything he has done or +can do, and yet—she loves him."</p> + +<p>He would rise and walk the floor in his tension, knocking into the +chairs recklessly. His thoughts would gain speed from his bodily +movement, and soon he would rage against the man whose guest he was, +against Claire, against life, fate, and blindness. Then suddenly his +ever self-questioning mind would demand of him, "Why are you doing +nothing, then?" He did nothing because he could do nothing. That was +his answer, no sooner made than contradicted, no sooner contradicted +than to be restated, "I do nothing because I will do nothing."</p> + +<p>Several times he refused to go with them on tramps or skiing trips. When +they were gone he would revile himself for his stubbornness and ache +because Claire could not see that he had refused with a petulant boy's +hope that she would stay with him. "Why should she stay with me?" There +was no reason, he told himself, and again he would be off on a mental +whirlwind that carried him still farther from reason. He became +perpetually sullen, irritable, and discontented. He realized it, thought +that Claire would certainly grow to dislike him if he continued so +disagreeable, and with the thought became even more disagreeable.</p> + +<p>Claire, however, was not growing to dislike him. She avoided him in +pursuance of her settled policy, but she thought of him all the more.</p> + +<p>One morning when she and Philip were out in the pines together, she +observed, casually, "Lawrence doesn't seem to be doing any work these +days."</p> + +<p>Philip glanced at her carelessly. "Yes. I'm very sorry for the poor +fellow."</p> + +<p>His pity angered her a little. Lawrence did not need his sympathy. "I +think he must be feeling badly," she replied.</p> + +<p>"I believe he is moody by nature."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do you? I hadn't thought so," she objected.</p> + +<p>"It is not strange," Philip went on; "he is so limited by his blindness +and so ambitious that the effect is almost sure to be a disgruntled +mind. He cannot hope to overcome his blindness, and he ought to realize +it. I think that is the cause of his odd philosophy. He certainly would +be happier if he could get a more sunlit view of things. He needs +optimism, and he ought to practise it."</p> + +<p>For a moment, Claire was silent. She was not willing to admit that +Lawrence was unable to conquer blindness or even that his beliefs were +altogether wrong. She had more often disagreed with him than not, but +now for some reason she found herself desiring to support his +convictions.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_699" id="Page_699">[Pg 699]</a></span>"I don't agree with you," she answered Philip, a little shortly.</p> + +<p>"Well then, what is my lady's diagnosis?" He had not noticed her curt +reply, for he was thinking of something else and was not really +interested in Lawrence as a topic of conversation.</p> + +<p>Claire was unable to answer; she disliked both his tone and his +expression, but she had nothing to substitute for his explanation.</p> + +<p>They walked on in silence for a few minutes through the trees before she +ventured a little lamely, "I don't know what to say."</p> + +<p>Philip looked up, smilingly. "To say about what, Claire?" Then he +remembered, and continued hastily, "Oh, pardon me. I know, of course. +About Lawrence. If I could suggest anything to do, I would. He is an +interesting friend, but I have nothing to offer. It seems to me that we +can do no more than to let him alone. He will work it out for himself. +If he does not, we cannot help. He would not expect us to do so."</p> + +<p>"That's no reason we shouldn't try," she flashed, "unless, of course, +you quite agree with his argument after all."</p> + +<p>Philip colored slightly and said, "I admit the fault, Claire, but what +can we do?"</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you get him to tell what's the matter?" she asked, groping for +something to say.</p> + +<p>"No more than you could. Perhaps even less easily. You know him better +than I and understand him better."</p> + +<p>She laughed, a little satisfaction warming her at his words. "Sometimes +I think I understand him, sometimes I know I don't. As he himself would +say, it is merely a matter of blind psychology, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"It is not," she answered positively. "It's more a matter of artist +psychology, I think."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," he admitted; "certainly the combination is difficult."</p> + +<p>"I do wish we could do something for him."</p> + +<p>"He would be better off if he would come out with us, but since he will +not, he will not." Philip's tone showed clearly that he was inclined to +let the matter drop.</p> + +<p>But not so Claire. "You are willing to help me, aren't you, Philip?"</p> + +<p>"Why yes, if there is any way in which I can be of service."</p> + +<p>"We might stay and talk with him more."</p> + +<p>"That is useless, I fear," he said abruptly, his own wishes revolting +against sacrificing his companionship with Claire or against sharing it +with Lawrence.</p> + +<p>"He was unhesitating in his care for me those days we wandered," she +remarked simply.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me again. I forgot for the time that you owed him anything."</p> + +<p>"He doesn't consider that I owe him anything. It's simply that I want +him to be as happy as possible shut up here with us away from his own +kind of life."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Philip looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you think he could be +happier with other people?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so," she answered, a little regretfully.</p> + +<p>Philip's eyes searched her face. "I should think you could satisfy any +one's need for companionship," he said, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Don't flatter, Philip. That was a very silly speech."</p> + +<p>"Was it? It was not flattery at any rate. It is my feeling about you."</p> + +<p>"Please," she said, stopping, "let's not go into that again."</p> + +<p>"Very well, but why cannot my lady extend her charity? There are other +unfortunates besides Lawrence who have troubles to face."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Philip, you really haven't any troubles. You merely imagine you +have."</p> + +<p>He laughed, a little bitterly. "I suppose a life's happiness is a small +thing."</p> + +<p>"It isn't, Philip," she protested. "But you can get out and tramp and +trap and see things, and, after all, you don't really love me as you +thought you did. We've settled all that."</p> + +<p>"I know we have," he agreed. "That is, you have."</p> + +<p>She looked him over, angrily. "So this is the outcome! I ask you to +think of another person who needs our care, and you disregard him for +your own little troubles!"</p> + +<p>Philip looked down and flushed crimson.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_700" id="Page_700">[Pg 700]</a></span> "Well, it does seem as if I +were selfish. I am afraid I am. But I do not mean to be. I can talk to +him if you wish."</p> + +<p>"You needn't," she said, angered still more. "It isn't charity I'm +asking you to bestow on him. He doesn't need that, and you ought to know +it."</p> + +<p>She had laid more emphasis than she intended on the word "he," and +Philip's face darkened.</p> + +<p>"I see," he said coldly. "It is I after all to whom you are charitable. +Thank you."</p> + +<p>Tears of vexation came to Claire's eyes. "Oh, I do wish you'd be +reasonable," she said, half angrily, half pleadingly. "Don't you +understand that I am giving you more frank friendship than ever I gave +any man in my life? Isn't that of any value to you? Don't you realize +how unfair you have been to Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>His face grew suddenly white, as he said, "Do you love him, Claire?"</p> + +<p>She did not look away from him. "If I did, would it concern you?"</p> + +<p>He took one step toward her, then stopped.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it would," he answered.</p> + +<p>Her anger almost mastered her, but she controlled herself.</p> + +<p>"Philip, are we two irrational animals going to spoil everything? I had +hoped you might at least allow our companionship to live."</p> + +<p>He looked at her without answering. Finally, he choked, "Don't—don't, +Claire, I have the right to know."</p> + +<p>"If I promise to tell you when there is anything to tell, will you be +satisfied?" She felt no scruple of conscience at her pretense of +indifference to Lawrence, only a sense of protection for him. She did +not know from what she was protecting him, but the feeling gave her a +strange pleasure.</p> + +<p>"I will," Philip returned, simply.</p> + +<p>"And in the mean time will you help me pull him out of his slough of +despond?" she asked, smiling with the old, frank, intimate manner.</p> + +<p>"Surely I will, though I confess I do not see the way."</p> + +<p>"Then shall we go at once and begin our cheering process, my friend?" +she said, as though she were conferring a favor by the use of the word.</p> + +<p>He winced at her immediate application of his promise.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we would better," he answered sadly, and turned toward the +cabin.</p> + +<p>As she walked by his side she had already dismissed him from her +attention and was busy planning what she might do to make Lawrence +happy.</p> + +<p>When they entered the cabin, Claire looked eagerly about the room. As +she glanced around, her face clouded. Lawrence was gone. His coat and +hat were not on the rack, and the cane which he had carved one day from +a stick which she had brought him from the woods was also missing.</p> + +<p>Claire walked slowly into the room, her mind filled with an +unaccountable apprehension.</p> + +<p>"Why, how abandoned the place seems without Lawrence! Where is he, I +wonder?" She tried to appear casual.</p> + +<p>Philip followed her in and placed a chair for her. His mind, already +touched with the potential jealousy that Claire's talk had begun, leaped +ahead at her words and he felt more than ever doubtful of her attitude +toward Lawrence. Though he quickly dispelled his fear, the thought left +behind, as such things do, the readier soil for a stronger weed to +spring up in.</p> + +<p>"He has gone out for a walk, I suppose. Doubtless, he will be back +soon." His voice was indifferent. "Will you not sit down, Claire? You +stand there looking about you as though you had lost something."</p> + +<p>She was on the point of saying she had, but checked herself, and +accepted the chair.</p> + +<p>"It's so unusual. He never did this before." Claire forced a smile.</p> + +<p>"Well, he will be the better for it; I am glad that he has gone out," +Philip answered.</p> + +<p>"I know, but it is so difficult for him to find his way through the +snow," she said. "He told me it muffles sounds until he is almost +helpless in it. His feet can't feel the ground, and he doesn't know +which way to turn."</p> + +<p>"He cannot possibly go far, and he cannot get lost." Philip's tone was +becoming a little edged.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_701" id="Page_701">[Pg 701]</a></span>"All the same, it worries me to have him out this way."</p> + +<p>Philip started toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Shall I go search for him?" His voice, unknown to himself, was heavy.</p> + +<p>Claire glanced at him quickly. Her intuition told her he was jealous, +and she saw he was angry. She wanted to shout at him, "Go find +Lawrence!" and she was surprised at the sudden panicky nervousness that +seized her. But she rose calmly and crossed to the fireplace, saying as +she sat down, "No, thank you; I think he is able to take care of +himself."</p> + +<p>Philip also seated himself.</p> + +<p>"I think he is," he said. "Certainly he thinks so, and comes near enough +to proving his assertion."</p> + +<p>She was both angry and pleased with his words.</p> + +<p>"I never saw a man less handicapped by misfortune," she remarked.</p> + +<p>"He does do very well."</p> + +<p>"Lawrence seems all capable sense-nerves, and he is so very efficient +with his touch. What a keen appreciation of beauty he has!"</p> + +<p>"I think he does remarkably well."</p> + +<p>"In the hills he used to describe scenes to me, and do it accurately +just from their sound; running water and wind in the trees," she went +on, not noticing Philip's short replies.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is quite surprising."</p> + +<p>"He certainly has taught me a great deal about blindness."</p> + +<p>"Association with him does do that."</p> + +<p>"Do you know, I believe he is one of the most unusual men I have ever +known."</p> + +<p>Philip rose quickly.</p> + +<p>"Doubtless. He is not the only topic of conversation our friendship +permits, is he, Claire?"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him, and rose immediately, her eyes flashing.</p> + +<p>"I think you are more selfish with your theories of altruism than he +with his egoism."</p> + +<p>Philip looked quietly back at her.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I am where the woman I love is concerned."</p> + +<p>Claire turned away and walked angrily toward her room.</p> + +<p>"I see you can't maintain a friendship," she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Meaning, you cannot." Philip's voice was bitter.</p> + +<p>She turned quickly and looked at him.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she asked him, fearing.</p> + +<p>"I mean that you are unfair. You ask me not to talk of my love, you wish +to talk friendship, while you are forcing me by your every word and act +to think of my own misery."</p> + +<p>Claire stood aghast before him. His words seemed to her to be an +accusation so grossly false that she was stunned beyond anger.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," she said anxiously.</p> + +<p>"You ought to understand. I love you, I cannot help but love you, fight +it as I will. You say you cannot love me because of your husband. Yet +your talk is not of your husband, but of this blind man. You say you +desire friendship, yet you allow me all that a woman allows her accepted +suitor."</p> + +<p>Claire was appalled. She stared at him in amazement, faltering.</p> + +<p>"Why, Philip, I—what is the matter? I don't do any such thing."</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," he replied. "You look at me with that warm light in +your eyes, because you think I am not human. I am a mere duenna, a +chaperon, perhaps."</p> + +<p>She sank into a chair and covered her face. "I didn't think," she +moaned, and could say no more. A thousand memories of her intimate +treatment of Philip swept through her mind. She had considered him as +one of her own family, without thought, without intent, because she had +believed so strongly in his assurance of friendship. After a pause, she +gathered her thoughts.</p> + +<p>"Philip, I may have done as you say," she spoke slowly, "but it was not +because I was not conscious of your manhood. It was because I thought +you stronger than you are. I believed you could be my friend and not ask +more."</p> + +<p>He stood quietly looking at her where she sat.</p> + +<p>"And what of him?" he asked, steadily.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_702" id="Page_702">[Pg 702]</a></span>"I am worried about him because he is blind, nothing more." She lied, +looking straight into his eyes, then rose and stepped behind the +curtain.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he almost sang. "I am deeply, humbly, a thousand times sorry. +You cannot know how your talk of Lawrence made me wild. I am a fool, I +will admit, but I cannot think of your loving him, blind, selfish, +egoistic, intolerant of other people, I cannot."</p> + +<p>"You needn't," she returned, coldly. Her whole soul was filled with +rage. She was recalling that he had said her eyes were alight when she +looked at him, and she told herself that it was not true.</p> + +<p>"Won't you give me a chance to show myself as I am, Claire? I want to +prove to you that I am not a selfish beast."</p> + +<p>She thought of Lawrence's cynical view of Philip's sentiments, and she +laughed.</p> + +<p>Philip groaned, and then said again, "Aren't you fair enough to do that, +Claire?"</p> + +<p>"And what will you read in my eyes next?" she inquired icily.</p> + +<p>"Whatever is there?" he answered.</p> + +<p>"But your imagination spoils your sight," she returned.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. I will not deny that I am not myself where you are concerned. +But I ask only for one more trial. And I will do my best."</p> + +<p>Claire was growing more and more worried about Lawrence. What could have +happened to him?</p> + +<p>"Then go and find Lawrence," she said suddenly.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY.</h3> + + +<p>Claire heard Philip leave the house, and she sat down on her bed to wait +and think. It seemed ages that she sat there, her imagination busy with +a hundred possible calamities. When she finally heard the door open she +was almost afraid to look.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence!" Her voice was full of warm gladness.</p> + +<p>He was hanging his hat in its place.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Claire. Back, are you?" His voice held the impersonal, sullen +note that he used of late. "Where is Philip?"</p> + +<p>"Why, didn't he find you?"</p> + +<p>Lawrence was immediately angry. He thought, "Why should Philip be +hunting for me? I don't need his care. Can't I even go out without a +guardian?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't see him," he returned, aloud.</p> + +<p>"I sent him to find you." She was standing looking at him, her whole +figure expressing love and relief at his return.</p> + +<p>He was too angry to catch the fine warmth of her voice, and his +inability to see handicapped him more at that moment than at any time in +his life.</p> + +<p>"I sent him to find you," she said again.</p> + +<p>"He didn't. I came back as I went, alone."</p> + +<p>"Lawrence, what is the matter with you?" she asked, pleadingly, with +tears in her voice.</p> + +<p>He felt the emotion in her words, and was suddenly contrite. If he had +known it, he was acting like the sentimentalists whom he ridiculed, but +he suffered from the egotist's fate, he did not recognize his own +failing.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that there is anything the matter, Claire. It angered me +to think that you still imagine that because I am blind I need a +guardian," he said, dropping into a chair.</p> + +<p>She came over toward him, impulsively.</p> + +<p>"That isn't the idea at all," she said, still very worried. "It was +simply that you told me yourself that you were helpless in the snow."</p> + +<p>"I didn't ask to be cared for," he snapped.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't caring for you—nor about you," she retorted, in sudden +irritation. "I didn't want you to be lost, that's all."</p> + +<p>"I should think you'd be glad to see me gone." He was a little ashamed +of his own words, but he did not try to remedy the speech.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>He smiled ironically. "Even a blind man sometimes sees too much of +lovers."</p> + +<p>Claire sank into a chair and struggled against the starting sobs. It +seemed to her that her whole life was becoming one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_703" id="Page_703">[Pg 703]</a></span> continual argument +wherein she was accused and in return forced to demand explanations.</p> + +<p>"What in the world do you mean?" she faltered. "Are you saying that +Philip and I are lovers?"</p> + +<p>"Aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not! It isn't like you to say that. And what if we were?"</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't be any of my business, would it?" He was bitter.</p> + +<p>"I suppose not," she said, weakly.</p> + +<p>"You needn't be hesitant about admitting it. It's true," he went on. +"Why shouldn't it be? I am a mere piece of excess baggage which you are +too kind-hearted to eliminate. I know that, too. Why shouldn't you +eliminate me?" He smiled, satirically. "If I were Philip Ortez, loving +you and loved in return, I would feel like killing the blind man, whose +presence hampered."</p> + +<p>She stared at him, wondering if he were in earnest.</p> + +<p>"Then it's fortunate that you haven't the opportunity to feel that way."</p> + +<p>"Obviously." He laughed, sullenly. "I sha'n't, because you couldn't love +a blind man."</p> + +<p>Claire only sat and looked at him, thrilled with the knowledge that he +was about to tell her he loved her. She was trembling and desperately +afraid of herself. She moved uneasily, and against her will; her lips +said, "I could love a blind man, Lawrence."</p> + +<p>He sat up and clenched his hands together quickly. The tone of her voice +in itself was a direct confession. But his deep skepticism of blindness +would not let him believe that he was right.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you do love me?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>She wanted to say "Yes," but she thought of Philip and was afraid of +what he might do, should he learn of her lie. Then, too, there was her +resolution to go back to Howard. Strange that her long-planned friendly +explanation of her own attitude did not occur to her, but it did not.</p> + +<p>Lawrence rose and came toward her, his hands out. He was determined to +know, once and for all. The gathering emotion in his breast was growing +into an unbearable pain.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said, coming nearer and nearer. "Could you love me?"</p> + +<p>His hands were almost to her. She saw them coming; terror, love, +happiness, anguish, and the desire to be his paralyzed her will. She did +not move.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she whispered, "I could."</p> + +<p>He put his arms around her and lifted her until she was crushed against +him.</p> + +<p>"Do you love me, Claire?" he asked, tensely.</p> + +<p>She did not answer, but her head sank against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Outside the cabin, she heard Philip's step in the snow.</p> + +<p>"No!" she cried frantically, filled with dread. "No, no! Let me go!"</p> + +<p>Lawrence, too, heard, and released her, stepping back indifferently, as +though just going toward a chair.</p> + +<p>The door opened, and Philip entered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're back, I see." The artist was coldly cordial in his greeting.</p> + +<p>"And I see you, which is more important," Philip laughed.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so." Lawrence sat down, thoughtfully. "Claire has just +scolded me for going out. She doesn't like to have me add to the bother +I am already."</p> + +<p>Claire was still under the spell of her own emotion, and she resented +Lawrence's sang-froid. He was as cold as a block of stone. Her heart +cried out against him because he could not see why she had said "No" to +him, because he believed her! She wanted to cry, but did not dare.</p> + +<p>"I told him we were worried," she said, indifferently.</p> + +<p>"So we were." Philip was cheerful and friendly.</p> + +<p>Lawrence buried himself from them both, and sat brooding, clothed in the +blackness that blindness brought when it suddenly loomed before him as +the wall between him and his life's desires. The brief instant Claire +had been in his arms had made him feel that his life was intolerable +without her, and that blindness was the curse of a double living death. +She had told him that she did not love him. She had struggled to be +free.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_704" id="Page_704">[Pg 704]</a></span>Lawrence failed to read Claire aright because he had not seen her, and +because his blindness made him uncertain of himself.</p> + +<p>That was the truth of it all, the awful truth of his life.</p> + +<p>He was always uncertain of himself because he was afraid of blindness. +He strutted, boasted, lied, and above all pretended to himself that he +believed his hard philosophy because he was afraid, afraid of failing to +do the things he wanted to do. He saw himself clearly now, he was a +coward, a deceiving ape, a monkey caught in the terror of tangling +roots, and denying it. He barked like a frightened dog, at the thing +that was his master. He was gripped by life, tortured by life, denied +death by life, and cheated by life of living. His imagination, fired by +his passion, leaped into play, and he felt himself a thousand times a +slave, a chained prisoner in the hand of circumstance.</p> + +<p>Philip was laughing gaily, and talking to Claire, who listened, +answered, and was all the while lost in her own thought. When he had +entered, Philip had looked quickly at the two to see if there was aught +between them, and had found Lawrence colder, more despondent than ever. +He told himself that Lawrence had evidently pleaded with Claire for her +love and been denied. At least, this blind man had not been successful, +and Philip could afford to be good-humored. The more agreeable he was, +the more Claire would turn to him from that dark, ungracious form +yonder. His would be the victory of pleasant manners. Therefore he +talked, gladly, smilingly, while Claire listened, or seemed to listen.</p> + +<p>She was rebellious at the fear which had made her cry "No" to Lawrence, +and at the same time glad that she had done so, afraid of the future, +exasperated with Philip for coming in at the supreme moment, and angry +with Lawrence for his stupidity.</p> + +<p>Perhaps these tangled relations might have been cleared had it not been +for a piece of folly more stupendous than any they had yet experienced. +This event occurred the day after Lawrence's walk in the snow.</p> + +<p>Philip had stepped out for a few minutes to look at a near-by trap, and +Claire and the artist were left alone for the first time since her +denial. She wanted him to renew his suit, feared that he would, and sat +waiting for him to speak.</p> + +<p>But he remained silent, and at last she said, "Lawrence."</p> + +<p>"Well?" He did not move.</p> + +<p>The psychology of woman has been too often commented upon and attempted +by those who thought they could explain. Why Claire was doing and saying +what she did, she herself could not tell.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence, don't you ever, ever act as you did yesterday again."</p> + +<p>He smiled. "It would be dangerous if your gallant should come in less +slowly." He was filled with a desire to hurt her.</p> + +<p>Claire was angry with him for saying what was so utterly far from her +mind and so different from what she wanted him to say.</p> + +<p>"If my gallant should come in," she thrust coldly, "he would scarcely +appreciate the melodrama you are playing."</p> + +<p>Lawrence sat up with a jerk, his rage near the boiling point.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" he demanded. "I have not interfered with your +delightful episode, have I?"</p> + +<p>"No, and you couldn't. I mean that my husband—he is my lover—for I +know that is what you intend by 'gallant'—would scarcely appreciate the +type of man who mopes and abuses the woman who does not care to lie in +his arms."</p> + +<p>Lawrence sat still, while a fierce, uncontrollable rage consumed him. He +felt that to take this woman and whip her into submission would be a +pleasure. He thought of the lash he had in his studio at home and wished +it were in his hand. With the thought he rose and stepped swiftly toward +Claire, his teeth set.</p> + +<p>She saw him, and rose.</p> + +<p>"I have one way of showing you who is master," he began, and stopped.</p> + +<p>She had stepped forward and was standing almost against him.</p> + +<p>"Even blindness does not allow you the freedom to threaten."</p> + +<p>He shrank back and dropped once more into his chair.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_705" id="Page_705">[Pg 705]</a></span>Claire was talking rapidly, savagely. Later she was to be thrown into a +despairing self-hate that kept her many a night in tears, but now she +went on.</p> + +<p>"Do you think I will overlook everything in you because I pity you? +There have been times when your impositions, so carelessly thrust upon +me, because you were selfish, because you knew I must accept them from +you, were almost unbearable. The touch of your thief-trained hands to +steal from everything its beauty and self-respect has galled me beyond +all endurance. My body has received its last vile grasp from you."</p> + +<p>She stopped, appalled at his expression. She did not know, neither of +them knew, that love, the ever-changing impulse of creation within men +and women, speaks its desire through bitter scorn and abuse, when softer +words are too slow in finding their way.</p> + +<p>He was sitting there, white, anguished, cowering under her tongue, his +whole life shaken. Her words made him feel that the thing she said was +true. He had always feared it, realizing that in a measure it was +inevitable, and his great strength was now turned against himself, +against his bitter handicap, and he was in that tremendous upheaval that +requires a rebuilding of one's faith. His belief in himself was broken. +His belief in his power was gone. Coming after weeks of thought and fear +about blindness, Claire's words tore him asunder and made him feel that +there was nothing for him but abject misery and dependence upon charity.</p> + +<p>Instinctively, his hand went up as if to shield him from a blow, and he +murmured, "For God's sake, Claire!"</p> + +<p>There was to come a time, later, when experience would have taught him +that there is a wild strain in the nature of human hearts which abuses +out of a desire to be conquered. He did not yet realize that he had +spoken truly when he said that this woman had hidden in her the savage +warring sexed tumult of all the struggling ages.</p> + +<p>She saw him there, his hand up, and suddenly her emotion changed. It was +love, still love crying out for expression, but now she was all +compassion, tenderness, and fear. She read in his face what she had +done, and her heart was gray with the pain at her own failure.</p> + +<p>Now all love for her was buried, perhaps dead, under his shattered +selfhood, slain in the wrecking earthquake that she had brought to pass +with the ardor of her passion. She had meant to sting him into taking +her in his arms and forcing her to love him, and instead—"Oh, God!" she +whispered, and slipped behind the curtain to throw herself on her bed +and weep with heart wrung by self-condemnation and loving pity for the +man whom she had clubbed with his own dread weakness. She had shattered +into chaos the strong soul of the man she loved, with the only weapon he +would have felt, and she realized now that it was her love, her desire +to be his, to be his utterly, that had led her to do it.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was too hurt to move. His mind repeated again and again the +words she had spoken. He kept saying to himself: "Blindness has made me +that, an egotist beggar." He did not reproach Claire. She had swept him +too far from his habitual moorings for that. There was no rebellion +against her, none, indeed, against life. Over him rolled wave after wave +of self-contempt, distrust, and anguish that shook him with an agony +that only the assured man knows when the one he loves most of all on +earth strikes dead his faith in himself. He thought of a multitude of +things that stabbed anew, but not once did he move in the interminable +period that passed before Philip returned.</p> + +<p>When he did come, the Spaniard was amazed at the crouching, white-faced +man whom he found before a dying fire. There was something so sad in the +blind face that Philip felt no suspicion and no anger. He looked for +Claire, but she was not visible. He stirred the fire and set about +preparing supper while his mind began digging at the problem which he +saw in the attitude of the man there in the chair. Claire did not come +out to help. She was too exhausted from the storm that had swept over +her. In her bed she could hardly smother the scream that kept rising to +her lips. She wanted to spring up and cry aloud to Law<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_706" id="Page_706">[Pg 706]</a></span>rence for +forgiveness. She was scarcely aware of Philip as he moved about.</p> + +<p>She could have thrown herself at Lawrence's feet and pleaded with him. +She was discovering that her whole wild outbreak was a strange +expression of her physical desire for this man whom she loved, and the +discovery made her as self-detesting as she had been violent in her +outbreak. It seemed to her that there was nothing, nothing she would not +do to make amends to Lawrence for what she had said. She wanted to tell +him what it had been that prompted her, but she dared not lest in +revulsion at her viciousness he turn on her and kill her.</p> + +<p>"God, God," she muttered, "what have I done!"</p> + +<p>Philip was calling her to supper. She steadied her voice, and said +humbly: "I can't come out. I'm not feeling very well. Go on without me, +please."</p> + +<p>She heard him speak to Lawrence, and she strained her ears to catch the +answering movement toward the table, but there was none. At last Philip +spoke again in a voice that was full of anxiety: "Lawrence, what in +God's name has happened?"</p> + +<p>Lawrence was moving now, and she waited with bated breath for his +answer. He walked to the table and sat down. His voice was heavy. "I've +found myself out, Philip. That's all. I know what I am."</p> + +<p>There was a moment of silence. Claire covered her mouth with her hand to +suppress a cry. She wanted to shout: "No, no, no, not that, but what I +am, my beloved, my adored one."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Philip's voice seemed stern.</p> + +<p>"I mean that I am indebted to you and Claire for the truth I needed."</p> + +<p>Behind the curtain Claire turned on her face and burst into sobs.</p> + +<p>Philip arose abruptly. "Lawrence," he said quietly, "I do not know what +has happened to you this afternoon; I do not know what you mean; but +this I do know: I am deeply sorry if anything I have done or said has +made you feel that you are an unwelcome guest in my home."</p> + +<p>Lawrence stood up and gathered his scattered senses.</p> + +<p>"Philip, I beg your pardon, old man. It isn't that at all. The truth +is"—and his voice broke—"I have lied to myself and to the world these +many years. Much of it hasn't been my fault, but I must pay the price +just the same. I am blind. That has led me to a sort of clamorous egoism +which carried me on and on until I came to feel that I was really doing +something. At last, I know that I am a narrow human parasite, worthless, +utterly worthless. A blind, clinging, grasping, vagrant beast, fed upon +the mercy of too kind-hearted humanity. I am sorry. It isn't my fault, +but it is so."</p> + +<p>Philip stood for a few minutes in silence. "You're ill, Lawrence," he +said finally. "Get back to yourself if you can. Things do not stay at +this point in human abasement. I know of what I speak. I have been +through that myself. I cannot say anything comforting. No one can."</p> + +<p>They went to bed with but a few commonplace remarks, and the cabin +became silent. Lawrence lay awake through that night. Claire, unknown to +him, spent her vigil in a great readjustment of her life.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">PHILIP TO THE RESCUE.</h3> + + +<p>It is always the little things in human relations that have the most +far-reaching results. Claire might have avoided much trouble with a few +well-chosen words to Lawrence, but her own mental state prevented her +from speaking.</p> + +<p>On his part, Lawrence was so shaken by her outburst that his love for +her was driven deep into his subconscious self, and for the time it lay +there dormant. After the sudden volcanic upheaval of his entire +universe, he was utterly absorbed in the immediate task of +reconstructing his faith in himself. The primitive stages of his +thinking did not allow for any relation between himself and the woman +who had released the dam of self-abasement. She was unavoidably at hand, +reminding him of her speech, and that alone delayed what otherwise would +have been an unconscious process.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_707" id="Page_707">[Pg 707]</a></span>Claire was not able to forget the intense desire which, she now +realized, had prompted her terrible diatribe. Humiliation held her in +its throes, and she was reserved, distant, and unnatural toward him.</p> + +<p>Philip saw it all, and his mind was filled with conjectures which made +him less and less charitable toward Lawrence, more jealous, and more +hopeful of a happy issue of his love for Claire. She turned to him +eagerly for companionship. Instinctively she sought refuge from her own +thoughts—and from Lawrence—by talking to Philip.</p> + +<p>The morning after the incident between Lawrence and Claire there had +been an austere reserve in the cabin. Claire had fled from the +oppressive gloom into the open. Outside Philip joined her, and they +walked together in silence. He was determined not to ask Claire what had +happened, although he was extending her a silent sympathy which she felt +and a little resented.</p> + +<p>Lawrence, left alone in the cabin, gave small heed to their departure. +He had risen with a frightful headache and a fever. He lay on the bed +and thought of his situation, his past life, and his future chances, in +bitter, heartrending, self-condemnatory sarcasm which made his condition +even less tolerable than it would have been otherwise.</p> + +<p>"I am a miserable groveler at the feet of humanity," he thought, +"clutching at shrinking shoestrings for a piece of bread in pity's name. +If I could see, God, if I only could!"</p> + +<p>He thought of all the little things which his blindness made it +absolutely necessary for others to do for him, and his excited mind +magnified them into colossal proportions. If his landlady in New York +had removed a spot from his clothes, as she had often done, that was a +proof of his despised state. He fell to imagining that he was unkempt, +dirty, disgustingly unclean, and that people had tolerated it because +they had pitied him. At last, with a cry of anguish, he thought: "And my +work, too, it is a botched mess which they are amused at and do not dare +to tell me the truth about. It, too, is a jest that the world is having +at my expense." He remembered praise and prizes that he had won in +contests with other students, and he was too excited to see the folly of +his answer: "That was charity, the award of kindness to me. I know now +what they thought—that for a blind man the thing was nearly enough +correct to be interesting and quite amusing."</p> + +<p>His body felt hot, and he went outside to prowl about in the wind and +snow, like a despairing beast. His mind kept up its terrible work, and +he did not notice the continual drop in temperature. Round and round the +cabin he walked, instead of going into the forest, as he would have done +the day before. In his mind was a sudden doubt of his own ability, and +he said that Claire had been right to keep him in. She was more aware of +his pitiable weakness than he. At last, however, from sheer weariness he +went inside. He was chilled through, but instead of rebuilding the fire +and warming himself, he rolled up in a blanket and lay on the bed, +chilling and burning by turns.</p> + +<p>In the mean time Claire and Philip were discussing the man in the cabin. +Philip had finally broken the silence by saying: "Claire, you needn't +feel so about whatever has happened. Remember he is blind and must be +treated less critically than other men."</p> + +<p>She knew that that was just what had made Lawrence so deadly white when +she had spoken, and it filled her with sickening pain. She answered +unsteadily: "That isn't true. It isn't Lawrence, anyway, it's myself who +should be condemned."</p> + +<p>Philip was thoughtful. "It is like you to take the blame on yourself. +You are so kind-hearted that way."</p> + +<p>In her present state, his words seemed like a reproach. "Philip, don't," +she said sadly. "I know better than that."</p> + +<p>He persisted. "No, you do not. You are too sympathetic, and you let your +heart get the better of you."</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't talk that way," she repeated. "You wouldn't, if you +knew the truth."</p> + +<p>"Of course, I do not know what happened," he said, "but I do know +you—even better than you know yourself."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I've done?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_708" id="Page_708">[Pg 708]</a></span>"No, and I do not care. It was right, I am sure. The queen can do no +wrong." He was intensely serious.</p> + +<p>"Isn't there any common sense left in you, Philip?" she railed. "Have +you gone clear back into medieval nonsense in your feeling toward me? I +tell you, you are indulging in foolishness."</p> + +<p>"Am I?" He smiled. "Well, if that is the best I have to give—"</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to give me anything."</p> + +<p>"But I cannot help it, neither can you."</p> + +<p>"I have killed a man's love before this," she answered bitterly.</p> + +<p>"But you cannot kill mine. I love you, whether you love me or not. I am +proud to acknowledge my unreturned love."</p> + +<p>"As you please." Claire stopped suddenly. "Are we apt to get anywhere +with this subject?" she asked ironically.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I earnestly hope so."</p> + +<p>She looked at Philip thoughtfully. Perhaps the truth about her own +weakness might cure him.</p> + +<p>"Suppose I allowed you to love me, and you found that you had won a +woman whose passions were her whole life. Suppose she should prove to be +a mere bundle of sex, all polished over with other people's ideas, a +social manner, and a set of morals which she did not really feel, which +were deceiving ornaments hiding her soul. What would you think of your +prize?"</p> + +<p>"I should not love such a woman. I could not."</p> + +<p>"But suppose you were deceived and thought her other than she was."</p> + +<p>"I hardly expect such a thing to happen. Why suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Because if I were your wife you might find it to be true."</p> + +<p>Philip laughed aloud. "Claire, how preposterous! Are you trying to kill +my love for you with such terrifying pictures of depravity?"</p> + +<p>"I wasn't trying to do anything. I just wanted to know."</p> + +<p>"Have you been answered?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are like all of your type; you are in love with what your own +desire chooses as an ideal, and then you shout, 'Behold, I am not a +sensual lover!'"</p> + +<p>He stared at her in amazement. "What sort of a thing do you think I am?"</p> + +<p>She laughed carelessly. "A man. And what do you think I am?"</p> + +<p>"A very strange woman, but a dear one," he said earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Why strange, Philip?"</p> + +<p>"Because you talk of love as Lawrence might."</p> + +<p>She winced. "He would know," she said. "He does know, perhaps." She was +talking to herself, and her voice was pathetic.</p> + +<p>Philip's eyes grew fierce with anger. "What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Not what your very ideal mind thinks," she said coldly.</p> + +<p>He flamed scarlet, and looked away. "Claire," he said softly, "will you +never have done stirring up suspicions no man could avoid, and then +condemning them?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't stir them up," she mocked.</p> + +<p>"Who did, then?"</p> + +<p>Claire was undergoing a developing reconstruction, but that she did not +know. She thought she was degenerating, and the immediate result was to +make her careless and ironical.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the devil, perhaps," she hazarded.</p> + +<p>"What are you, Claire?" Philip demanded hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Suddenly her suffering broke into tears. To his utter amazement, she +began to cry unrestrainedly.</p> + +<p>Over and over she sobbed: "I don't know, I don't know."</p> + +<p>For a moment Philip stood motionless, bewildered, then his love and +natural tenderness swept over him, and he said tenderly, "Don't, Claire, +please."</p> + +<p>She only cried harder, weakened the more by his pity. He took her in his +arms as he would a child, and comforted her. She was tempted to +struggle, but her need for sympathy prevailed, and she did not resist +him. He held her in his arms, pouring out his love, his anxiety, his +tenderness, and in her momentary condition she listened and made no +protest. In her aching mind she kept repeating, "I have killed +Lawrence's love with my bestial talk"—and she wanted love. She did not +think of her husband. He was too far away. In her present attitude she +exalted Lawrence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_709" id="Page_709">[Pg 709]</a></span> to the unattainable, and, without formulating the +thought, she was willing to lie in Philip's arms and take what he could +give. They were two of a kind, she thought scornfully. In her +bitterness, the bleak, snow-covered land, with its drooping pines, +seemed in its cold monotony a fitting background for two such worthless +derelicts.</p> + +<p>In the Spaniard's mind was but one thought—to comfort Claire and +restore her to her usual self. Vaguely he knew that love was already +promised by the unresisting body in his arms, but there was no thought +of immediately pressing his suit. He petted and talked until she stopped +crying, then he stood her on her feet, and said, with a tender laughter +in his words: "There, you are all right again. We would better go in. +You are cold."</p> + +<p>Silently she walked beside him back to the cabin. She was indifferent, +she thought, as to whether he did or did not continue his appeals for +love. She was under her own deep, unexplained, emotional control which +led her forward. She was finding herself, but before she would be safe +she would have to throw off a mass of traditional views, beliefs, and +teachings. If Philip chose to press his suit while her knowledge of +herself still seemed vile and abnormal, she would be surely his. Claire +thought herself lost. She had revealed her terrible state to Lawrence, +killed his love, filled him with abhorrence, and struck at his life's +source.</p> + +<p>With silent turmoil in her brain she entered the cabin beside Philip. +When she saw Lawrence, a sharp pain went through her. He was white as +death save for the red spots that marked his fever. She took off her +coat and snow-cap hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she said softly, going toward him.</p> + +<p>He lifted his head slightly.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Claire?"</p> + +<p>"I want to do something for you. You're ill."</p> + +<p>His face clouded. "No, thanks," he said. "You've done too much for me +already."</p> + +<p>"Won't you do anything for yourself?" she begged.</p> + +<p>"I'll be all right. It's just a cold, I guess."</p> + +<p>Philip came and stood looking down at Lawrence scrutinizingly, while +Claire went to the fire and heated water.</p> + +<p>"I am going to fill you up with quinin," he announced. "It is never +missing from my medicine-chest."</p> + +<p>"All right," Lawrence laughed. "It isn't bitter compared to what I'm +filling myself with."</p> + +<p>"Are you not making a fool of yourself?" Philip asked plainly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I know it. That doesn't keep me from doing it, though."</p> + +<p>Claire turned and looked at them, her eyes sternly reproachful toward +Philip.</p> + +<p>"One can't help thinking," she said. "I can't."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't want you to," Lawrence returned. "Indeed, I'm grateful to +you for making me think, too."</p> + +<p>"She started you off, did she?" Philip smiled.</p> + +<p>Lawrence did not answer, and Philip sat down by the fire where he could +watch Claire as she worked.</p> + +<p>After a time Lawrence said thoughtfully: "If one could establish some +sort of a relation between himself and the ultimate first cause of all +this blind snowstorm we call life, things might get shaped with some +measure for perspectives."</p> + +<p>"Yes," Philip assented. "I manage to establish one, though I confess it +isn't clearly logical."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" Lawrence asked.</p> + +<p>"Simply having faith; hope, if you prefer it."</p> + +<p>"But faith in what, and what do you base it on?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, on my experience."</p> + +<p>"I wonder if we really matter at all to the rest of the scheme," Claire +voiced.</p> + +<p>"I am inclined to think not," replied Lawrence. "We matter only to +ourselves, and what we can do with the universe around us."</p> + +<p>"We matter to God, I think," said Philip. "I don't mean in the old +accepted sense; but we must matter to Him in some way, perhaps as your +statue here matters to you."</p> + +<p>Lawrence chuckled weakly. "It mattered tremendously when I was doing +it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_710" id="Page_710">[Pg 710]</a></span> Now it doesn't in the least matter. I shouldn't care if you burned +it as firewood."</p> + +<p>"But you must care," Claire protested, feeling that he was losing +interest in his work because of her.</p> + +<p>"I don't see why. I haven't any real assurance as to its value. It may +be good, more likely it isn't; in any case, I have turned it loose to +shift for itself. It can survive or not; its doing so is immaterial. +Perhaps as immaterial as my existence is to the Great Artist who +conceived the botched job called me."</p> + +<p>"But, Lawrence, why insist that you don't matter to Him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, because I am scarcely aware of Him at all; indeed, I am not aware +of Him, and I am sure He isn't aware of me."</p> + +<p>"You have not any way to prove that," declared Philip.</p> + +<p>"True, except that I can imaginatively comprehend the size of time and +space, and all that is therein. I know my own size, and I can readily +imagine that the creator of the whole is no more aware of me than I am, +say, of a small worm that may be in the heart of my cherub there."</p> + +<p>"We do seem pretty small in the face of the stars," said Claire.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and so impossible," added Lawrence. "I didn't realize until to-day +how utterly impossible I really am."</p> + +<p>"But, impossible or not, here you are," Philip laughed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, here I am and there I may be, but in either place I am not +especially possible. You are; you can go out and make a definite, +independent impression on life; that makes you possible in that you are +forcing recognition of power and capability. I can't do that. The +impression I make is one of incapability. For myself I am impossible, +and for others more so."</p> + +<p>"Which has nothing to do with God," said Philip, in his tone a touch of +distaste.</p> + +<p>Lawrence recognized it and became silent.</p> + +<p>Claire made him take the quinin and heated bricks for his feet. Philip +went out to cut wood for the fire, leaving her alone with the sick man. +She was so full of her own wickedness, as she conceived it, that she +dared not tell him her thoughts. She wanted to explain that she loved +him, that she had loved him all along, but she could not. She looked at +him, and felt sure that he had now no love for her.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was trying to follow out in his mind a searching inquiry as to +his relation to life. "If I could only establish that," he thought, "I +could get myself straight and there would be something to start from. If +I knew which way to move!" But he was unable to do any coherent +thinking. His head ached, his lips burned with fever, and his body kept +him busy with the sensation of pain. It seemed to him that illness made +his state more detestable, but it also offered him a chance of escape +from the whole drab business. He was quite sure that he wanted to +escape, and he would not have believed it if any one had told him that +he would resist death to the uttermost; yet deep within him was that +will to live which had made him the creative artist. It was working, +unknown to him, now, toward the reconstruction he so needed.</p> + +<p>He turned restlessly, and muttered something about his foolishness. +Claire came and sat beside him silently. She was wondering what would +happen if she should tell him of her discovery of herself.</p> + +<p>"Claire!" Lawrence spoke. "Is it possible for any one to get his life +platform built so that it will stand without that first great plank?"</p> + +<p>"What plank?"</p> + +<p>"God."</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me that you couldn't have shaken me so yesterday if I had +been built up right."</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she said piteously, "I didn't mean to do that, to say that."</p> + +<p>He waved her words aside. "Never mind, Claire, it did me good. I was not +realizing, quite, just what I was. I'm finding it out, and when I get +right I'll be all the better for it."</p> + +<p>"But you don't know why I did it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do, but it doesn't matter, anyway. What was behind your words +doesn't count so long as you told the truth."</p> + +<p>"But it does count, and I didn't tell the truth."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_711" id="Page_711">[Pg 711]</a></span>"I'm afraid you did. Please don't try to cover it with kind fibs now."</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't, but you don't understand."</p> + +<p>"Well, Claire, it doesn't matter, as I said. What is it to me what you +do or don't do, so long as you bring me face to face with more truth?"</p> + +<p>She thought he was telling her that he cared nothing for her. She did +not blame him, yet there was a tiny streak of pride that said, "At least +Philip finds me worth while."</p> + +<p>"It is simply my own salvation that is involved," Lawrence went on.</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope you find it," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"I must find it to live," he answered.</p> + +<p>"And how do you propose to find it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I wish I did."</p> + +<p>"You might find it, as you once said, in creative work."</p> + +<p>"No, that isn't a salvation. I must have a platform from which to work. +Don't you see that, Claire?"</p> + +<p>"I don't understand anything about it."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, I didn't intend to force this upon you."</p> + +<p>"That isn't what I mean, Lawrence." Her eyes were moist. "What I meant +was that you live above me entirely."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," he said wrathfully. "You talk like a silly girl, Claire."</p> + +<p>"Do I? Well, I am perhaps less worth while than you think."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess not," he returned carelessly.</p> + +<p>She covered her face with her hands.</p> + +<p>"I know you are worth all that I think you are," he continued. "But I am +afraid that just now I am too interested in my own salvation to think of +you at all correctly."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she observed wearily.</p> + +<p>She was thinking of Philip as he had comforted her that morning, and his +tenderness, compared to this cold statement from Lawrence, seemed +attractive beyond measure. She admitted that all hope of Lawrence's +loving her was dead, and she said to herself: "It is what I wanted. I +can go back to my husband." But she did not want to go back to Howard. +She received this discovery calmly. She would never go back. But why +shouldn't she? She could not tell for certain. She thought it was +because she had found herself unworthy, but deep within her was the +knowledge that she no longer loved him. It would be useless to go back +to him in any event. He could never be the same to her after hearing of +her long months with this blind man in the wilderness.</p> + +<p>What months they had been! She thought them over, day by day, and she +saw what might have been a great joy sink, after a glimpse, into utter +darkness. Before her she saw the endless gray years beside Philip. Yes, +she would stay with him. At least he loved her, and she could help him. +If she did not love him, what of it? She would be an able wife to him. +She could keep him from ever knowing that her heart was away with +Lawrence, who would be back in the world at home and have forgotten her.</p> + +<p>"Claire!" Lawrence was speaking. "We have certainly reaped a strange +harvest from our months of sowing in the wilderness."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Whatever brought it about?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it was fate, that you should teach me where I stand in life."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"And perhaps you, too, will find that I have been of some value when we +are separated."</p> + +<p>"It may be."</p> + +<p>"I wish things might have gone differently."</p> + +<p>"They didn't."</p> + +<p>"No, and they can't. Well, let them be as they are."</p> + +<p>"I guess we'll have to, Lawrence."</p> + +<p>A few minutes later, when she looked at him, he was asleep.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">UTTER EXHAUSTION.</h3> + + +<p>Claire rose and slipped quietly to her own bed. All the aching pain of +her proposed future came over her with its dirty sordidness. She could +never stand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_712" id="Page_712">[Pg 712]</a></span> it, she thought, and clenched her teeth. Well, it was not +necessary. When Lawrence was gone, there was the lake. That would be her +way out of it all. No one need ever know. The thought of death seemed +very sweet to her.</p> + +<p>Philip came in, saw Lawrence asleep, and stole across the room to peep +in at her. She met his glance.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," she answered dully. "Come in if you like."</p> + +<p>He hesitated, then stepped through, and let the curtain fall behind him.</p> + +<p>"May I sit here?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" Her voice was colorless. "Only please speak softly. Don't +wake Lawrence."</p> + +<p>"He'll feel better after his sleep, I think."</p> + +<p>"I hope so."</p> + +<p>He sat looking down into her dark, clouded eyes. There was something so +tragic, so sad, and so submissive in them that he was filled with utter +tenderness.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he whispered, "what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I'm quite well."</p> + +<p>"You look absolutely desolate."</p> + +<p>"I don't especially feel so."</p> + +<p>"Are you happy?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>He stooped over her, studying her face. She did not move, only her deep, +dark eyes looked up coldly into his. He took the hand which she did not +draw away, and whispered: "Claire, let me make you happy."</p> + +<p>She did not answer. He bent nearer. Her eyes did not shift from his, she +saw that he was going to kiss her, but she did not move. If the whole +world had come crashing down upon her, she could not have made the +slightest effort to escape.</p> + +<p>He pressed his lips against hers. She did not return his kiss, but she +did not protest. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her up. +Still she made no objection. He held her more closely, kissing her again +and again. She remained impassive, unable to summon sufficient willpower +to resist. Besides, had she not decided to be this man's wife?</p> + +<p>He was pouring into her ears short, whispered words of endearment, +giving his love free rein.</p> + +<p>"Claire—Claire," he whispered passionately, "you do love me! Say you +love me!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, must I say that?" she asked languidly.</p> + +<p>He laid her head back on the pillow tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't you?" he demanded. "You do, or you wouldn't let me act +this way. Oh, Claire, isn't that true?"</p> + +<p>"Doesn't your own heart tell you, Philip?" She could not lie easily.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. I just wanted to hear you say it, dear."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because—because it means so much to me."</p> + +<p>"How does it mean any more than my unresisting lips?" She wanted to be +fair to Philip. Would he want a wife without love?</p> + +<p>He looked at her, puzzled by her calm question.</p> + +<p>"Because, dear, it would mean that you put your seal on our divine +betrothal."</p> + +<p>"I gave you my lips, you held me in your arms, doesn't that mean love to +you?"</p> + +<p>"Claire, why do you talk that way?"</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't I? Isn't it true?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you—you seem so unlike the woman you are."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see. But you haven't told me fully why you wanted me to say I +loved you."</p> + +<p>He stood up nervously and moved a few paces away, but the patient, +self-reproachful gaze in Claire's eyes brought him back again.</p> + +<p>"Why talk of that at all, dearest?" he whispered. "We have each other. +Isn't that enough?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not. You asked me to say it, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I don't care. I won't plague you. I know you do love, me." He +kissed her again and then looked at her. Her lips had been cold.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Claire? Don't you love me? Is that why you wouldn't +give me your word?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_713" id="Page_713">[Pg 713]</a></span>It was coming at last. How could she make Philip see, and yet be fair to +him, too?</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by love." Her voice was carefully toneless.</p> + +<p>Philip's eyes lighted. "Don't you want me here beside you? Don't you +warm to my kisses? Isn't there an awakened tenderness in you at my +touch? Isn't there, dearest?"</p> + +<p>Claire's hands moved nervously up and down the edge of the comforter. +"If I should stay here with you, that would be the highest proof that I +loved you, wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>"What else?" He looked at her, hope giving his face a renewed glow.</p> + +<p>Was that all that love meant to him? "Is that what your years of thought +have taught you?" she said aloud.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, Claire, the return of passion for passion, of warmth for +warmth, of tenderness for tenderness, must be the last test, mustn't +it?"</p> + +<p>Despite her resolution her eyes narrowed ironically.</p> + +<p>Philip started, and stared at her.</p> + +<p>"Would you ever be jealous of my husband?" she asked, slowly.</p> + +<p>His head dropped. "No—and yes. Of course, I wish he hadn't been your +husband, but we can't help what fate has decreed." He raised his eyes, +and then suddenly he smiled. "Claire, is it because of him that you are +unwilling to tell me you love me?" he asked softly. "I think I can +understand. You'll have to be freed from him in some way, and we must be +married, of course."</p> + +<p>"I am free from him. To him, I am dead. Isn't that enough?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered judiciously, "if your own conscience is satisfied."</p> + +<p>She smiled a little, her eyebrows lifting in amusement. "Oh, my own +conscience dictates my every act, Philip."</p> + +<p>"I know it does," he agreed, earnestly. "But your lips were cold to my +kiss." He bent over to test the truth of his remark.</p> + +<p>"Do you forget Lawrence so easily?" Claire raised a hand over her face. +"Certainly I cannot."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," Philip said, rising hastily. "Of course he is to +be remembered. We will wait until we are alone to talk of our future."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "I should prefer that greatly."</p> + +<p>He touched his lips to her forehead tenderly, then stepped silently into +the room beyond.</p> + +<p>She heard him as he moved quietly to replenish the fire, and it seemed +to her that he made enough noise to echo from the mountains across the +lake. She must think her situation through. She was studying the look +she had read on Philip's face, and was angry with herself, yet she could +not help thinking of it and its meaning. Suddenly she remembered the +same expression on her husband's face, and she shuddered. She had +thought it beautiful then, why not now? And why should she be so +contemptuous when probably the same look had been in her own eyes when +she had raged at Lawrence because he had not taken her in his arms. +Philip was sitting out there beyond the curtain dreaming ecstatically of +the days when they would be alone in the cabin, and she smiled +ironically. After all, there was but one way out. He would find little +comfort in her ghost, and her drowned body would scarcely fire him to +passion.</p> + +<p>She rose and slipped out into the room. Lawrence was still asleep. She +did not even glance toward Philip because she foresaw his look of +proprietorship. She went straight to Lawrence, and bending over him as +if to arrange something about his blanket, she whispered softly: +"Beloved, when I am alone with him, I shall be more with you."</p> + +<p>Philip came and stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"It looks like a serious fever," he said softly.</p> + +<p>Claire listened to Lawrence's breathing and felt his temperature. She +stood up, gray with anxiety. "I'm afraid for him," she said, and there +was that in her voice which Philip did not understand.</p> + +<p>They ate their supper in silence. Claire glanced at Philip occasionally +and found in his eyes the anticipated look of tender ownership. She let +him slip out of her mind while she thought again of the after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_714" id="Page_714">[Pg 714]</a></span>noon when +Lawrence had declared his creative principle. How dearly she would love +to help him, to have him model his statue of her. He had said that she +was savage and elemental underneath her polish. He had known, then, all +the time. What a man he was! If only she knew how to find his love, to +reawaken it. But no, he would never forget. Well, he would not have been +able to care for her, anyway, she was so utterly sensual despite all her +training in culture. He would want a more spiritual woman to fire his +imagination to do great work. She tried to imagine what sort of woman +would be best for his wife.</p> + +<p>Lawrence stirred restlessly. She rose and went quickly to the bed. He +was still asleep and she stood looking down at him. In her heart was a +great tenderness and a great fear. What if he should die? Memories of +their days in the woods swept over her in waves of love.</p> + +<p>Abruptly she turned to Philip and said quietly: "Philip, until I am your +wife you must not touch me again."</p> + +<p>He looked up, startled, then smiled. "I understand, my dear," he said, +"I will not."</p> + +<p>She sat down at the table to wait for Lawrence's waking. It was late +when he did, and immediately they realized that he was worse. Claire +gave him some hot soup made from dried meal and helped Philip get him +undressed and into bed.</p> + +<p>"I'll put some blankets here and sleep on the floor beside him," Philip +whispered. "I don't in the least mind, and I can help him if he wants +help during the night."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," Claire said gratefully. She felt indebted to this man for +every kindness shown Lawrence.</p> + +<p>Long before morning she was aroused by the sound of movements out there +in the room.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she called softly.</p> + +<p>"I am looking for something in which to heat water," came Philip's +voice.</p> + +<p>She scrambled out of bed, drew on a few clothes, and went out. Lawrence +was tossing on his bed and breathing heavily. She set to work heating +the water herself, and sent Philip back to his blankets. There was a +pleasure in doing this nursing for Lawrence. She felt glad that hers +was the chance to care for him.</p> + +<p>"You're to have the best nursing a sick man ever got, Lawrence," she +said, stooping over him tenderly.</p> + +<p>He smiled faintly and whispered: "Good, Claire."</p> + +<p>"You'll be well so quick you won't remember being ill."</p> + +<p>"I know," he murmured huskily.</p> + +<p>"What do you know?" she asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I know, it's natural for you, this kindness."</p> + +<p>"Is that all you know, Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>"About all, Claire. About all, yet."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say 'yet'?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't thought it out yet."</p> + +<p>"What, Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>"My platform, my work-bench for the future."</p> + +<p>She laughed, a little sadly. "You would better stop thinking about that +for a day or so, wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. I can't, though."</p> + +<p>She drew up a chair and sat beside him. "I'm going to become a regular +guard, and if you don't sleep and let thinking wait, I'll scold +dreadfully."</p> + +<p>He tossed uneasily and turned toward her, his cheeks brilliant with +fever.</p> + +<p>"I like to hear you scold, Claire," he said. "I shall go my limit."</p> + +<p>She rubbed her cool hand across his forehead for answer.</p> + +<p>When he at last slept, she continued to watch by his side, rocking +slowly in her chair. It was peace for her to sit there and dream. There +was rest from her ceaseless questionings, and it was welcome rest.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE QUESTION ANSWERED.</h3> + + +<p>During the days that followed Claire's attitude grew into one of +motherhood. She watched over Lawrence for the least thing she might do, +the least promise of returning health. There were times when he raved in +delirium, and she listened with a swelling heart.</p> + +<p>One morning he began suddenly talking of himself. In broken sentences, +shapeless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_715" id="Page_715">[Pg 715]</a></span> phrases, half finished thoughts, he unfolded a strange tale. +Claire was glad that Philip was away at work with his traps. She sat +beside Lawrence, her hands clasped, and did not miss a word.</p> + +<p>"You see," he began one day without preliminaries, "you see, I wasn't +just given the best of chances. That was the beginning of it all. I +wasn't fairly treated." She tried to comfort him into sleep, but he did +not know she was talking to him and went on earnestly with his +unconscious revelation.</p> + +<p>"The whole business was a squalid sort of thing banked by mountains so +grand in their rugged strength that I never got used to the dirty, dusty +little half-civilized town there on the plateau. Even as a child I felt +the intolerable difference between the place and its surroundings. Men +ought to be better up there, but they aren't. They just magnify faults +with the bigness of the hills around. Lots of it was romantic, lots of +it ought never to be lost, the frank freedom, the vital living, the joy +of uncertain victory over the dirt of the mines. It made men wild, wild +to the last degree, that ever possible stumbling into gold, pure, +glittering gold. Why, I saw it as a kid, shining like stars all over the +side of the tunnel. It made even the children mad, I think. When I +modeled rude little figures out of the red clay, I was always on the +outlook for a possible gold-mine."</p> + +<p>He laughed, then went on seriously. "I didn't have the chance to grow up +learning things gradually. There was no dividing-line between vice and +virtue, all of it spread out there, street behind street, in a glow of +abandoned riot. Even virtue flashed with a loose frankness that deceived +a growing boy. It was a grand drama. Fifty thousand mad men and women!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him in amazement. This was something beyond her knowledge. +What was it all that he was talking about?</p> + +<p>"There was Josey; she didn't know. I didn't. We saw love played with in +hilarious open passion. We thought it was the thing to do. Children +oughtn't to see it quite that way."</p> + +<p>Claire felt guilty, but he stopped and when he began again he was on a +different line of old memories.</p> + +<p>"Why, when I sold papers down on the main street I could see the girls +of the district standing around, one block below, in their business +regalia. I thought at first they were angels."</p> + +<p>Claire sat in wonder and listened.</p> + +<p>"The first time I ever went down there I was eight. Eight years old, and +one of them called me from the open door of her house. When I stepped to +the door, she was coming down a stairway, her white dress open and +spread like wings at either side of her naked body. I was sure she was +an angel out of my Sunday-school book. I could scarcely take the dime +she gave me. I never forgot her kissing me and patting my head when I +stared so at her."</p> + +<p>Claire felt a strangely tender pity for the little chap she was seeing +now in her imagination.</p> + +<p>"And the fighting, dirty, freckled sons of those women—they kept me +hard at it, keeping the money I got. After that day, I went down there +often. Traded a paper with a golden-haired angel for a box of +cigarettes, the first I ever owned. It was great, wonderful, to have her +cigarettes. I smoked them with a sense of reverence.</p> + +<p>"Wright and I played hooky, and the girls hid us all day in their +shacks, played with us, teased us about sex, and taught us things we +oughtn't to have known. Poor old Wright! They sent him to the pen for +burglary after I had been gone years and was blind. I wonder if I'd have +followed him. Most likely would.</p> + +<p>"And, oh, the hills! There was old Pisga, pined to its cone point, and a +race-track, with a saloon, at its foot. I ran away out there once at a +big Fourth of July barbecue. It rained like the devil and I lounged in +the bar with jockeys and sporting girls, listening to their ribald talk.</p> + +<p>"I don't know—a street urchin in a camp, that was all I was. If I got +licked, and I did, I was a coward for years and had to give up my +pennies. I used strategy, cunning, because I was afraid to fight till I +whipped Red. That made a difference. If the old fellow I liked so hadn't +given Red a quarter to lick me, I'd have been a coward yet. It made me +so mad I licked Red."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_716" id="Page_716">[Pg 716]</a></span>Lawrence laughed again merrily.</p> + +<p>"That started me fighting, and I fought daily without provocation. +Dirty, scaly fisted little rat, whose stockings sagged around his shoes, +fighting for money in the saloons! The men liked me, too. All of them +called me their kid. I used to stand big-eyed and watch the faro-table +stacked with gold. There were days, too, when I went out alone over the +hills. I was ashamed of my little figures and afraid lest the boys find +my mud-pies, as Red had called a tiny dog that fell out of my pocket in +a fight.</p> + +<p>"One day in an electric storm I saw a man and his horse killed by +lightning. I was awed, and electricity became my god. I worshiped it +like a little heathen. I even bought penny suckers and stuck them up in +the ground where the lightning played in stormy weather.</p> + +<p>"It always seemed that the only things about the whole camp that fitted +with the hills were that girl in white and an old mountaineer who fought +with his fists alone against a gang of drunks. I don't know why. They +just belonged."</p> + +<p>He stopped and lay a long time in silence. Claire thought over what he +had said, and her heart went out to this man as if he were still the +little gamin of the hills.</p> + +<p>"Poor little chap," she murmured aloud.</p> + +<p>Lawrence half raised himself in bed, talking again, and she was obliged +to push him back.</p> + +<p>"It was all paradise, though, compared to that school where the Women's +Club sent me. I didn't want an education. Freedom was taken from me. I +was chained with discipline. I had seen too much and I told the other +marveling boys. They talked, and I was punished as a degenerate little +villain. I couldn't see why. That first winter was hell. They all +misunderstood me, and I them. I ached for my mountains again, and when +they sent me to the camp for the summer I whooped for joy.</p> + +<p>"I must have been thirteen at that time. The men in camp paid the Widow +Morgan to keep me through the summer. She had a daughter seventeen or +thereabouts. Georgia had curly hair and blue eyes. She didn't pay much +attention to me at first. I didn't care.</p> + +<p>"Then one night the widow went off to a lodge-meeting and left us alone. +Pearly and the gang came around and began throwing rocks at the house +and demanding that Georgia let them in. I was furious, and she was +nearly scared to death. She got her mother's pistol and asked me to +shoot it. I took it and, opening the door, fired into the night. The +gang slunk off, but Georgia was still frightened.</p> + +<p>"We slipped out of our clothes in trembling silence and huddled together +in her mother's bed. She was crying, and I felt very brave. I put my +arms around her and comforted her. She became quiet by and by and +slipped her arms around me. After that we found ourselves.</p> + +<p>"She said we were in love, and I guess we were. That night was the +beginning of my rebellious manhood. Her mother abused us roundly for +immoral little whiffits. I was put out, and after that the county kept +me. Georgia hated me, for she said I was to blame.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that was all right, too, but it made me bitter against what +seemed to me an unjust world. I went back to school, hating. I never +stopped hating as long as I was there. It was misunderstanding from +first to last. I never ceased rebelling against punishment for +rebellion.</p> + +<p>"It was a hopeless snarl, but it made me what I was when I entered +college, distant, sullen, and ferocious. My only joy was in my work, and +I spent all my spare time in the studio. Then the second summer I shot +off the gunpowder, and blindness came."</p> + +<p>Lawrence lay back silent, then began again.</p> + +<p>"After the accident it was a thousand times worse. I thought people +didn't like me because I was blind. They only pitied and misunderstood. +Misunderstood—that word might be my epitaph. It could certainly be +placed over my childhood's grave.</p> + +<p>"It was in college that I started thinking. Thought out my plan of +militant egoism. It seemed to succeed, but all the time I was afraid it +was only pity that sold my work. You know, Claire, as you said, I've got +to do it all over again. All of it, building a new platform, a new +work-bench. I've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_717" id="Page_717">[Pg 717]</a></span> got to allow for things. I've got to understand."</p> + +<p>In her tension, Claire walked the floor. Would he never stop? That +glimpse into his life at the widow's—who was Pearly?—and what a tough +little gang he must have grown up with! Poor boy!</p> + +<p>He did not talk much for a long time, then he kept repeating: "I must +build a new work-bench, Claire. That's the thing to do."</p> + +<p>She felt at times that she must scream at him, then she would be all +motherly tenderness. "Lawrence," she would whisper, "do it, my man. You +can, my laddie."</p> + +<p>He tossed, and chided an unseen man or woman for having helped him +through charity under the garb of admiration. He was misunderstanding +again. He thought everything was charity, pity for his blindness, and he +raved. She began to see that this sudden bitterness which poured from +his lips was the outcome of years of sorrow, the product of a +deep-burning fire to see the beauty his soul craved.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she cried, "God knows if I could I would give you my eyes!"</p> + +<p>She knew that he was consumed with the pain of his struggle to +comprehend more beauty. Even exaggerating his hunger for sight, she wept +beside him. Her whole soul yearned to help him, to give him more of the +beauty which seemed the prime need of his nature.</p> + +<p>Sometimes he prayed for it, addressing Fate, Nature, Chance, anything, +everything but God.</p> + +<p>After a silence that was beginning to frighten Claire, he began again. +At first his words were indistinct, but as she leaned closer, they +cleared of guttural sounds. She listened spellbound.</p> + +<p>"You see, I hadn't done my thinking with allowance for the whole of +human character, Claire. That was what was wrong with me. I'm doing that +now. I'm finding myself again. It is back with the beginning of things I +must start. Back with the first squirm of life in the primordial mud. +It's no use trying further back than that. No use at all. Back of that +lies only conjecture.</p> + +<p>"There was existence, perhaps, inert unconscious existence waiting to +become suddenly aware of itself, aware of its parts and its difference +from other things. Well, existence struggling, dreaming of +self-knowledge, found in a wriggling, oozing spot of protoplasm—that's +the start of it all. Feeding without hunger, moving without knowledge to +food, reproducing mechanically by division, living without instinct, +without emotion, without death. For me, that must be the beginning.</p> + +<p>"Whether death came, or what it was—a long period without food, +perhaps—that started this stuff to changing, I do not know. Maybe it +was existence following the way of greatest pressure toward selfhood. +Anyway, it started and began its journey. Up and up, out of the mud and +ooze, into light and dry dirt.</p> + +<p>"The glory of light must have been a great thing then. Think of it, +coming into light, out of wet, dark mud. I know what it would be better +than you. Light, the first great discovery of life! It must have +hastened growth—warmth, sunrays, heat, cold at night and dark again. +The glory of it breaking at dawn over the squirming, groping blind +existence of things!</p> + +<p>"God said let there be light, and there was light.</p> + +<p>"Existence demanding the thing it craved. Was that it, or existence +finding light and learning to crave it? No matter—light, a thousand +miracles of warmth and wonder! Growth was inevitable, Claire.</p> + +<p>"Then the craving learned by experience broke into new form. I don't +know what it was; a two-celled bug, perhaps—only that it was craving +that did it. Hunger and thirst after light.</p> + +<p>"Pain came at the very start of things. Wants unsatisfied drove with the +scourge of hell, forcing eyes, ears, stomach, sex into being, and out of +the squalor of it all, still goaded by incessant want, there heaved the +gigantic scaly carcass of the dinosaur. Still unaware of things, but +driven to move, to grow, to expand. Existence demanding more expression +of its awareness of self.</p> + +<p>"The beast didn't know what it was. He only grew and grew and grew, till +he spread his ugly, yearning life over hundreds of feet of ground. Eye +and ear and touch and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_718" id="Page_718">[Pg 718]</a></span> a peace of filled belly lay basking in the light, +glorying in what they found. Life was good, riotously good, finding +things, finding itself out. They fought, fed, killed, bred, all in the +effort of existence to know.</p> + +<p>"What a blood-drenched chaotic struggle for self it was, Claire!</p> + +<p>"And so, on and on and on. Touch didn't satisfy the incessant taste for +more knowledge, more life. Bodies rising like hills out of the marshes +couldn't give the keen joy that existence craved for itself.</p> + +<p>"New things again: changed, altered products of the old, bearing in +their frames the history, the memory of the old—it all came, and out of +it at last, hunger-driven for more keen life, sprang a biped, hairy, +tusked, savage, bloody, lustful, eager to live, live, live!</p> + +<p>"He was a glorious beast. In his flattened head that held the little +bloodshot eyes were memory, products of the past, things that harked +back for confirmation of present things. He had instincts—that's what +they are, instincts, memories of past sufferings—that whipped the +organism to go on into keener living. He was sexed, he was hungry, he +was vicious, he slept and ate, he bred consciously, carrying on the +eager shout within his being for more, more of life. More of existence +aware of itself!</p> + +<p>"If he killed, he gloried in the hot blood that drenched his hairless +nose, and he learned to laugh through the pleasure of a filled belly. He +learned to cry when he went hungry. Tears came, and emotions, a more +specialized instinct.</p> + +<p>"He was learning something else, too. But pain still whipped him on, +filled him with fear of non-life, and he grew cowardly. Nature had +created a new thing, a brain, a specialized mass of cells that can +comment, realize, criticise, warn, appreciate, choose better food, get +it easier, help to conquer and promote life; the biped used this new +thing to understand why he ran from the fingers that clutched at him in +the dark and he became afraid. If it brought him new pain, it also +brought him new pleasure. It was a great toy that could be used to enjoy +oneself with.</p> + +<p>"It can have the joy of bodily sensations and then recall them, study +them, comment on them, on its own instincts, its own memories. It can +dream of ways for procuring fuller life, and put the dreams into any +desired shape. Man struts from his jungle, laughing aloud, with lust for +life and joy at his fulness thereof. But all the while, pain, the +darkness, the still inert unconsciousness in existence that oppresses +and drags back into its own dead inertness, is laughing still more +heartily.</p> + +<p>"Everywhere it checks, but man in his egotism forgets that he is a +slave, bound and hampered, and boasts himself master. Death sweeps in, +lightning kills, thunder crashes over him, and filled with fear, with +something bigger than he can grasp, he falls upon his knees, and cries, +'God!'</p> + +<p>"Then begins the mess, the tangled, detestable, bloody, dirty, riotously +glorious, sublime mystery that is me. Me and you, Claire. Here we are."</p> + +<p>Claire leaned over him, her breath suspended in her eagerness.</p> + +<p>"Me, the man, specialized, sex-specialized, made to record, to enjoy, to +remember, to create, and to die at last from sheer wearing out myself +seeking life.</p> + +<p>"And you, you the woman, deeper, more vitally sexed, 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, passion, 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 lust for life +has sent children out to carry on the struggle.</p> + +<p>"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 sex, our pain."</p> + +<p>Claire caught her breath and sobbed: "Lawrence, Lawrence!"</p> + +<p>"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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_719" id="Page_719">[Pg 719]</a></span> you to speak as you did. I +see. I love you!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When Philip came in he found her sitting quietly, in her eyes a deep, +calm peace that filled him with wonder.</p> + +<p>He smiled at her, thoughtfully, and remarked: "Well, Claire, you look +happier than you have for months."</p> + +<p>"I am," she said simply.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p class="continue2"><b>TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.</b> Don't forget this magazine +is issued weekly, and that you will get the +continuation of this story without waiting a month.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1><a name="Part_IV" id="Part_IV"></a>Claire</h1> + +<h2><i>by</i><br /> +Leslie Burton Blades</h2> + +<h3>THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO<br /> +<i>BY A BLIND AUTHOR</i></h3> + + +<p class="center">This story began in the All-Story Weekly for October 5.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">ANGLES OF A TRIANGLE.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 assurance 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.</p> + +<p>The days passed 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 shore 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She saw it in his dark expression, and her heart cried out against +herself for the time of weakness. Then a great doubt would assail 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> 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 pass 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He looked up and smiled faintly, though his face remained clouded.</p> + +<p>"Philip," she said, "you look worried!"</p> + +<p>"I dare say I do," he returned quietly, but there came into his eyes a +fierce light that frightened her.</p> + +<p>"Why should you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>His eyes flashed fire at her.</p> + +<p>"Would you say you wanted to be mine and not mean it?"</p> + +<p>"No," she faltered, "I—I might have meant it then."</p> + +<p>"Does your heart change with the passing breeze?"</p> + +<p>She was feeling panicky. Her throat was dry and hot.</p> + +<p>"I hope not," she said faintly.</p> + +<p>"Bah! Does it?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, even more faintly.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>He laughed aloud. "What in Heaven's name made you act like that, +Claire?" he asked, once more kindly and agreeable.</p> + +<p>"A woman's whim!" she said, and hated herself for saying it.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand women," he laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Neither do I." It was Lawrence's voice. He had come in, just in time to +hear the last words. "Nor men, either—except in one thing."</p> + +<p>"What is the one thing?" asked Claire eagerly.</p> + +<p>"That, given a normal, healthy mind, they will sacrifice all their idols +for life. Life is the one eternally insistent thing."</p> + +<p>Philip chuckled. "You are yourself again, I see."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and stronger than ever in my faith," said Lawrence, sitting down. +"I know the price I would pay for life. It is the price every human +being would pay, if demanded."</p> + +<p>"What is that price?" Philip asked.</p> + +<p>"The whole of one's faith in God and man!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" Philip spoke curtly. "I would die before forfeiting a dozen +ideals I hold dear!"</p> + +<p>"Would you?" Lawrence looked at him quizzically. "Would you sacrifice +your own life before you would the love of your sweetheart, for +instance, if you had one?"</p> + +<p>The conversation was similar to those which they had had months before, +but the fire was nearer the surface now.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>"Yes." Philip's answer came swiftly.</p> + +<p>"Then you are a sex-maddened mountaineer!"</p> + +<p>"And you are talking like the beast you are not. I know you do not +believe that."</p> + +<p>"I know I do. I would only die for a woman if she were my life."</p> + +<p>"But any real love finds her so."</p> + +<p>"Folly! I find my work, my future, my dream of a single immortal statue +more my life than any woman!" Lawrence exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if you really do," Claire mused, half to herself.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Lawrence insisted, "although she might be necessary to that +statue. At least I believe she might—and I would feel sure of it if I +wanted her badly enough," he ended amusedly.</p> + +<p>"That merely means that you are still utterly selfish!" said Claire.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am." Lawrence was thoughtful. "It is a paradox, I am so selfish +that, although I would sacrifice myself to the last degree for a person +I loved, yet I would all the time feel that I was a fool, that I was +doing an absurd thing when life was so good."</p> + +<p>"I see," Claire observed. "And I know I would do the same."</p> + +<p>"I would do it," Philip said, "but I would not feel a fool. It would +seem to me right."</p> + +<p>Claire looked straight into his eyes. "You would not, Philip," she +declared softly. "Your own happiness would come first—and you know it."</p> + +<p>The Spaniard's gaze shifted, and there was silence in the cabin. When he +looked up his eyes had changed their expression.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he agreed steadily, "I admit it. Hereafter I mean to have what I +want from life at any cost."</p> + +<p>"Yet you will go on talking ideals," Lawrence mocked.</p> + +<p>"Yes—and thinking them, too."</p> + +<p>"While Lawrence will make the sacrifice and go on talking his +selfishness," Claire added.</p> + +<p>Both men laughed constrainedly.</p> + +<p>"And I," Claire continued, "if it is necessary, will lie to preserve my +will, and, having it secure, will use it to obtain what I want."</p> + +<p>"We are at last three delightfully frank, insufferable, unpleasant, and +very natural, likable human beings!" Lawrence laughed.</p> + +<p>"And on that basis we will work out our fates," murmured Claire.</p> + +<p>"We will do just that," Lawrence answered gaily.</p> + +<p>"Be they good or bad, we will meet our futures with perfect +self-knowledge," contributed Philip.</p> + +<p>"Then most likely they will be bad," Claire added with conviction.</p> + +<p>They gave up talking, and each abandoned himself to his own reflections. +In the minds of the two men these thoughts assumed widely differing +words, though they were the same thoughts.</p> + +<p>Philip was garbing his impulses, desires, and determinations in clothes +that furnished his habitual mental wardrobe. With their marriage, he +thought, Claire would learn the real Philip. He would treat her with +such deference, such tender respect, and such devotion that she would +see the wisdom of her choice. He would prove to her that sex mattered +little, was altogether secondary. It was her great companionship, her +dear thoughtfulness, her charming personality that he loved. Respect, +first of all: happy married life depended on respect; then, common +interest, friendship between two human beings, and, last and least +important, that wonderful emotion springing out of the divine God-given +reproductive life of both.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was thinking very different words to the same end. He thought +of her as his mate, his comrade, and his equal. He admired her brain, +smiled at the thought of their hours of intellectual pleasure, dreamed +of her as the stimulus to creation which her mind should help shape into +master work.</p> + +<p>He loved her beauty and her measureless well of bubbling energy. What a +help she could be to him! She was the greatest of all women; he wanted +her, needed her. Could he realize his dream? That was the point. Well, +no matter, or, at least, no use in speculating. He would try. If she +were willing, what a life of joy and accomplishment lay before them! If +not, he had lived alone until this time, and he could continue<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> to live +alone. Meantime, was Philip the barrier that would keep him from her? He +hoped not. He did not believe that she loved Philip. If she did, he +would be a good loser and wish her joy. His heart ached at the thought. +But, after all, one doesn't die over such things, and he would recover.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to get the supper," said Claire somewhat abruptly. She rose +and set to work.</p> + +<p>Here the thoughts of the two men flowed into an identical channel. It +was certainly good to sit and listen to her. That sound would be very +agreeable, indeed, at the end of a day, in one's own home. As for her +husband, he was out of the question. If Claire went back to him, she +might find him married or in love again, unwilling to receive her after +her long months with two men in the wilderness, suspicious of such a +thing being possible without more intimacies than he would care to +overlook. No, her husband did not matter. She would be justified and +safe in remarrying. Of course, not safe if she returned to America, but +that she would not do.</p> + +<p>At this point their thoughts diverged. Philip was seeing Claire as the +continued inmate of his cabin. Lawrence was painting a delightful mental +picture of Claire as the ever-present fairy of his studio in some South +American town, or perhaps in Paris. He preferred France; it was a land +of more brilliance, more freedom, and certainly much more appreciation +of the things in which they were interested. Besides, his work would +carry more prestige in the world if it came from Europe.</p> + +<p>He thanked the memory of old Roger Burton, of Cripple Creek, and he +rejoiced that he would be able to give Claire the home to which she was +entitled. He smiled as his thoughts went back to the mines and the dirty +little newsboy an old man had befriended. Burton's quarter to Red had +kept Lawrence, the boy, from becoming a coward, and Burton's slender +provision for the college graduate would now insure happiness for +Lawrence the man. Many times before he had laughed scornfully at the +untouched interest from the miner's bonds. He could make his own living. +But now there would be Claire. The old man would have been glad to see +his protégé happy in the love of such a woman.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Claire was doing her work automatically. In her mind there was +pleasure at the thought that Lawrence was listening to her movements. +But she was filled with a dead weight that seemed likely to break her +down with its dreadful pressure. Vaguely she wished that she had never +seen Philip, even that she had never seen Lawrence, or that she had +perished with him in the mountains.</p> + +<p>How had she ever placed herself in the position she was now in? She had +come by the way of a terrible road and, looking ahead, she could see +nothing but sadness, anguish, and a life of dull discontent with +Philip—that or death!</p> + +<p>Lawrence had had time and opportunity since his recovery to declare +himself, and he had not done so. She had had time and opportunity to +tell him frankly of her own feeling, but she had not done so. She did +not know why. Now she could not. Philip had given her to understand his +desperate determination to marry her, and, after all she had said and +done, she had no right to refuse him. If she told him the truth he might +kill Lawrence or her, or both of them. These tragic idealists, she +exclaimed to herself, what a tangle they can make out of life!</p> + +<p>Oh, what a noose she had managed to fasten around her own neck! Would +the problem never be settled, one way or the other?</p> + +<p>What would she do if Philip tried to force her to marry him? Kill him? +Was she, then, so primitive, so savage, so much the slave of her own +desires that she would slay to gain her end? She remembered Lawrence's +talk when he was ill, "We killed those days, Claire, killed because we +wanted fuller life, fuller knowledge, fuller expansion of our own vital +existence; we were gropers after more light!"</p> + +<p>"Supper!" she said dully, and then sat down.</p> + +<p>They ate in silence save for the occasional necessary word, and +afterward went immediately to bed.</p> + +<p>Claire soon fell asleep, with the last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> thought in her mind—to live as +she wanted to live she would pay any price!</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE ROMANTIC REALIST.</h3> + + +<p>It was the 1st of May when Lawrence at last found himself alone with +Claire and decided to speak. The instant he thought of declaring himself +he was surprised at his own mental state. A panic seized him, his heart +beat unsteadily, his mouth grew dry, and he could think of nothing to +say.</p> + +<p>They were out on the lake shore. Philip had left them on his last long +trip across the plateau before starting for civilization. The warm +spring wind blew around them, laden with scent of pine and flower. At +their feet the water rippled and cooed little melodies. Claire sat very +still, gazing wistfully at the man beside her. Her heart was a lead +weight, and her brain ached with the strain of her problem.</p> + +<p>It was late afternoon. All day she had wandered with Lawrence in +comparative silence, wishing that he would speak, and observing that +something troubled him.</p> + +<p>Finally she moved uneasily, took her hand from her cheek, and said +half-dreamily, "You aren't a bit talkative."</p> + +<p>He gulped, swallowed, and laughed. "I'm too busy trying to think of +something to say," he told her amusedly.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" She was provoked in the extreme. "Have I ceased to suggest +conversation? You are very tired of me, then."</p> + +<p>"Quite the contrary. So far from it, you paralyze my tongue."</p> + +<p>"How complimentary!" she said. "Then I suppose your excessive arguments +with Philip denote your weariness of him?"</p> + +<p>"They do."</p> + +<p>"I suppose, if you were really fond of a person, you would never talk at +all?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. I don't know but that you are right."</p> + +<p>She laughed gaily. "Lawrence," she said, "you are certainly amusing when +you attempt to be flattering!"</p> + +<p>He grew warm and uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't trying to flatter. Can't you see that?" He was almost wistful.</p> + +<p>"I don't see it. No, if you weren't trying to flatter you were surely +doing the unintended in a most intricately original manner."</p> + +<p>He shifted his position and did not answer.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said, "although you aren't accustomed to flattering, +you've taken to doing it almost constantly."</p> + +<p>"Well, why shouldn't I?" he asked curiously.</p> + +<p>"Why not, if you care to?" Her reply was as gentle as if she were a +submissive object of his whims.</p> + +<p>He felt that now was the time to speak, but he could not bring himself +to the point. The thought of his blindness killed all confidence.</p> + +<p>"Hang it all," he broke out, quite as if it were a part of their +previous talk, "blindness certainly does rob one of his will!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him apprehensively. "I thought you had decided you were +the master of that."</p> + +<p>"I had, but it seems I was mistaken."</p> + +<p>Claire laid her hand on his arm tenderly. Her eyes were dazzling.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence, you must master that, you know."</p> + +<p>"Why?" he said thoughtfully. "If I shouldn't, it would mean only one +more human animal on the scrap heap!"</p> + +<p>"But you don't want to be there."</p> + +<p>"Of course not. No one does. I don't imagine any one chooses it."</p> + +<p>"If you go there it will be because you choose it."</p> + +<p>"I wish I saw things your way," he observed. "At times I feel as sure of +success as if it were inevitable, and then suddenly down sweeps the +black uncertainty, and I am afraid, timid, and unnerved."</p> + +<p>She looked at him sadly.</p> + +<p>"Don't you believe in your work, Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is about all I do believe in."</p> + +<p>"Then what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"It is that, after all, thousands of men have believed in their work to +no avail. One can never know whether he is a fad or a real artist. It +isn't only that, either.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> One's work, when it is his life, requires so +much besides to make it possible. It is that which gives me the blue +fear you see. I always imagine that the thing I want just then is +absolutely essential to my better work. Perhaps it is. I don't know. I +know only that I am persuaded that it is. Then I set about to get that +thing and I fail."</p> + +<p>"But do you always fail?" Claire was unconsciously pleading her own +cause.</p> + +<p>"Not always. Just often enough to scare me to death when the biggest +need of my life seems just out of reach."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Lawrence," she laughed. "When you were sick you talked as if +you could reach out and pull down the stars, if you needed them in an +endeavor to complete your life."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes I think I could, then the reality of life comes crashing +through the walls of my dream-palace, and, behold, I am standing +desolate and abandoned, grasping at lights which are even too far away +to be seen! I am clawing darkness for something I fancied I could reach, +while, as far as I am concerned, it is clear out of space and time."</p> + +<p>She sat pensively looking across the lake.</p> + +<p>"Yet you keep on reaching, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—and no. I always wish I could. There are times, Claire, when I +don't want to be a realist, don't want to face life as it is, when it +seems too tawdry to be valuable just as it is; then I reach out into the +night and cry, 'Let me be the maddest of dreamers, the wildest of +idealists, a knight of fancy seeking the illusive dream!'"</p> + +<p>Claire laughed aloud as she said, "And don't you know, dear man, that +that is just what you do become at times?"</p> + +<p>"I know it. That's the joke of it. All the while I mock myself for being +a romancing idiot!"</p> + +<p>"What a state of mind!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"It isn't pleasant. Then, worse than that, when I attain my star, I +spoil it with too much scrutiny."</p> + +<p>She started. "What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Just that. I make a mess of it."</p> + +<p>"Still I don't understand."</p> + +<p>He thought for a moment, then said sadly: "Take the cherub I carved +there"—he nodded in the direction of the house—"I was wild with +creative fervor when I did that. I put into it a thousand little +thoughts that flashed with imaginative fire. I dreamed things, felt +things that should have made a masterpiece beyond all masterpieces, and +at last the thing was finished. Still under the heat of enthusiasm, I +felt of it, tested it, and found it good. Well, a week later, when the +imaginative flame was gone, I went back and looked at it again. It was +poor, cold, imperfect, not at all what it should have been. I dreamed a +star and made a block of poor wooden imagery."</p> + +<p>"But you underestimate your work. To me the cherub is still a star."</p> + +<p>He laughed. "It is what others see of good in my work that makes me hope +that sooner or later I will do the thing that will stand eternally a +star of the first magnitude."</p> + +<p>"And you will, Lawrence," she said earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps." He was pensive. "Perhaps not. That is where the rest of life +enters in. I want many things; they seem necessary if I am to attain my +eternal star. I am afraid I shall never get them!"</p> + +<p>"Have you tried?"</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't the courage. If they should be beyond my grasp, if +obtaining them, they should prove to be wrong and not the real things I +need, after all, what then?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know." She waited to watch a little colored cloud float by, and +then continued: "Isn't the real interest in life the game you play?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is, but it's hard on other people."</p> + +<p>"Why—and how?"</p> + +<p>"Suppose," Lawrence said slowly, "you were the one thing I thought I +needed."</p> + +<p>Claire leaned toward him, her lips apart, her heart beating wildly.</p> + +<p>"Suppose I were sure of it, and set about to make you part of my life, +well, if I succeeded and then"—he smiled sadly—"found that you were +not the necessity, not the answer to my need, what of you? It would be +an inferno for you, and none<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> the less equally terrible for me! We +couldn't help it. Under such circumstances you would be right in saying +that I had been unfair. I don't know, certainly you would be right in +charging your possible unhappiness to me."</p> + +<p>"Under your supposition, Lawrence," she answered evenly, "if you +obtained my love, wouldn't it then be my game, my risk in the great +gamble for deeper life? Wouldn't it be my mistake for having thought you +were what I needed?"</p> + +<p>"What if you still thought you needed me after I was sure that I did not +need you?"</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders. "I am too fond of life and too eager to know +its possibilities to let that hurt me long. Possibly I should weep, be +cynical, maybe even do something desperate, but at last I would come up +smiling, calm in the faith that my life was deeper, richer for the +experience, and that yours was, too. Or if it proved that yours was not, +I should be amused at the shallowness of the Claire that was, for having +been so simple a dunce as to imagine that you were worth while. I should +thank you for teaching the present Claire to forsake that shallow one, +and should find you a rung on my ladder of life!"</p> + +<p>He laughed merrily. "You are strong in your faith, Claire."</p> + +<p>"Yes. This winter and you have made me strong," she answered.</p> + +<p>"I have made you strong in it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Last summer, when you dragged me out of the surf, I was full of a +number of ideas I no longer possess."</p> + +<p>"But what have I done?"</p> + +<p>"You have lived stridently all your life."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so. What of it?"</p> + +<p>"I see that is the thing most worth doing."</p> + +<p>"What will your husband say to such a doctrine?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I am not going back to him. We are not the same people we +were a year ago, and he would no more love the present Claire than I +should love the present Howard."</p> + +<p>The sky deepened from pink to crimson, but Claire's eyes were staring +blankly on the ground.</p> + +<p>"Claire, what do you think is essential to great work?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. To keep at it most likely." She was digging with a little +stick in the grass.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you're right," he agreed. "But sometimes I think it is a lot of +other things; romantic wandering over the earth, a deep and lasting +love, any number of such external factors."</p> + +<p>"You don't call love external, do you?"</p> + +<p>"I mean a permanent love," he laughed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, perhaps those are necessary, certainly they would be a help +to you, they would be to any one. But, after all, even a woman isn't +absolutely essential to a man in order that he create great art."</p> + +<p>"I think she is," Lawrence insisted.</p> + +<p>"Very well, perhaps she is, but"—Claire laughed skeptically—"I know +that she is not the all in all, the alpha and omega, the 'that without +which nothing,' that she is so often told she is by seeking males."</p> + +<p>"No," he agreed slowly, "in rare cases of great love that may be true, +but in most cases it isn't."</p> + +<p>"It is more likely that what you, the abstract male, really mean is that +you must have some woman as wife and housekeeper."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps that is so, although even that needs qualifying."</p> + +<p>"I know," she said, "but why not be frank about it both ways; that is +precisely her situation as well as his. There ought to be less +sentimental rubbish and more plain sense about all of it. Women would +suffer less from shattered illusions, they would grow accustomed to +reality, and be considerably less idiotic in their romantic caperings."</p> + +<p>"I admit it," Lawrence said, smiling; "and yet"—he paused—"I want to +be the maddest of romanticists, I want to say those things to the woman +I love, I want to think them about her, I want to feel them all, all +those dear, false romantic deceptions. I do, in fact, even though my +brain agrees with you."</p> + +<p>"So should I, and I would." Then she added softly under her breath, "I +do."</p> + +<p>Lawrence turned a little toward her, his fingers gripping the grass in +front of him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>"Claire," he said slowly, "I—I want to say them, think them, believe +them about and with you."</p> + +<p>She did not move. Over her there swept a great joy, and her thinking +stopped. She was feeling all the dear things she had just condemned, and +she looked at her lover. He was blind. He could not see what was in her +face, and he was not sure that he interpreted her silence correctly. He +was waiting, anguishing, for her answer. She realized then what it was +he needed more than he himself knew.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she cried joyfully, slipping into his arms, "I know what you +need, beloved!"</p> + +<p>He laughed exultantly as he showered kisses upon her eagerly upturned +face.</p> + +<p>"I guess you do, sweetheart," he consented. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>She settled down with a sigh of content, her head against his shoulder, +and announced, very much like a child saying what it knows to be wisely +true: "You need a woman who is keen enough to think with you and be eyes +for you, natural and unspoiled by conventional sham enough to be your +heart's answer, self-willed enough to be herself and deny you and your +selfishness, and, above all, mother enough to care for you as she would +a child. I believe I am that woman, dearest boy!"</p> + +<p>He held her tight in his arms and smiled.</p> + +<p>"I not only think, I know you are."</p> + +<p>For a long time they sat in silence, dreaming, loving, enjoying, and +caring nothing for all the rest of the world. At last Claire raised her +head from his shoulder and whispered, "Lawrence, before I would be +separated from you, I am afraid I would kill!"</p> + +<p>He chuckled merrily. "Good!" he said. "That sounds proper. So would I. +We are alive because our ancestors killed to live, they fought to mate, +so shall we, if need be."</p> + +<p>She remembered Philip and shuddered slightly.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Claire?" Lawrence drew her closer.</p> + +<p>She did not answer. She was wondering how to tell him about Philip, and +afraid.</p> + +<p>"Are you filled with terror at the mere thought of murder!" he asked.</p> + +<p>She moved uneasily in his arms. "No, but I can't say I like to even +think of such a possibility."</p> + +<p>"Don't, then. It isn't very likely to happen," he comforted.</p> + +<p>She remained silent, but her pleasure was not untroubled. Her whole +impulse was to wait, but her brain kept demanding that she tell him now, +and she gathered herself for the effort.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence"—she hesitated—"I—I have something I must tell you."</p> + +<p>"All right. Go ahead; but confessions never do much good."</p> + +<p>She drew away from him tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Because my whole being wants to be in your arms, I will not—not while +I tell you," she said, sitting beside him. "I want you to hear and think +without my body in your arms as a determining factor in your answer."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Go ahead. I promise to be an emotionless judge."</p> + +<p>"Can you?" she asked quickly.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "but I will."</p> + +<p>They both laughed, and she nerved herself to talk.</p> + +<p>"It's about Philip," she said timidly.</p> + +<p>He started.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell me about him, Claire," he said. "It can't do any good, and +it's hard for you, I see. Whatever you are or were to Philip doesn't +matter to me in the least. The Claire of this morning wasn't my mate. It +is only Claire from now on that counts, and she is not in any way bound +to Philip for whatever may have occurred in the past."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wish that were true!" she moaned.</p> + +<p>"It is true," he asserted.</p> + +<p>"But you don't understand. Let me go on, please."</p> + +<p>"Surely," he answered. "Say as much or as little as you wish."</p> + +<p>She told him then, falteringly, sometimes wondering at his calm, +expressionless face as she talked. She was filled with dread, for he sat +as still as death, without a word, without a change of expression to +show her what he was thinking. She made many corrections to her +explanation, and supplied<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> bits of comment in an effort to discover +herself how it all had happened. There was nothing of apology in her +attitude, however, and she finally concluded with an account of that +afternoon in her bedroom, and what she had said to Philip since that +day.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said at last, "you know all about it. You can do as you +please, of course. If you choose to go on, we will have to find some +solution together. Philip will not take it easily. Of that I am sure. He +is more than likely to become desperate."</p> + +<p>She waited. Lawrence did not move. His face was seriously thoughtful, +and she was filled with a growing fear that made it harder and harder to +wait for him to speak.</p> + +<p>When she could stand it no longer, she shook his arm.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence, why don't you say something?" she cried.</p> + +<p>He read the fear in her voice, and laughed caressingly, as he took her +in his arms.</p> + +<p>"I thought you knew it wouldn't alter our futures," he said. "I was only +trying to think out a just solution unpersuaded by your body in my +arms."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" She laughed comfortably. He was making fun of her, and she was not +averse to it.</p> + +<p>"It certainly looks as if Philip were up against a bad future," he went +on, amusedly.</p> + +<p>"Philip!" she cried, startled. "Are you pitying him all this time?"</p> + +<p>"Whom else?" Lawrence demanded. "We don't need pity, do we?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you selfish lover!" she chided. "I have been needing and do need +it. Philip worries me."</p> + +<p>"I see," he mused. "Well, accept my condolences, and prepare to pass +them on to Philip. Poor devil! When you and I are back in our world, he +will indeed need pity."</p> + +<p>"Suppose he takes steps to see that I don't go back?" she chanced.</p> + +<p>"He can scarcely compel you to live with him."</p> + +<p>"He can, and he will. He isn't as civilized as he appears. If need be, +he would keep me locked up here and make me his by force, or kill me. +He told me so."</p> + +<p>Lawrence shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Romantic raving for effect!" he exclaimed. "But if he should happen to +try that, well, I think my argument might be as effective as his."</p> + +<p>"But how do you propose to stop him? I tell you, he is in earnest." +Claire was insistent.</p> + +<p>"Why, in whatever way is necessary. If it is my life against his, I'll +give him the best I've got."</p> + +<p>She looked at Lawrence in wonder. He was as calm as if he had been +making small talk at a theater-party.</p> + +<p>"Can you plan it so—so carelessly, like that?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Why not? I could hardly allow him to take you by force. I wouldn't +choose a fight as a diversion, but once in, I wouldn't stop short of his +life. And I wouldn't feel any compunction afterward, either."</p> + +<p>"Well," she said quickly, "it won't be necessary."</p> + +<p>"I think not." He smiled. "We need say nothing about our plans. Once we +get into town, all the world is ours, and we can quietly depart, leaving +Philip Ortez a very pleasant memory."</p> + +<p>They both laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>Neither of them allowed for that vast portion of human character which +lies beyond the knowledge of the most keen-visioned. Claire was more +familiar with the distinctly male phases of Philip than +Lawrence—perhaps a woman always is—but they were too happy to give the +matter any real consideration, and, after the fashion of all lovers, +they shut out the third person from their little self-bound universe.</p> + +<p>The whole world seemed a friendly sphere whose entire action was merely +to bring them together, and they were utterly oblivious to Philip and +his new attitude. It seemed so impossible that anything serious could +arise to separate them from each other.</p> + +<p>It was late when Philip returned, and he was instantly aware of the +change in his guests. The old, serious silence was gone from Lawrence; +he was not the speculative man to whom Philip was accustomed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> His talk +was light, pleasantly humorous, and very genial. He was, in short, the +lover. Claire, too, shone with a new radiance.</p> + +<p>Doubt rearose in Philip's heart, and grew rapidly into suspicion. He +became less responsive to their chatter. His dark eyes grew somber with +misgiving, and love swelled into longing that made him feel sure that +Claire was necessary to his life. Without her there could be no living +for him. He wondered if she and Lawrence had found love. "If they have," +he argued, "there can be but one explanation. Claire is unreliable, +vicious, and dangerous." His aching desire to possess her did not +lessen, however. It became deeper, in fact, with each succeeding thought +of her as a wanton at heart, and he set his teeth over his will, +assuring himself that all would be well when Lawrence was gone.</p> + +<p>He took to avoiding absences, and to watching furtively for some +confirmation of his suspicion. Claire was instinctively cautious, and he +saw nothing that could actually be construed against her. He was of that +type of man whose love, burning into jealousy, does battle with ideals +which stand against his suspicions and demand actual physical proof +before retiring and allowing the beast to run riot.</p> + +<p>He knew no middle ground. Once he had seen that which would condemn +Claire, he would be utterly savage. His soul anguished to bitterness at +every thought against her purity and truth. He could not accept her as +she was. His suspicion painted her black with the sticky ink of a morbid +idealist, while his faith, rising from the same ideals, made her seem +almost ethereal. His longing for her was an acute physical pain, and he +never allowed his ideals to stop his romancing. He insisted that his +desire be stated in masking phrases and deceiving glories of chivalrous +prattle. He was so torn by his conflicting emotions and ideals that he +was fast arriving at a state where his action would be that of a wounded +beast at bay. He did not know and would not admit that his own distorted +view of Claire was back of his own condition. True to his type, he +carried this war in silence, and sought support for his fast-weakening +ideals in argument. He was wise. Defend your faith if you would keep it +glowing.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE LAST DISCUSSION.</h3> + + +<p>The time of their departure was at hand. There had been two days of +intense packing of the food and clothing necessary for their +two-hundred-mile walk. Now that was behind them, and after a short trip +which Philip must take the following morning, they would be off for the +ten or fifteen miles they hoped to cover that day.</p> + +<p>When night came they were overjubilant, and they sat before the cabin +watching the lake as it shimmered in the moonlight. Claire was pensively +silent, though her heart sang. She was dreaming out her days, painting +them on the moonlit water, and she paid very little heed to the two men, +though unconsciously her whole personality leaned toward Lawrence. What +they were saying she did not at first know, but gradually her attention +was caught and she listened earnestly with an ever-growing fear in her +heart.</p> + +<p>She saw the deep fire that burned in Philip's eyes, and she realized +that Lawrence was unaware of how his provocative, half-humorous ironies +were stirring the volcano within the man who sat beside him.</p> + +<p>"No man has a right," Philip was saying, "to think of a woman in his +house unless he can think of her as altogether trustworthy, pure, and +beyond temptation. If he does think of her differently, he is a beast, +and wants a mistress, not a wife."</p> + +<p>Lawrence laughed carelessly. "The average man wants both in one," he +said. "Personally, so far as your talk about suspicion goes, who needs +to think either way? I'm sure I don't. I'm quite content to live with a +woman, giving and taking what we can enjoy together, and not asking that +she limit her time and devotion to me. She may have various outside +interests of her own. In fact, I would prefer that life should hold a +separate work for her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you do not care. You are too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> selfish to feel any responsibility +for a woman's soul. I would feel depraved if I did not guard my wife's +soul by my very faith in her."</p> + +<p>"Why should you guard her soul? Isn't the average woman intelligent +enough to look out for herself? What she does, she does because she +wants to, and for Heaven's sake, man, let her have the right to freedom +of being."</p> + +<p>"But real freedom of being lies in her dependence on me as the head of +the house," Philip protested.</p> + +<p>"If you happen to be the head of the house," Lawrence added jestingly.</p> + +<p>"But I would be the head of the house. It is my right and my duty."</p> + +<p>"Poor Mrs. Ortez, if there ever is one," Lawrence continued, joking. +"She is to be guarded by a great, aggressive, possessing husband. What +if she happens to want something you don't approve of?"</p> + +<p>"She won't. A good woman doesn't."</p> + +<p>"But suppose your woman isn't good, and does?"</p> + +<p>"I should have to explain to her her mistake."</p> + +<p>"And then when she says, 'But I don't regard it as a mistake, I think it +was quite right,' what will you do?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have a woman who would hold such views."</p> + +<p>"What is it you want for a wife, Philip? A brainless feminine body who +is content to be your slave?"</p> + +<p>"I should be ashamed to speak of any woman I cared for in those terms. +One doesn't marry a woman who can be thought of in terms of sex."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps 'one doesn't.' I would. I should want her to be very well aware +of her exact physical potentialities, and to think enough about them to +understand herself."</p> + +<p>"Then you would want an unwholesome wife, my friend."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I want a natural one, that's all. Moreover," he added +joyously, "I shall have one."</p> + +<p>Philip glanced at him quickly. Into his mind flashed the memory of +Claire's words in the room that fatal afternoon.</p> + +<p>"I shall never marry such a woman," he declared, and added: "But I mean +to have one whose devotion is so pure that even her talk to me of such +things will be holy."</p> + +<p>Lawrence laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>"Philip," he said, still chuckling, "you seem to think we human beings +are half supernatural and half stinking dirt. Why, in Heaven's name, +don't you once see us as plain, healthy, intelligent animals?"</p> + +<p>"Because we're half gods, half beasts."</p> + +<p>"So I was once told by the son of an ancient mind whose farthest mental +frontier reached <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> 1123."</p> + +<p>Philip rose and faced Lawrence, then looked shamefacedly at Claire, and +sat down again.</p> + +<p>"You think you are advanced because you are still unaware of anything +but beasthood!"</p> + +<p>Lawrence grinned complacently.</p> + +<p>"I am always amused at the way men speak of beasts as if they were +something base," he said. "'Beast' should not be a term of opprobrium. +The average dog or elephant, for example, is fairly wholesome and quite +naturally proper in his fulfilment of instincts. It is more than one can +say for men. Yes, I am a beast, if by that you you mean a physical +being; and if humanity ever does get anywhere in quest for a soul I +suspect it will have to start from that very admission."</p> + +<p>"Of course"—Philip hesitated a little—"we are animals in that sense. +But who can think of us as nothing more? Take Claire, for example. We +both know her better than any one else. I could scarcely think of her as +an animal, subject only to its instincts. Even allowing that she is a +very intelligent animal, it isn't all or even the better part of her, +any more than it is of any good woman."</p> + +<p>The speech was self-revealing, and Lawrence smiled.</p> + +<p>"Now, it is strange," he observed; "that is precisely the way I should +think of Claire if I wanted to see her in the best possible light, as +the most splendidly intelligent, healthy animal I ever knew."</p> + +<p>"You are more insulting than you intend. I am glad that you do not mean +to be," Philip growled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>"Tra-la-la. I shouldn't insult her for a good deal."</p> + +<p>"Yet your attitude is debasing," Philip retorted.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, perhaps. She has my apology if she thinks so."</p> + +<p>"But you can't actually mean what you say," Philip went on. "Your +attitude would lead you to make a cave of your home, and a mere lair of +your bed."</p> + +<p>"Which, by the way, very elaborately arranged, and embellished with +thousands of psychological phases, products of the most highly +specialized part of me, is exactly what my home would be."</p> + +<p>"Well, I certainly should deplore your household."</p> + +<p>"Go as far as you like. It ought to be a fairly comfortable home, with +its basis on frankness, oughtn't it, Claire?"</p> + +<p>Philip's eyes flashed.</p> + +<p>Claire hesitated, fearing lest she provoke him further, and said +cautiously: "Yes, it ought to be based on frankness."</p> + +<p>"But frankness doesn't mean an attitude of mind like that," Philip +protested.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" Lawrence asked.</p> + +<p>"It means an established order where love makes it possible for two +beings to speak their thoughts freely one to the other," Philip said, +with the air of defining infinity.</p> + +<p>"Does it? Well, if that is frankness by definition, I have known many +women with whom I was in love, but neither they nor I knew it until this +minute."</p> + +<p>Lawrence laughed. Philip flushed, shrugged his shoulders, and stood up.</p> + +<p>"I thank goodness I do not see things as you do," he said.</p> + +<p>"Even the parable of the Pharisee has its modern aspect," Lawrence +murmured chucklingly.</p> + +<p>Philip stood looking moodily across the lake, and fortunately did not +catch his words.</p> + +<p>"I think I shall walk a little," he said coldly. "I can't sleep until I +have walked some of your conversation out of my soul."</p> + +<p>"Go to it," Lawrence said with a smile. "I didn't mean to corrupt you."</p> + +<p>"You didn't. You simply make me angry. I'm sorry, but you do."</p> + +<p>"Yes? So am I. However, it won't last much longer, Philip."</p> + +<p>Both men smiled at the thoughts that came with those words.</p> + +<p>"I think I shall go in," Lawrence went on. "I shall want sleep for the +big start to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Philip looked hopefully at Claire. She rose with a sigh of weariness, +pretending not to see him.</p> + +<p>"So shall I," she said. "Good night, both of you."</p> + +<p>She was gone into the cabin, and Philip looked disappointed. He turned +down the lake shore, dreaming of the end of his journey, rebelling at +the necessity for Claire to listen to Lawrence's talk, and rejoicing at +how different his life with her would be.</p> + +<p>Inside the cabin, Lawrence closed the door and stepped into the room. +Claire stood waiting silently before him, and when he came to her, she +threw her arms happily around his neck. He laughed and caught her up.</p> + +<p>"So you lie in wait for me, do you?" he teased.</p> + +<p>"Why not? I want to capture my man," she said softly.</p> + +<p>"You have him, dearest. And, by the way"—he sat down and drew her on to +the arm of his chair—"permit me to extend you my sympathy for the +suffering you must have experienced at the thought of living with +Philip."</p> + +<p>She shuddered a little, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Such frankness as his home would permit!" she said. "I'm afraid our +hearth would not radiate warmth."</p> + +<p>"Nothing could warm such a home into anything like the real thing," +Lawrence mused. "It was my privilege when in college to stay for a time +in a home where the people had really attained the ideal. It was the +only home that ever made me envious."</p> + +<p>"I shall make you such a home, dear," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"No, we will have a mere cave, a lair," he laughed.</p> + +<p>She shook her long hair down over his face playfully.</p> + +<p>"Will you be a savage old cave man?" she asked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>"I shall. As savage as they ever made them in the golden age," he +answered, and drew her down against him.</p> + +<p>"I shall like that," she said, her eyes full of a warm, dreamy light.</p> + +<p>"You will be terribly abused by your beast husband," Lawrence said +gaily.</p> + +<p>"I think sometimes, Lawrence, that I could enjoy being hurt by your +hands—having them really cause me pain."</p> + +<p>He gripped her tightly against him and his hands tightened.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said, "a man never knows what there is in his nature till a +woman like you whispers in his ear. You make me afraid at what I feel +within me."</p> + +<p>"I know," she said. "I'm afraid, too, of what there is in you, but just +the same I'm going to be the happiest woman in the world."</p> + +<p>"I hope so," he said. "But you will have to defend yourself against +selfishness."</p> + +<p>"I have to do that already," she laughed, "but I don't mind. I can, and +that is the main thing. Besides, when you really want anything very +much, you have a way of forcing me to want it, too, my master-lover!"</p> + +<p>He laughed joyously. "Claire," he said, "if we ever do go to smash, you +and I, there will have been a glorious day and a glorious house to smash +with. It won't be a petty breaking of toy dishes!"</p> + +<p>"No," she whispered, "it will be the breaking of life's foundations."</p> + +<p>She slipped from his arms and into her room. Philip was coming in. +Lawrence sat down in a chair and Philip threw himself on his bed in +silence.</p> + +<p>He was caught in the inevitable result of his beliefs. He had argued +with Lawrence because he was troubled. His whole being was filled with a +great fear. Remembering how Lawrence and Claire had acted lately, he had +been thrown into a fever of jealous rage. He was utterly beyond his +depth now, and he was silent because to speak would have meant to break +into accusation. His imagination had pictured Claire in Lawrence's arms +while he was gone; if he had actually known the truth it would have been +less agonizing than the picture.</p> + +<p>He lay there filled with his own thoughts and dreading the moment when +Lawrence would come and lie down beside him. Behind her curtain he heard +Claire moving about, humming a little song, and it added to his torture. +He turned restlessly on his bed and groaned.</p> + +<p>Lawrence raised his head. He, too, was dreaming of Claire, but his +imaginings, vividly alluring in their appeal, were filled with the +content of happiness. Claire was his. That was certain, and those sweet +dreams should be fulfilled again and again in his life, with a growing +depth that would make them the more beautiful. What a creature of wonder +she was—and she was his—his, to love, to enjoy, to master, and to work +for. Yes, and to work with. He would find her the needed impulse and +idea to form his great work. She would make him the creative artist, the +sculptor that he felt he had the power to be.</p> + +<p>Philip muttered something, and Lawrence turned toward him.</p> + +<p>"Feeling bad?" he asked genially.</p> + +<p>Philip did not answer.</p> + +<p>"You aren't ill, are you?" Lawrence's voice was full of real concern. He +was thinking that it would be bad if they had to stay here a while +longer.</p> + +<p>"No. Only in spirit. I will be all right to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Philip turned over, and Lawrence sat down again to dream.</p> + +<p>For a long time he remained there, meditating, and at last he arose to +go to bed. Philip was asleep and breathing heavily. Claire was moving a +little. Lawrence stopped to listen. The curtain parted, her arms slipped +around his neck, and silently there in the darkness she kissed him +passionately, eagerly. He held her tightly, her soft, warm figure +thrilling him with joy.</p> + +<p>Philip turned restlessly, and she hastily drew back, stealing a last +swift kiss. Lawrence walked toward his bed. He heard a low, stifling +little laugh, then all was still in the cabin. Claire had laughed for +very joy at her love. He smiled tenderly. Dear little woman, she was +indeed a wealth untold to him. What a life theirs would be after they +got away from Philip!</p> + +<p>Poor Philip, his would indeed be a sad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> fate, with his ideals here to +worry him after they were gone. Well, he wasn't the sort that one could +help. Let him work out his own destiny. Lawrence lay down comfortably, +and sending a thousand dear thoughts flying across the silent room, he +fell asleep while he smiled at his own romancing.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE LAW OF LIFE.</h3> + + +<p>The last morning at the cabin was bright and sunny, with the warm +mystery of the day promising an infinity of strength for the future. All +three of them felt it and were carried along in dreams of anticipated +relief. Breakfast over, Philip helped Lawrence and Claire get their +packs ready. When everything was done, he said cheerily: "I will be gone +less than an hour in getting that farthest trap—I am going to make +quick speed—and then we will be off."</p> + +<p>They laughed with the joy that was filling their hearts.</p> + +<p>"Don't be longer than you can help, Philip," Claire admonished, and +Lawrence added: "Every minute that divides us from our life ahead seems +an eternity."</p> + +<p>Claire smiled at the dear thoughts his words provoked.</p> + +<p>"Good," said Philip in the doorway. "I'll hurry." And he was gone.</p> + +<p>Claire and Lawrence stood in the doorway while Philip went singing down +the lake shore. Her eyes filled with a warm light, and she slipped her +hand into Lawrence's.</p> + +<p>"At this moment, dear," she said, "I feel only pity for him. He is going +to be hurt."</p> + +<p>"Who wouldn't be, dearest, at losing you?"</p> + +<p>"Always flattering," she teased. They stood arm in arm, leaning against +the door-casing.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said, "let's take a last walk around our estate. The place +where I first found the real, you will always be beautiful to me. I'm +less blind this morning than I've been in my life."</p> + +<p>"Of course you are," she said gaily. "You've acquired two good eyes."</p> + +<p>"And two dear hands and a very wonderful personality that makes me +doubly able," he said softly.</p> + +<p>They wandered out across the plateau in the direction from which they +had first entered it. Their conversation was broken and often +meaningless, but eminently pleasing to them both.</p> + +<p>"Dear heart," Claire mused softly, "you don't know what that poor, +freezing, underfed woman in your naked arms felt when she heard you +muttering that you needed her, as you stumbled down this ravine."</p> + +<p>"How did she feel?"</p> + +<p>Claire was dreaming back, and she wanted to tell him, but she found her +emotions too complex and too rapid for expression.</p> + +<p>"And then when you added that it was to use her as a subject for a stone +image," laughed Claire, "she was furious with you, and yet she was very +sure that she didn't want you to care about her in any other way."</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps I am making a mistake," he jested.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, my dearest, but I am so glad of it that I don't care if you +are."</p> + +<p>He caught her in his arms. They were very near the great point in +lovers' lives when emotions always tend to break all restraint. She +clung to him passionately, her lips yielding and holding his in a +rapture of love. Together they swayed toward a great tree and sat down.</p> + +<p>When they returned to the cabin, they were surprised to find Philip +still gone. With the whimsicality of lovers, they dismissed him from +their thoughts and sat down in the armchair together, laughing and +talking of the past. Their conversation ran gradually into a clearly +defined discussion in which both minds were compelled to think quickly, +and they found new joy in their love. Even now, when their whole minds +were swayed by emotion, they were able to think, to talk, and to be +alive to everything in the world of intellect.</p> + +<p>Art, religion, and life, all in a grand mix-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>chaotic tangle. Lawrence +was talking for the joy of his thought to the woman who he knew would +enjoy it.</p> + +<p>"You see, Claire," he said after a long discussion, "in the religious +instinct we find very little besides a fear of the unknown. What else +there is in it is the more valuable part, and it is this lesser section +that we can develop and use to advantage."</p> + +<p>"What is this lesser section?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"The vital desire to create for our God's sake. If we could build that +into its real place, stimulated as it is by the overwhelming +appreciation of beauty in nature, we could establish something far more +worth while than a mere deceiving of men about their own kind, their +faults, and their relations."</p> + +<p>"You aren't quite fair, Lawrence," she protested. "In so far as the +church makes for a stronger socialization, it is a good."</p> + +<p>"But does it always promote that very effectively? Most of the +socialization could be better carried on where really educated people +were educators. The few of them there are in our schools now are +hampered as much as they are helped by the church."</p> + +<p>"I don't agree," she said. "The church does hamper education in higher +branches, undoubtedly, but in the kindergartens and grades it is a +good."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he responded; "I never saw it."</p> + +<p>"Well," she cried suddenly, and laughed, "whatever we think of the +church, I agree that religion isn't always there, and when it is, +barring a few liberal exceptions, it is generally misdirected."</p> + +<p>"And here you and I sit in the Andes Mountains talking when we might be +making love," he laughed.</p> + +<p>"And here we are making love under the pretense of being intellectual," +she rejoined. "What would we do without the dear deceptions that make us +such pitiably delightful animals?"</p> + +<p>"We'd be a hopelessly unimaginative set of eaters." His answer was +quick. "I am convinced that it is our very power to deceive, plan grand +follies, though petty in deeds, that makes us artists, dreamers, +thinkers, and statesmen."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," she agreed, and then slipped her arms around him suddenly. +"Is that what makes us able lovers, too?"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "By Jove, I believe it is!" he exclaimed. "Well, old +universal tangle, I do truly thank you for the power to be a foolish, +deceived, human being. Hurrah for the instinct that makes me call you my +divine necessity, Claire."</p> + +<p>She laughed happily and leaned against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"For any instinct or deception that makes you more enjoyable, let us +give thanks," he repeated.</p> + +<p>"And for all the dear bodily claims that make me your adored one I do +give thanks, Lawrence," she whispered.</p> + +<p>Their lips met again. She drew back startled, and sprang to her feet +with a cry of terror.</p> + +<p>Philip stood in the doorway, looking at them with a face from which all +human sentiment was gone. He was a raging beast.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she screamed. "Philip!"</p> + +<p>Her lover sprang to his feet. Now he realized his blindness and its true +handicap. Philip was there, somewhere before him, thinking what he could +not know. He waited, every muscle strained with expectant fear and +anger.</p> + +<p>Claire was staring at Philip with abject terror in her face. Lawrence +could not know that, he only heard her breathing heavily, and +instinctively his arm went out to her.</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid, dear," he said tenderly.</p> + +<p>The man in the door uttered an exclamation. "So"—and his words were +sharp as icicles—"that is your damned wanton way. You are the second +harlot I have loved."</p> + +<p>Lawrence started forward angrily.</p> + +<p>"Fool!" he ejaculated.</p> + +<p>Claire's warning scream gave him just time to brace his body. Philip had +sprung at him like a wild beast, and the impact of his weight sent +Lawrence staggering backward. In that moment the Spaniard's hand closed +on his throat. The blind man was paying the price of his defect in his +long-talked-of primitive battle for life.</p> + +<p>Even then he thought of the scene as it must be, and smiled bitterly, +while his hand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> went to his throat and tore at the wrist that was +steeling itself to rob him of breath.</p> + +<p>Had he been able to see, the fight would still have been unequal. Philip +was taller, wirier, and quicker on his feet. Lawrence's one advantage +lay in his keen, quick response to touch sensation, and that gave him +his sense of direction and ability to move rightly.</p> + +<p>With one hand he tore at Philip's wrist, while with the other he reached +steadily for Philip's face.</p> + +<p>They had knocked over the chairs and were staggering against the table.</p> + +<p>From the corner by the fireplace Claire watched them in an agony of +dread. It was indeed her time of test.</p> + +<p>She saw Lawrence's hand clutching at the flesh of Philip's cheek. They +were panting like two beasts. It was the primitive battle of males for +the female of their choice.</p> + +<p>Philip's hand was torn free from Lawrence's throat. The blind man +laughed as his lungs filled with air. She heard him mutter between +clenched teeth: "By God, I'll spoil your advantage."</p> + +<p>They were struggling again for throat holds.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was protecting his own, but the hand he had wrenched free +closed around his arm, bending it back slowly, irresistibly toward the +point where it must break. She screamed and covered her eyes for a +second at what her lover was doing—she saw him deliberately gouge at +Philip's eyes with his thumb held hard.</p> + +<p>She heard both men fall, and looked again in spite of herself. They were +on the floor writhing, their bodies against each other, clawing, +striking, digging, and biting like two wild gorillas.</p> + +<p>Now Lawrence was on top, now underneath, but she could not help but see +that Philip was slowly gaining. Though badly injured in one eye, he +still fought on unhesitatingly, forcing Lawrence nearer and nearer to +death. The artist was even now ceasing to resist, his struggle had +become spasmodic. Her lover was being choked to death. She sprang to her +feet.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence!" she screamed. "Lawrence!"</p> + +<p>He was being killed in a battle for the possession of her. Could she +stand still and see the man she loved murdered? Her hair fell about her +shoulders in a mass. She swept it back from her face, looked frantically +around her, then rushed to the wall-cupboard on the other side of the +cabin and drew out a long meat-knife.</p> + +<p>The touch of the steel in her hand carried her out beyond the last +barrier of civilized thought. For a moment she was the savage through +and through. With a scream like that of a wounded lioness whose cub is +in danger, she sprang toward them, the knife uplifted.</p> + +<p>Then she stopped. Something paralyzed her—generations of inherited +inhibition, conscience, what you will. "O God!" she moaned miserably, as +the weapon fell from her hand.</p> + +<p>It clattered on the wooden floor close beside the two men. Philip looked +up, and his white teeth gleamed in a grim smile. Claire realized what +she had done—she had placed the means of certain triumph within reach +of her lover's enemy. She stooped to regain the knife, but it was too +late. Philip released his grip on Lawrence's throat, leaned over, and +seized the blade.</p> + +<p>It was a mistake. Lawrence was far past consciousness of what he was +doing, but his body still instinctively obeyed his will. As the weight +from his chest was eased for a moment, he writhed his body into a freer +position and his arms struck out wildly.</p> + +<p>Philip saw his danger and raised the knife. The scene passed in a +second, but to Claire it was as if they were petrified for hours in that +position—she half-kneeling there, her arm outstretched, and Philip +astride Lawrence's body, holding the knife in midair. In that last +picture, carved upon Claire's agonized gaze, all the Spaniard's beauty +was gone forever—he was a monster, his face distorted, one eye closed, +his smile broadening into a hideous dog-like grin.</p> + +<p>Philip's arm came down. As it did so, it was struck from above by +Lawrence's, swinging aimlessly in a wide sweep. The blade, deflected +with double force, entered deep into Philip's breast.</p> + +<p>For just one instant an expression of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> angry and almost ludicrous +surprise leaped across the Spaniard's face as his teeth snapped shut. +Then his whole body twisted round violently, rolled over, and lay still +beside Lawrence's equally motionless form.</p> + +<p>Claire tottered back into a chair, and stared at them stupidly. Silence +reigned in the cabin where there had been chaos. Slowly from under +Philip's body a red line spread to a blotch on the floor. Lawrence was +lying there, his head almost touching it.</p> + +<p>Claire gazed and gazed, while she felt as if she must faint from the +dreadful illness which seized her. Suddenly Lawrence was sitting up, his +blackened face growing less terrible to look upon. He put his hands to +his throat, and then, as the pain in his lungs decreased, he rose +unsteadily. For a moment he balanced himself carefully, rubbing his +throat.</p> + +<p>Then he cried hoarsely: "Claire!"</p> + +<p>She moistened her lips with her tongue, but could not answer.</p> + +<p>He stooped and began to feel across the floor. She saw his hands, those +sensitive hands, move toward Philip's dead body. They would be in his +blood presently.</p> + +<p>She started forward. "Lawrence!" she screamed.</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly. Her tone had filled him with dread wonder.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Claire?" he whispered.</p> + +<p>She stood a moment, silently looking at him.</p> + +<p>He straightened and stepped toward her, "What is it?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>She swayed unsteadily and sank into his arms, sobbing, her body wrenched +with the agony.</p> + +<p>"Take me outside," she whispered fearfully.</p> + +<p>He lifted her and carried her out into the sunlight.</p> + +<p>She sat down on the ground and wept bitterly, while he sat silently +beside her, seeking to comfort her with his arms.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>She remembered the touch of the knife in her hands, the sight of +Philip's blood seeping out around his own body.</p> + +<p>"It is terrible," she moaned. "I—I might have done it."</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>He wet his lips, then suddenly laughed aloud. Claire could have screamed +at the sound. She clutched his arm and shook him.</p> + +<p>"Stop it!" she commanded. "What is it, Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>He stood up and lifted her beside him.</p> + +<p>"I must have a drink," he said calmly.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Life is a wonderful thing, Claire."</p> + +<p>She was still too shaken to do aught but gaze at him.</p> + +<p>"What now?" she asked at last, falteringly.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>She let her head fall on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Then—then I am not repulsive to you?" she choked.</p> + +<p>"Repulsive! Why?" His voice was full of wonder.</p> + +<p>"I—I thought of murdering him," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>She stepped back and looked at him. He was all energy, +clear-countenanced, free, frank, and normal.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am ready."</p> + +<p>She stooped and took up her pack from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> beside the door. He took his and +threw it over his shoulder. Hand-in-hand they started forward and out +toward civilization.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">INTO THE SUNLIGHT.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>That night they camped beside a stream under great trees where tiny blue +flowers winked up at them from the deep grass. After supper they sat +beside their fire dreaming. At last Lawrence took her in his arms, and +she laid her shoulder against his.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she said thoughtfully, "isn't it strange how little we know +ourselves when we think we know most?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I sometimes think we are nearer folly then than at any other +time."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I have been thinking to-day?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>She patted his hand tenderly.</p> + +<p>"I can scarcely wait till we get out, Claire."</p> + +<p>"I know, dear."</p> + +<p>They listened to the purling of the stream and dreamed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"If she wants me to know, she will tell me," he thought.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," Lawrence said at last. "To-morrow we reach civilization. +Oh, Claire, Claire, with civilization come you, home, our real life!"</p> + +<p>She moved uneasily. There was a sudden overwhelming sense of her need, +and she resolved to tell him everything.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she began, "to-morrow we do reach civilization, and I—I am +finding out things about myself."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Claire. I have noticed something."</p> + +<p>"It isn't that I don't love you," she cried, seeing his fear in his +drawn face. "Oh, I do love you!"</p> + +<p>He laughed with relief.</p> + +<p>"Then speak away. Nothing else in the world can frighten me."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid that it will displease you."</p> + +<p>"Not if it is something real to you."</p> + +<p>"Well then—oh, it seems so hard to explain. I—I am finding myself +out."</p> + +<p>"That ought to be pleasant."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Why not? It all seems clear to me."</p> + +<p>"But, Lawrence, are we quite fair? Are we quite right with ourselves?"</p> + +<p>"I try to be. I certainly try to be fair to you."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>"I know. That's it. You would want me to be fair to—to every one, +wouldn't you, and above all, to myself?"</p> + +<p>"You must be that, Claire."</p> + +<p>She did not continue at once. He waited, holding her hand very tight +between his own.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Claire."</p> + +<p>The deep earnestness of the faith in her that rang through his words +gave her courage.</p> + +<p>"It is Howard and—and my vows to him."</p> + +<p>Lawrence sat, his brows knit. She watched him.</p> + +<p>"I see," he answered. "I see, but—"</p> + +<p>"After all, I promised to be his wife forever, you know."</p> + +<p>"But you don't love him now."</p> + +<p>"No. I love you—and for your sake as well as my own I've got to +straighten things out between Howard and myself."</p> + +<p>"I thought they were straight. He thinks you are dead."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Her voice dropped and lingered caressingly yet with gracious reverence +over these last words, as one's does in speaking of holy things.</p> + +<p>"I see," he said. Her tone told him more than her words.</p> + +<p>"I think you do."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do. But when did you begin thinking of this?"</p> + +<p>"When you said, 'Human beings think many things they don't and can't +do.'"</p> + +<p>"I understand." He threw back his head.</p> + +<p>"You see, dearest, it is that everything in our lives may be clean."</p> + +<p>"Good enough, Claire." He was hearty in his agreement. To his alert mind +the problem seemed very clear.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I knew you would say so." Her cry was full of relief.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>At noon of the next day they stopped on the brow of a high hill.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," Claire cried exultantly. "It is there—below us—a town!"</p> + +<p>"Hurrah!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>That night they were speeding toward the coast, and a few days later +found them northward-bound on a liner.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When Claire arrived, the old familiar city seemed strangely desolate. +She found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>How she ever got through her own explanations she did not know, then she +heard him speaking.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I—sorrow—why?" She stared at him wonderingly.</p> + +<p>He looked surprised, then understood. Claire listened silently to his +brief, sincere sympathy as he told her how her husband had died during +the winter of pneumonia.</p> + +<p>"It has been nearly six months now," he finished, "and, of course, I am +very sorry for you. If I can do anything to help you, don't hesitate to +call on me, please."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I—I won't."</p> + +<p>She heard her own voice change. Stifled, she fled up-stairs.</p> + +<p>Her grief was sincere, unshaded by any selfish thought that it made her +own course easier or more justifiable in the eyes of society. To her, +Howard Barkley's death changed nothing save that the man whom she had +once loved sincerely was now no more.</p> + +<p>But the living remained, and to the call of the living her life was +henceforth joyfully dedicated.</p> + + +<p style="margin-top: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 2.25em; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">(The end.)</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the +original edition have been corrected.</p> + +<p>In Chapter V, "tenements she had visted in her charity work" was changed +to "tenements she had visited in her charity work".</p> + +<p>In Chapter VII, a missing quotation mark was added after "What, indeed, +is moral law?"</p> + +<p>In Chapter IX, "disdiscover what she was" was changed to "discover what +she was".</p> + +<p>In Chapter X, "Disliking him as he did" was changed to "Disliking him as +she did".</p> + +<p>In Chapter XI, "as abnormal as her depondency had been before" was +changed to "as abnormal as her despondency had been before".</p> + +<p>In Chapter XVIII, "I promise to an emotionless judge" was changed to "I +promise to be an emotionless judge", and "harded and harder to wait" was +changed to "harder and harder to wait".</p> + +<p>In Chapter XX, "clearly defined discusion" was changed to "clearly +defined discussion", and "the overwelming appreciation of beauty in +nature" was changed to "the overwhelming appreciation of beauty in +nature".</p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Transcriber's Note: The following summary originally appeared at the +beginning of the serial's second installment.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">PRECEDING CHAPTERS BRIEFLY RETOLD</p> + +<p>When the City of Panama foundered off the coast of Chile, Lawrence +Gordon suddenly realized he had been left, in the frenzy of the +disaster, alone on the deck.</p> + +<p>Then, before he had fully recovered from the lash of the wind and the +violence of the waves, he was swept overboard and into the seething +maelstrom of an angry sea.</p> + +<p>As he came up from the depths he struck a heavy timber, and with the +strength of desperation he dragged his weight up on it and clung fast.</p> + +<p>"Land may be in sight," was his thought, "and I shall never know!" +Lawrence Gordon was blind.</p> + +<p>Hours had passed. The wind-lashed water beat him as he lay on the +timber. Fear and the cold drove him to rave at life and death alike. +Finally, over the roar of the wind, he caught the tumbling of breakers. +His plank was spun round, the swell lifted him from his position, and +the next breaker rolled him past the water-line.</p> + +<p>Once with the feel of the sand beneath his feet he ran until a rock +caught him above the knees and sent him headlong.</p> + +<p>When he regained consciousness he returned to the water to hunt for +clams. As he came ashore again he tripped over an object that on +investigation proved a woman.</p> + +<p>Claire Barkley answered to his ministrations, and recognized the blind +man she had observed on the boat. She could furnish the eyes for an +investigation of their situation inland, but her ankle had been sprained +in the wreck and she was unable to walk.</p> + +<p>When months after, just as they had reached the limit of human +endurance—what with hunger, the cold, and privation—they stumbled into +the cabin of Philip Ortez. The Spanish mountaineer declared it no less +than a miracle that a blind man should have carried a woman in his arms +half across the Andes—from the coast to the borders of Bolivia.</p> + +<p>Then they settled down to spend the winter in Philip's cabin. And now +the latent antagonism of the woman, who was so curiously stirred by the +apparent coldness of this blind sculptor to her charm, began to plan the +man's punishment.</p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Transcriber's Note: The following summary originally appeared at the +beginning of the serial's third installment. The summary at the +beginning of the serial's fourth installment, if one was present, was +not available when preparing this electronic edition.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">PRECEDING CHAPTERS BRIEFLY RETOLD</p> + +<p>When Lawrence Gordon, numb with cold and hunger, after weeks of weary +wandering through the mountains in a desperate effort to find a +habitation, came in sight of the mountaineer's little cabin, he dropped +the woman from his breaking arms and fell, exhausted and unconscious, in +the snow.</p> + +<p>Flung into the sea when the ship foundered, he had eventually found his +way to the beach, and here he stumbled on the unconscious form of Claire +Barkley.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Barkley's ankle had been sprained in the wreck and she was unable +to walk. The man was strong, dominant, and unafraid; but he was blind.</p> + +<p>Carrying the woman in his arms the blind man had stumbled half across +the Andes, for the boat was wrecked off the coast of Chile, and Philip +Ortez, whose cabin they had reached, declared they were on the borders +of Bolivia, about two hundred miles from the nearest railroad station.</p> + +<p>This Spanish scholar, gentleman, and recluse readily welcomed two such +promising guests for the winter. A charming woman of twenty-six, with a +mind as well as emotions, and a man not much older, who was both a +philosopher and an artist, promised no end of diversion for the winter.</p> + +<p>And diversion, not to say, drama, came—the eternal triangle.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was slow in admitting his love for Claire, even to himself. And +Claire, who was affronted by the seeming cold and calculating +indifference of this big, blind god, suddenly realized his apparent +coldness held the very heart of passion itself.</p> + +<p>In the playful scramble of a snow-fight before the cabin, Lawrence had +taken her by the waist to wash her face with snow, and the contact of +her tightly held body betrayed the tensity of the man's feeling. Claire +broke from his grasp to look into the eyes of Philip, who had stood in +the doorway to watch the fun. In the eyes of the Spaniard she detected +the emotion she felt in the touch of the blind sculptor.</p> + +<p>The next day, to relieve the suppressed passion in her own as well as +Lawrence's soul, she proposed to go with Philip, as she sometimes did, +when he went out to spend the day with his traps.</p> + +<p>On the return journey, when the conversation was fast drifting into the +personal, Philip, carried off his feet by the nearness of the woman and +the madness in his blood, snatched Claire up in his arms and covered her +full lips with his kisses.</p> + +<p>The indignant woman brought him to an abject apology after his wild +confession of love, and entered into a compact of friendship with him.</p> + +<p>Reaching the cabin, the blind man, whose acute soul and senses had long +told him of Philip's passion, held out the finished carving he had been +at work on all these weeks—a winged cherub.</p> + +<p>In his eyes it was the symbol of his love for her. But her words of +acceptance made him think in her eyes it was rather a symbol of her love +for the mountaineer.</p> + +<p>To Philip it was a symbol of hope.</p> +</div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30261 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d544c12 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #30261 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30261) diff --git a/old/30261-8.txt b/old/30261-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8985205 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30261-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8077 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Claire, by Leslie Burton Blades + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Claire + The Blind Love of a Blind Hero, By a Blind Author + +Author: Leslie Burton Blades + +Release Date: October 15, 2009 [EBook #30261] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLAIRE *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +Claire + +by Leslie Burton Blades + +THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO + +_BY A BLIND AUTHOR_ + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: This novel was originally serialized in four +installments in All-Story Weekly magazine from October 5, 1918, to +October 26, 1918. The original breaks in the serial have been retained, +but summaries of previous events preceding the second and third +installments have been moved to the end of this e-book. The Table of +Contents which follows the introduction was created for this electronic +edition.] + + + + +On the editorial page of last week's ALL-STORY WEEKLY we announced a new +serial by a new author. "Claire" is a story of such subtle insight, of +so compassionate an understanding of human nature, and of so honest an +attack on the eternal problem of love and living, that it can well +afford to take its chances on its own merits. But _Lawrence Gordon_, the +blind hero of the triangle tragedy, which runs its inevitable course in +the mountain cabin of _Philip Ortez_, takes on a new interest, when we +learn that his creator is himself a blind man. + +Born of mining people in Colorado, Blades lost two fingers and the sight +of both eyes when as a lad of nine years he refused to take the dare of +some playmates and set off a giant firecracker. While still a youth he +entered the Colorado State School for the Blind. Here he spent six +years. In the crash at Creede, when the bottom fell out of so many +mining fortunes, the Blades family lost their all. Then young Blades +took up the burden of his own keep. For two successful years he +maintained himself at the University of Colorado by teaching music. When +the family moved to Oregon, the indomitable Leslie followed. At Eugene +he entered the State University and continued to support himself by +music and lectures. After receiving his degrees of B.A. and M.A. he was +a substitute teacher in the English Department. + +For some time he has made his home at San Dimas, where his regular +contributions on a variety of themes to the magazine section of _The +Express_ have brought him something more than local prestige. He is +deeply interested in the drama, and has several plays to his credit. +"When He Came Home," a play of his dealing with the return of a blind +soldier from the war, has become a favorite with one of the California +circuits. + +"Claire" is his first novel, and though he is still on the sunny side of +thirty, this arresting story is a promising portent of what we may +expect from the powerful pen of this blind man with an artist's +vision.--THE EDITOR. + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + +I. DISASTER. 256 +II. THE WATER OF LIFE. 260 +III. THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE. 262 +IV. MUTUAL DISLIKE. 266 +V. THE FACE OF DEATH. 269 +VI. THE STONE THREAT. 274 +VII. PLAYING WITH FIRE. 498 +VIII. THE TIGHTENING NET. 501 +IX. CLAIRE'S ABASEMENT. 505 +X. HOW SIMPLE THE SOLUTION! 509 +XI. THE MAKING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. 513 +XII. THE UNHORSING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. 697 +XIII. FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY. 702 +XIV. PHILIP TO THE RESCUE. 706 +XV. UTTER EXHAUSTION. 711 +XVI. THE QUESTION ANSWERED. 714 +XVII. ANGLES OF A TRIANGLE. 151 +XVIII. THE ROMANTIC REALIST. 155 +XIX. THE LAST DISCUSSION. 160 +XX. THE LAW OF LIFE. 164 +XXI. INTO THE SUNLIGHT. 168 + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +DISASTER. + + +In the confusion Lawrence stood still. Over the howling wind and +smashing sea, he heard thin voices shouting orders. Another mass of +water swept over the deck. Near him a woman screamed piteously. +Instinctively, the masculine desire to protect womanhood made him ache +to help her, but he bit his lip and clung to the rail. If he could only +see! Never before in his five years of blindness had he felt the full +horror of it. He had taught himself to forget his loss of sight. It is +useless to waste time in sentimental moping, he would say, but now-- + +"God, when will it end?" he muttered savagely. + +The City of Panama lurched back and forth like a rocking-horse. +Somewhere forward they must be lowering the boats. He stumbled along the +deck, holding to the rail for support. The spray dashed in his face, and +he could feel the water from his hair trickling into his ears. He shook +his head and laughed grimly, but he could not hear his own laughter. The +terrific noise of the wind drowned everything else. It became +increasingly difficult to keep his hold on the rail. He was wet to the +waist. Each time the wave struck him higher, and he noticed that the +lurching grew heavier. He was strong, six feet of hard muscle, but the +water was stronger. His mouth was filled with it, and his ears seemed +bursting. His rugged features twisted into hard lines. As he struggled +forward, he raged at the blindness that kept him from seeing. + +"Not a chance, not a chance," he repeated over and over, as he strained +to hold the deck. There was a lull in the wind, and he marveled at the +absence of human sound. Suddenly he divined the cause. His mind became a +chaos of rage and fear. + +"They have left me," he cried; "left me without a thought." He shut his +teeth hard, then ducked as another heavy beating weight of water crashed +over him. It seemed it would never lift and leave him free to breathe. +His arms and feet no longer seemed a part of him. He wondered if the +vessel were under the surface, and nerved himself to let go. But he +could not. The rail was his only hope of life. Slowly the water began to +draw his fingers away from it. The next surge sent his body +out--somewhere. He struck forward with both hands and kicked his feet +mechanically. Was it the roar of the wind or the weight of the water +itself that beat into his ears? The sudden pain in his lungs, told him +that he had reached the surface. How good the air felt! Shaking the +water out of his ears, he listened. Nothing but the wind was audible. + +It seemed to him that he had been swimming for hours in the icy waves. +Events on the ship, the shock of the boiler explosion, the rush for the +deck, all seemed to have happened long ago. + +"If I could only see," he thought, "I might find the ship again." It +occurred to him that he might be swimming in a circle, and he resolved +to keep in one direction, but how? He remembered that he had always +tended to swim to the left, so he increased his right-arm stroke. +Suddenly a heavy timber struck him. He gasped with pain, and sank under +the surface. When he came up, his hand struck the same piece of wood. +With a desperate effort, he dragged himself up on it, twisting his arms +and legs about it to maintain his hold. + +The water, swirled by the wind, lashed him as he lay on the timber. +"Land may be within sight," he thought, "and I shall never know." His +fear and the cold began to work upon his imagination. He had a clear +mental picture of a sandy beach backed with trees. He felt sure he was +being carried past it into the open sea. + +Hours passed. He began to rave at the water, at life, at everything. +Mixed, tangled masses of images heaped themselves in utter disorder in +his brain: passages of verse, bits of his trained laboratory jargon, +phrases from half-forgotten books, the delicate curves of the Water +Sprite at the exposition, and, above all, a fierce gnawing pain in his +side. + +Over the roar of the wind he heard something else. Was it the tumbling +of breakers? He listened, then concluded that it was his imagination. +But they came nearer, louder; he sat up on his plank, his nerves tense. +The board lurched sidewise, spurn around, and the swell it was riding +broke over him with a force that knocked him from his position. Over and +over he rolled, until, almost unconscious, he felt his body dragging +along the sand. The undertow was pulling at him. He fought furiously, +digging his hands into the sand, and clawing desperately up the steep +sloping beach. The next breaker caught him and rolled him past the +water-line. He scrambled to his feet, and ran shakily ahead, neither +knowing nor caring what was before him. + +Behind him he heard the water sweeping in. He was out of its reach, but +still he ran. A rock caught him above the knees and sent him headlong +into the sand. He became unconscious, and lay still, half doubled up. + +When he recovered consciousness and sat up, a fierce sun was beating +down upon him. His head ached, and he was hungry. "There may be people +within call," he thought. Rising unsteadily, the soreness of his muscles +coming home to him, he gave a prolonged "Hello-o." A faint echo was his +answer. He formed a trumpet of his hands and shouted louder. The echo +came back stronger. "Only cliffs," he concluded. + +The gnaw of hunger increased. "Clams are my best chance," he reasoned, +and, turning, he groped his way to the water. When the incoming breakers +washed his knees, he stopped. The intense dread that his experience had +given him was crying retreat, but he stood his ground. Stooping over, he +began digging in the sand. His cut and bleeding hands burned with the +salt water, but he dug steadily, moving rapidly along the beach. At last +his fingers turned up a round, ridged object. Feeling the edge of it he +knew that he had found what he sought. He wanted to eat the clam at +once, but reluctantly dropped it into his pocket, and went on digging. + +When he had filled his pocket he straightened up and started toward the +shore. As he waded through the last shallow wash of the wave, his foot +caught in something soft, and he fell. He rose, and then on second +thought stooped to feel what had tripped him. His hand touched a mass of +wet, tangled hair. He jerked it back hurriedly and screamed. The strain +he had been under was telling. Nerving himself, he reached again, and +touched a face. + +"A woman! Another human being! Thank God!" + +Then he clutched his throat in desperation. She might be dead. He +stooped and dragged the body up on the sand. He was afraid to find out +if she were dead or alive, and sat beside her, timidly touching her +hair. + +"Fool!" he muttered at last. "If she is not dead, she soon will be." He +leaned over, listening for her breathing. At first there was only the +sound of the waves, then he heard her breathing come faintly. He took +off his coat, emptied out the clams, and dipped it in the ocean. Coming +back, he wrung it out over her face. He knelt beside her, and rubbed her +arms and throat. + +His hands were his trained observers. As he worked over her, they gave +him a detailed picture which sank deep into his memory. She was +splendidly made. His fingers caught the delicate curve of her throat and +shoulders. Her skin was satin to his touch. He knew that the fine hair, +the smooth skin, the curve and grace of her body belonged to a beautiful +woman. + +Taking her arms, he worked them vigorously. When he was beginning to +despair, she coughed, moaned a little, and turned over on her side. + +He wondered if she had her eyes open. He dared not feel to see, and sat +silent, anxious, waiting for her to speak. + +It seemed to him that eternity passed before she murmured, "Oh, oh! +Where am I?" + +"I do thank God," he exclaimed earnestly. + +"Where am I?" she repeated as she sat up. + +"I do not know," he answered. "Presumably somewhere on the coast of +Chile." Her eyes opened very wide and gazed at him as she said, "Are we +the only ones?" + +"I cannot tell," he replied, smiling a little. "I am blind, you see." + +"Yes, I know," she said softly. "I saw you on shipboard." + +"The first consciousness I had of you," he continued, "was when I +stumbled over you while getting my breakfast." + +"Breakfast? Where is it?" + +He laid one hand on the pile of clams. She looked down at them, and +burst out laughing, uncontrollably. + +"It is not much," he said, "but we primitive people are simple in our +needs. I worked to get them, goodness knows." + +She was looking around her, twisting her long brown hair in her hands. +At last she shuddered. "It's desperately lonely. Nothing but sea and +mountains. I'm afraid I can't walk," she said. + +"Good God!" he exclaimed. "Can't walk?" + +She turned toward him, smiling faintly. "I was struck when I washed +overboard, and my ankle, I think, is broken. I am sorry," she added. + +Her tone was slightly apologetic, and he laughed nervously. "Oh, that's +all right," he said, assuringly, then stammered, "I mean--" He +hesitated, and she laughed. + +"I mean that we can get along," he continued, stubbornly. "Heaven knows +I am sorry. But you can't realize what it means to have some one near +you who can see." + +She did not answer for a minute, then said quietly: "Shall we breakfast +before beginning anything else?" + +He reached in his pocket for his penknife. It was gone. The blank +expression of disgust on his face made her ask: "What is it?" + +"My knife," he said. "It is gone." + +They sat opposite each other, the clams between them. Each followed a +different trend of ideas. He was raging at this last mishap, and +considering means of opening the clams. She was conjecturing over the +fate of the City of Panama and wondering what she could do, alone here +with this blind man. Her night-gown and a heavy skirt had been all she +had worn when she had rushed on deck in the night. She looked around her +at the rocks and thought how foolish she had been to leave her shoes. + +At last he rose and began to grope back along the beach. + +Noticing that his hands were torn and bleeding, she said, hastily: +"Don't do that. What are you looking for, anyway?" + +"Stones," he answered, stopping. + +"I will direct you," she to him. "Left--right--a little ahead now." +Guided by her, he moved until his hand touched a small stone. He found +two of them and came back to her side. + +She watched him while he tried to break a clam-shell between the two +rocks. "Let me," she said, taking hold of one of them. "Your hands are +too badly cut." He hesitated. + +"Please," she said. "I can at least do the woman's part and prepare the +meal. Especially when you bring it to me." + +He laughed and gave up the stones. + +"I am desperately thirsty," she said, breaking open the shells. + +"I feel as though my tongue were swelling fast," he admitted. + +They dug the tiny clams from the shells, and ate for a few minutes in +silence, then she said: "I can't go any more of them." + +He wondered if she were not hungry, but said nothing. After eating a few +more, he understood. Then he, too, stopped. + +"I've got to find water," he said. He waited for her to speak. + +At last she said: "I can see nothing that might indicate fresh water. +Where will you go?" + +"Up the beach, I suppose." + +"There are mountains up the beach, and back of us, too. You could never +find your way out." Her tone was despairing. + +"True," he admitted. + +There was a long pause. Then she said slowly: "It seems to be your only +hope, doesn't it? Well, I guess you had better go. God bless you!" she +concluded as though it were her last word. + +Suddenly it occurred to him that he had been thinking and talking of +himself alone. The idea of parting from this woman who could see, whom +it seemed to him he had found as his own means of salvation, immediately +became impossible. + +"I am going to take you with me," he stated quietly. + +"You forget," she said, "I cannot walk." + +He had forgotten it for the moment. Now it filled him with new terror. +He laid his hand on hers. "I can't help it," he said finally, "I can't +leave you. I will carry you." + +"Oh, no!" Her protest was genuine. + +He felt her fear that she would hamper him. "Don't be foolish," he said +as though he had known her for years, "I am not being gallant. This is +not a time for gallantry. I am simply being sensible. You can't sit +here, can you?" + +"I can't help myself, can I? I can't walk." + +"I can help it," he retorted. + +"It would simply make your chance of escape impossible," she argued. "It +is preposterous. Why should you? Your life is worth to you as much as +mine is to me. I know what that means. I would not stay here if I could +help it. I would not sacrifice my life for yours. Neither shall you +sacrifice yours for mine." + +"See here," he demanded, "who are you and where did you get that +attitude toward life?" + +It was one he knew. It was the hard, relentless theory of the struggle +of animal survival which his thinking in college had led him to accept. +There was in it no touch of duty, no sense of obligation, and very +little pity. He had called himself a hard materialist, and had never +lived up to his theory. Now here beside him in this outlandish +situation was a woman quietly arguing his own philosophy of life to him +against herself. + +She laughed. "It's my way of thinking, and I mean it," she said, +twisting her hair up on her head. "I got it out of four years of thought +and reading in a college, and I do not thank the college for it. I find +it very inconvenient, but it is my belief. I have tried to live by it." + +"So is it mine," he said, "and I mean to live by it." + +"Very well," she answered. "That aggressive tone against me is not +necessary. Go ahead and get through if you can. Good-by, my friend." + +"I'm afraid you do not understand," he answered her steadily. "I want to +live. To do it, you are necessary to me. I need your eyes. Very well, +whether you like it or not, you are going with me." + +He rose quickly, and stretched his muscles. His head ached, his whole +being cried for water. He knew he could not carry her far, but without +her he was powerless. + +"Suppose," she suggested, her eyes flashing from hazel to deep-brown, +"suppose you do take me. Have you any assurance that my eyes will serve +you rightly?" + +"Your own life, which is pleasant to you, will depend upon your eyes +serving me rightly," he said coldly, as he stooped over her. + +She laid a restraining hand on his arm. "And in the long days that we +may have to go on together, what will you do in return for my eyes?" + +"Carry you," he answered. + +"Very well, but there are two things you must know," she said quietly. +"First, that I am married; second, that I am quite as steadfast in my +belief as I said. If you make one single attempt to establish more than +a frank comradeship, based on mutual support in our unforeseen +partnership, my eyes will serve you falsely." + +He laughed a little as he picked her up. She gasped with pain. + +"I can't help hurting you," he said gently. + +"It's all right," she answered, putting her arm around his neck so that +he might the more easily bear her. "We are off on our great adventure. +The halt and the blind! Such a mad pair!" + +He smiled, and started slowly up the beach. + +"I shall have to develop a system of one word guides," she mused. + +"Left--right--slow--ahead--all right--and so on," he admitted. + +Suddenly she laughed out merrily. "My friend, a stranger pilgrimage the +world never knew. What is your name?" + +"Lawrence," he said. + +"Mine," she answered, "is Claire. Go a little to the left." + +He turned slightly, and plodded through the sand. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE WATER OF LIFE. + + +Still exhausted from his recent battle with the waves, Lawrence was not +in the best condition for this new struggle. Before he had gone far, he +was forced to rest. He lowered Claire to the ground carefully and +dropped beside her. His effort in carrying her had made him breathe +hard, the sun was beating down on them, and his throat was dry and +parched. Speaking was becoming difficult. + +"If we don't find water soon, we're ended," he managed to say. + +"I'm afraid we are," she admitted. "Do you know, Lawrence, you shouldn't +try to carry me. I weigh over a hundred and thirty pounds. That is too +much for any man. Without me, you might make it, even though you +couldn't travel so steadily ahead." + +"Perhaps," he agreed. "I've thought of that. But, you see, I would have +to feel my way. At best I'd get a lot of falls. I might walk off a +precipice. That doesn't appeal to me, now that I've set myself to +winning." + +"And yet you are almost certain to wear yourself out to no purpose if +you carry me," she repeated. "If you could do it and get me through, I'd +never stop you. I've a husband in America who loves me, and I want to +get back to him, but you aren't equal to it. I see no advantage in +dying a mile or ten miles inland. For one's grave, this is as good a +place as any." + +She spoke of dying in a matter-of-fact way that made him feel strange, +though he thought of it in exactly the same way himself. He believed +that he was a mere animal and that death was a mere cessation of energy. +"I wonder if she feels just as I do about it," he pondered. "Perhaps +not. But it can't matter anyway. Here we are, and death does seem fairly +certain." + +He was breathing more regularly now, though his throat burned and his +tongue stuck to his mouth disagreeably. + +"We'd better be moving," he said, rising with an effort. + +"As you please," she assented. + +Then, as he lifted her: "My ankle is swollen dreadfully. If we could +find water, I'd bathe it and put a stick splint on it." + +He did not answer. Silence fell between them while he plodded ahead. +They started up the mountainside, and the way became increasingly +difficult. There was a dense undergrowth through which he was compelled +to shove his feet. There were rocks which she could not see, down which +he was constantly slipping. Her directions barely kept him from bumping +into the trees that grew closer and closer together. Occasionally she +pushed a branch aside from before him, and laughed as he stooped to pass +under, throwing her forward so that she had to cling to his neck to keep +her position. + +On and on he forced his way, his teeth clenched, his breath broken by +the strain. She made herself as easy to carry as she could, but beyond +that she showed no sign of sympathy. Again and again he was obliged to +stop and put her down while he rested. His head was throbbing +frightfully. He gave up trying to talk. + +During one of their frequent rests she had asked him quietly, her eyes +filled with a soft, calculative haze: "How much are you good for, +Lawrence?" + +He had answered: "Till we find water." She had laughed a little at that, +and it had sounded unpleasant to him. + +Now she said again: "You don't face facts, do you?" He made no answer. + +She continued: "It's strange how we humans are always so overdetermined. +One ought to know by the time he is grown that he is a puppet in the +hands of circumstance. Now I go on hoping that you can carry me out to +life and my husband, and you plod determinedly on as if you were really +able to do it. Of course, you may, but it is entirely dependent upon +outside things." + +He was too tired to answer, even to think. Besides, that was exactly his +view of the situation. + +"You see," she went on, "here we are, two distinct groups of living +cells, each loving life and wanting it. Our pasts have been very +different, our futures would have been; but here we are. I am resentful, +because you are blind, because you are not stronger, because I cannot +walk. You are probably resenting the same things. Perhaps you resent my +saying what I do. You want me to reassure you and to promise success. If +I did, you would know in your real mind that I was lying to you for the +sake of getting you to do more. Yet both of us would feel happier if I +could do it. I can't." + +He stood up and took her in his arms without a word. + +"We are going a few yards farther," she laughed. "Well, if ever any +animal deserved life, you do." + +He bit his lip and climbed on up the hill. In his mind he was saying +over and over: "Just a mere intellect, nothing more. That's all she is." +Yet in his arms she felt very feminine. The sense of her body so close +to him seemed strangely out of keeping with her talk. + +He remembered a few other women of her type; he wondered what the end of +their daily association would be. Then gradually his thinking ceased to +be clear. His thirst more and more wove itself into his consciousness +until his mind was a blurred fantasmagoria, in which, repeating itself +over and over in the midst of strange ideas, would come the flashing +sound of unattainable water. He did not talk, he did not think. Through +the trees he wound his way with the grim determination of a beast +fighting against death. + +The sun passed its zenith and sank slowly. It grew cooler in the forest +through which he lurched, but he was hardly aware of it. Claire, too, +was rapidly losing control over herself. She had ceased to talk, save to +utter dull, monosyllabic commands to him. The pain from her ankle and +her own thirst were blending into a dizzying maze of torture. + +As darkness settled over the forest, she grew afraid. Ordinarily it +would have been a delight to her, here among the trees, but now the +shadowing night filled her with ideas of horror. She forgot her +theories, and clung to him so that he was the more hampered. She grew +afraid lest he should drop her, lest he should give up the fight, and +with that came an overwhelming desire to urge him on. She thought of +wild tales that she might tell to spur his faltering strength. At first +she resisted, then as her desire for life grew within her, she began to +lie to him. "It isn't far, just a little way to water," she whispered. + +He struggled unsteadily forward. They had passed the top of the ridge +and were descending the other side. He was scarcely aware of his own +motion. He did not hear her directions, and stumbled against the trees. +When her ankle struck a bough, she realized in a flash of pain that he +was not listening to her. Then she felt him sinking down. + +Gripping his shoulder, she shouted: "Go on! Water ahead!" He heard her, +his mouth opened, and he gathered himself up to stumble a few steps +farther through the darkness. They seemed to be deep in a wooded ravine. +He staggered again and fell. + +She was thrown violently forward, and flung out a hand to save herself. +As she lay there, half-dazed, suddenly she felt her fingers grow cold +and wet. Water! A small stream, no larger than that from a hydrant, was +trickling over the rock. + +Dragging herself to it, she drank greedily. She dipped her hands in it. +She laughed joyously and splashed. For a few minutes she played like a +child. Then she remembered Lawrence. + +Lifting her hands full of water, she threw it on his face. His mouth was +open, and a few drops fell upon his black tongue. She threw another +handful, then took her skirt and, wetting it, wrung it into his mouth. +He twisted over on his side and muttered: "Water." + +She gave him more, and as he sat up, she said eagerly: "Here, Lawrence, +here." + +Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the stream. He drank ravenously, +plunging his face and hands into the little line of water, making queer +noises over it. + +Claire began to grow cold, and her ankle pained her till she shook like +a fevered person. He turned and sat up. + +"You cold?" he managed to mutter. + +She wanted to say "No," but her will was worn out. "Yes," she answered, +"very cold." + +He laughed a little guttural laugh as he drew off his coat. "Take it," +he said, dropping it near her hand. + +She took the coat and drew it on. Lawrence was drinking again from the +stream. She listened to him for a time, as she lay there in the +darkness, then gradually her suffering and the strain under which she +had been, won the victory over her consciousness, and she heard no more. + +He lay where he was, half unconscious. At last he began to feel the +chill of the place and drew himself up toward Claire. She did not move. +"We've got to do the best we can," he thought, and moved close to her so +that their bodies might warm each other. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE. + + +Claire was the first to wake. She sat up and gazed around her. The +morning sun was just breaking through a heavy fog that had drifted in +from the ocean. Her clothes were damp, and she was chilled through, +while her swollen and discolored ankle throbbed with steady pain. She +looked down at the sleeping man beside her, and her forehead gathered in +a little thoughtful frown. Then she looked around her again. Despite the +knowledge of their desperate situation, she could not help noticing the +beauty of the scene. + +Great trees grew in massive profusion all about them. Heavy tropical +moss hung from the branches and trailed its green mat over the stones. +Birds were beginning to sing, their notes breaking the silence of the +place in sharp thrills. Then she studied her companion. Finally, she +laughed aloud. + +"Lawrence," she said gaily. + +He turned and sat up, yawning drowsily. "What is it?" he demanded. + +"We are certainly the primitive pair." + +"H-m, I suppose. Anyhow, I feel better for my sleep." + +"It's beastly cold," returned Claire, "and my ankle is playing fits and +jerks with me." + +"We'll have to do something about it," he said earnestly. She did not +answer. + +"We can bind it up, I presume," he went on. "But it's a frightful +inconvenience." + +"Admitted," she said quickly. "It can't be helped, however." + +"I'm very much for a fire," he suggested, as though he had not noticed +the hints of hardness in her voice. + +"Some twenty feet ahead is a flat rock. We might build one there. Have +you matches?" + +He shook his head. "We'll have to go it primeval." + +"But I don't see how," she began. + +"Never mind," he answered, with a malicious grin. "I do know some few +things." + +"Perhaps you also know how to find food when there isn't any," she +retorted. + +He rose without replying. + +"Well," she continued, "I see plenty of roots and stuff. We may as well +prepare to eat them. It's unbelievable that I should be here, and with +you. It's a horrible nightmare, this being stranded and lame out here +somewhere with a blind man." + +He winced, but answered quietly: "I'm not especially charmed myself. I +could prefer other things." + +She looked at him and smiled. "Don't ever let me repeat those +sentiments," she said, simply. "I'm sorry. Of course you aren't to +blame, and I shouldn't have said that." + +He stepped forward timidly. "Will you suggest the best means of finding +dry wood?" he asked, as though the matter were forgotten. + +She pursed her lips and looked around her. "This moss seems to be feet +deep," she said at last. "You might dig up some that is dry, and with +that as a starter you can add twigs." + +He stopped and began to tear away the moss. His hands were stiff, but he +worked rapidly and before long he had a heap of the brown, dry stuff +from underneath. + +She watched him silently. When he stopped, she said: "Straight to your +left is the rock. Get the fire started. Then you can move the invalid." + +He took the moss and felt his way to the rock, which was eight or ten +feet square and practically flat, standing up almost a foot from the +ground. + +"Now, for a dry stick or two," he said, cheerily. + +She directed him, and at last he found what he thought would do. Then +began the age-old procedure of twisting a pointed stick between one's +hands, the point resting on another piece of wood, until friction +brought a flame. It was a long, hard experiment; several times he +stopped to rest; but the consciousness of the skeptical expression he +knew to be on her face sent him quickly back again to his task. At last +the moss began to burn. True, it smoked much and flamed little, but he +gathered twigs from the shrubs near by and in time had a good fire. Then +he carried Claire to the rock and set her down beside it. She leaned her +elbow on the edge and said, happily: "It's quite a success, Lawrence. I +really feel as though we were progressing." + +"Our woodcraft will doubtless improve with experience," he answered. + +"Next, I guess we had better bathe your ankle," he observed, as though +giving due care to the order of procedure. + +"Very well," she replied. + +At her suggestion he gathered moss and wet it in the tiny stream. She +wound it about her ankle and held it tightly. + +"Now the surgeon orders splints and bandages," she said. + +He brought several sticks, and with a strip which she tore from the +lining of his coat, she bound them fast. + +"There," she said, sighing, for the pain was wearing. "That ought to +help. I wonder what our distant grandparents did in such cases." + +"Made the best of it," he said cheerfully. "Many of them died, I +suppose." + +"And we are back again at their game. Whether we can outwit the master +strategist and survive, is at least interesting to try." + +"In any event, we'll have to eat to do it," he said shortly. + +She studied the greenery about her, meditatively. "It's probable that +most any of these things are edible, but are they nourishing?" + +"We'll try them. Which shall I get?" he asked. + +"I hate to start in on roots or leaves. If we only had some berries!" + +He got up determinedly. "I'll go down the ravine and hunt. If I get +mixed in directions, I'll shout." + +She watched him go, and when he had disappeared through the trees she +felt strangely sadder and very much alone. She fell to wondering if he +were really so necessary to her. Sooner or later would come the +inevitable problem between them. Would he fall in love with her, and +would she, in the days that they might be alone together, find his +companionship growing into any really vital proportion in her life? That +she, Claire Barkley, rich and independent, whose life had been selfish +to a marked degree and who had never considered anything except from the +point of view of vigor, perfection, or beauty, should ever love a blind +man was incredible. + +"No," she thought, "not even the closest of daily relationships with him +could ever make me really care. He is not of my life." She wondered how +much she would sacrifice for him if it were necessary in their +pilgrimage toward civilization, and she answered herself, frankly: "No +more than I must to maintain a balance in our forced business +partnership." She knew that was all this meant to her. + +From down the ravine she heard him shouting lustily, and she answered, +her clear, rich voice waking pleasant echoes as she called. She waited +for some time before he came. In his arms he carried a bundle of +branches loaded with red berries, while in one hand was a clump of large +mushrooms. + +Claire watched him as he approached, and was surprised at the ease with +which he walked. There was less hesitation in his stride than she had +thought, and he came briskly through the trees, dodging as though by +instinct. + +When he reached the rock, it was characteristic of her that she said: +"You came through those trees remarkably well." + +He laughed. "I have an uncanny way of feeling things on my face before +they touch me. I experimented somewhat with it in the laboratory at +college. It's a sort of tropism, perhaps, such as bugs have, that +enables them to keep between two planks or that turns plant-roots toward +the sun. Anyway, I've brought some breakfast. These berries may be good, +and these other things may be toadstools. I brought them along." + +"How does one tell?" she asked. + +"Oh, mushrooms are pink underneath and ribbed like a fan." + +She examined them and said they might be mushrooms, they looked it. He +sat down again, but not until he had replenished the fire. + +"They may be poison, both of them," he hazarded. "That's our sporting +chance. Will you try them?" + +Claire took some of the berries and ate them. "I don't feel anything +yet," she announced after a minute's solemn munching. + +"Oh, you probably won't for several hours anyway," he said lightly. Then +he continued: "If we could devise a way, we might heat water and cook +the mushrooms. Then, too, I've been thinking we might even catch a +bird." + +"Neither sounds very simple." + +"Nothing in life is simple," he replied. "At home, in America, where we +leave food-getting to the farmer, dress from a store, and go to heaven +by way of a minister, things are fairly well arranged, but here we +aren't even sure of salvation unless we mind the business of thinking." +He continued after a pause. "Of course, I don't especially remember that +I counted on heaven. It always seemed a bit distant in the face of +living and working. Perhaps, however, you counted it as vital." + +"I was fairly occupied with more immediate things," she answered. +"However, that is a different world from this. What we did then can't +especially matter to us here. This is our place of business, so to +speak, and social life doesn't factor." + +"I see." He accepted the snub thoughtfully. "But this business of ours +will grow exceedingly irksome without talk. I doubt if we can find the +means of escape an all-sufficient topic." + +"We haven't boiled our water yet," she said. "And the bird is still free +to roam." + +He did not carry on his line of thought aloud. If she had known what was +going on in his mind, she might have been angered. He was wondering just +how much thinking she was capable of. Certain that she was beautiful, he +had scarcely allowed that to occupy him. His experience had led him to +estimate people almost wholly by their ability to be open-minded. In his +struggle against blindness, he had concluded that open minds were rare +indeed, and persons who limited his freedom of action or tended to baby +him he had grown to dismiss with a shrug. Claire did not belong to that +class. "She has shown remarkable willingness to let me go my own pace," +he thought, "but is this due to her mind or to mere indifference?" He +decided at last that the relationship would be tiresome for both of +them, and that she was not especially eager to prevent it from being so. +This conclusion led him to adopt a definite attitude toward her. She +could do as she pleased; he, for his part, would treat her simply as an +uninteresting person, a machine that furnished the eyes which he could +use in his travel to liberty. + +He recalled how, when he had been displeased with convention, he had +thought of life in the wild as the best possible means of liberty, and +he laughed. + +Claire looked up. "What is there amusing just now?" + +"Myself, and you." + +"Why, pray, am I amusing?" Then she was sorry she had said it. + +"Because you are you." + +"And are you other than yourself?" she asked scornfully. + +"Not at all, but my own particular interests seem infinitely more +important to me than there is any possibility of yours doing." + +"You mean to say that you are an egotist." + +"Frankly, I am," he agreed. "One is an egotist, I suppose, when he finds +himself and his needs and whims essentially worth while. I'll admit I +find mine so. Perhaps you feel the same about yours. One scarcely knows +where egotism and vanity meet or end in a woman." He smiled, for he +meant that to provoke, and it did. + +Claire's voice was edged when she replied. "A very penetrating remark. +With men generally, vanity seems to be a widely extended cloak to spread +over all things in a woman that they cannot dispose of in any other way. +If I find you dull, or if I am not struck with your ability, or if you +do not seem to me sufficiently fascinating, I am possessed of feminine +vanity." + +"Precisely. And why not? If I choose to regard myself as all those +things which you deny, why shouldn't I find the fault in you rather than +in myself?" + +"Because it may be in you," suggested Claire. + +"It may, but that doesn't alter the case. I quite agree that you are +right, but none the less you are at fault, because I, Lawrence, am the +most important of all things to me." + +She did not answer. The conversation seemed to her useless. She saw no +reason for arguing the matter, and she half suspected that he was simply +teasing her. Besides, she could not but feel that to sit here in his +coat and discuss egotism was a trifle ridiculous. He was merely trying +to establish a friendship in talk which she did not care to encourage. +That was her conclusion. + +As he rose to gather more sticks, he asked: "Do you happen to see a rock +that flattens to an edge?" + +Told where he might find one, he brought it and struck it hard against +their boulder. It did not break. "It may do," he said thoughtfully, and +began to grind it against the side of the other rock. He worked steadily +and long, and the result was a fairly good edge, which was nicked and +toothed, but still an edge. He laid it down with a sigh of contentment. + +"My first tool," he commented. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +MUTUAL DISLIKE. + + +All day Lawrence worked, and when night came he had hollowed out a piece +of log to a depth of some eighteen inches, leaving six inches of solid +wood in the bottom. Both were very well pleased with the result. With +the coming of darkness, he gathered more berries, and heated water in +his log kettle. They were able to cook the mushrooms and to bind her +ankle in moss soaked in hot water. The building of a shelter was +discussed, but both decided to resume their journey on the following +day, so they slept again in the heavy moss. + +In the morning, Claire was glad indeed of the hot water, for it warmed +her, and her ankle felt much better. They decided to follow the little +stream which would doubtless wind its way somehow around the present +ridge back to the ocean. Accordingly, they kept down the ravine, which +cut across the ridge in a southerly direction. + +For the whole of that day and the next they followed the stream, which +grew to a small creek. At noon of the third day they dropped suddenly +down a steep slope to find themselves at the juncture of their stream, +with a river which flowed through a deep gorge out to the ocean. They +determined to follow it up toward its head. + +"Somewhere inland must be a town," argued Claire. "At any rate, it's the +only way we can go." + +After living for four days on berries, they were beginning to feel +acutely the need of other food, but they discussed the problem at length +without arriving at any feasible solution. Two days later fortune +temporarily relieved their difficulty. + +They were following along the side of a steep ridge overlooking the +river, when Claire suddenly stopped him and gave a cry of delight. Near +them a small, furry animal, caught in a tangled mass of wirelike +creepers, was struggling to free itself. He killed the creature with his +stone-edged tool, and after barbecuing it on the end of a stick, they +ate it ravenously. Each of them would have disliked the whole scene at +any other time, but now neither thought anything of it until after they +were satisfied. + +Leaning back against a rock, Lawrence stroked his chin, rapidly becoming +invisible under a heavy beard. "I hadn't known I was so hungry for real +food," he laughed. + +Brown as a gipsy, her hair filled with tiny green leaves, Claire looked +at him, her eyes shining with the warm light of satisfied hunger. "We +ate like two beasts," she remarked languidly, and laughed. "It was +simply disgraceful." + +"I know," he began to muse, "it doesn't take long for the most polished +man--not that I ever was that--to become a savage." + +"You look the part," she laughed. "I suppose I do, too. My hair is +matted hopelessly; the curliness makes it worse. My face, too, is +rapidly hardening under this sun. If only I had a few more clothes--" +She stopped and looked at him. "I feel the need of them," she finished +lamely. + +Claire had worn his coat continuously from the first night, and his +undershirt was tearing from contact with bush and tree. He grinned +contentedly, however. + +"If you approach nakedness as rapidly as I," he chuckled, "I fear we +both will have to avoid civilization. Undisguised humanity isn't +tolerated there." + +She flushed warmly, then laughed. + +"I wonder why people are so afraid of being seen," Lawrence went on. "Of +course, there's the warmth and natural protection of clothing, but one +would feel so much freer without the encumbrance of shirt-stud and +feathered plume." + +"We need them to complete a personality," said Claire. "I know few +people who would inspire respect in their elemental state. Stripped of +advertising silk and diamond, they wouldn't be so suggestive of +wealth." + +"But why be so eager to impress others with your power?" + +She turned toward him with a faint smile. "If you didn't ask that as +mere conversation, I would think you childish. You know very well why. +It probably goes back to the days when the possession of a fish-hook, +more or less, meant surer life. It has come to mean, now, that the +decoration of an extra feather or white flannel trousers means +advantageous position, the place of more power, more pleasure; in short, +greater fulness of living." + +"But we are living fully, goodness knows," he interrupted. "This last +week we have had to exert our wits and bodies in more ways than we ever +did before in all our lives. True, I do miss my modeling somewhat." He +spoke the last with a soft mellowness in his voice and a wistfulness +that made her look at him quickly. + +"Modeling?" she asked. + +He nodded slowly. + +"What sort of modeling?" she insisted. + +"Oh, probably poor, for the most part. I did some work that was +beginning to make its way, though." + +"You mean sculpture?" + +He nodded again. + +She looked at him earnestly. Here was a new revelation. She had wondered +at this man's apparent keen sense of form, and his imaginative power +when he spoke of color or mentioned line, and she had been sure from his +occasional word that he was a wide student of literature. + +"What did you do at home?" she asked abruptly. + +"Oh, played with living," he said indifferently. + +She felt irritated that he would not tell her more of his life, yet she +remembered that she had practically refused to discuss her own with him. + +"See here, Lawrence," she said suddenly, "we aren't quite fair with each +other, are we?" + +"Why not?" he answered quietly. "I carry you toward your old life, you +guide me toward mine. It's a fair business, with equal investment. I'm +not complaining." + +She was silent and watched him as he lay on his back, dreaming of days +at home with his work. As he lay there, she studied his hands. They +were practically healed, and she noticed they were well-shaped, the +fingers long and tapering, yet with an appearance of unusual strength. +She knew already that they were sensitive; when he had cut out a piece +of wood to heat water in, she had seen that. So they were sculptor's +hands. What a revelation, and what a pity that he was blind! She fell to +wondering if he really was good at his work, or whether he merely +fancied he was and hewed away without real artistry, deceived by his +blindness. She studied his face in repose. Then her mind came back to +his hands, and she felt a sudden sense of displeasure, a little chagrin, +and some wonder, accompanied by the feeling that she wished he had not +carried her. She did not quite know why, yet the dependence on him made +her restless. Suddenly she wondered poignantly what he thought of her. +The more she wondered, the more she wanted to know, and at last she +ventured, "Are you asleep?" + +"No, dreaming." + +"Lawrence." + +"What is it?" He sat up and waited. + +"What do you think of me?" She was surprised to find herself waiting +eagerly for his answer. + +He laughed outright, a gay, hearty laugh. + +"Claire," he said merrily, "you embarrass me dreadfully. You see, I +haven't thought much about you. However, if you like, I'll study you for +a week and report." + +Hot anger surged up in her. "You needn't bother," she said dryly. "Our +lives are so utterly different in every phase that nothing could be +gained." + +He lay back carelessly. "So I had decided," he replied, and lapsed into +silence again. + +She could have cried with vexation. For the first time in her life +Claire was utterly humiliated, and there grew within her an aggressive +dislike for this man, a determination to make him feel her power and to +punish him for his indifference. She did not want him to love her, by +any means, but he had never even shown her the courteous deference, the +admiration or regard that she was accustomed to receive from men. Her +mind went back over the past week, and she grew more humiliated, more +angry. Tears of vexation came to her eyes, but she brushed them away +fiercely. + +"Shall we take the remains of our meat and move on toward the habitats +of men?" said Lawrence, sitting up. + +She controlled herself to answer, "As you please." + +He stooped to lift her into his arms. She flushed warm as his hands +slipped under her, and he straightened up. She hesitated, and wanted not +to do it, but realized the necessity, and put her arm around his neck. + +"I shall be grateful when I can walk," was her comment. + +"It will make our progress more rapid," he agreed, and she was angry +again. She knew that he thought only in terms of the most efficient +means of getting ahead. A longing possessed her to make him realize that +he was physically distasteful to her. + +"We are so vastly different," she said, "it is disagreeable to be +carried this way." + +Lawrence flushed, and she was pleased. At least he understood now. + +"Of course," he admitted calmly, "it isn't pleasant, but I suppose one +must make the best of a bad bargain." + +There was silence for a while, then he said suddenly, "I think I +realize, Claire, that a blind man is at best a poor companion for a +woman who is accustomed to being amused, and whose interests are those +of the society glow-worm." + +Claire resented the picture, but she kept her voice steady. "Surely at +home you had your own social group," she said pleasantly. + +"Of a sort, yes. We were all workers, not going in much for form, +entertainment, and that sort of thing. We generally sat in the gallery +at the opera, and did mostly as we pleased everywhere. None of us were +rolling in wealth. We worked for the love of it, and looked to the +future for pay." + +"I see." She was thinking fast. "You were struggling young artists." Her +voice was sugar-coated. + +"We were struggling young artizans," he answered, seemingly indifferent +to her irony. + +As he made slower progress when he talked, she did not attempt to carry +on the conversation. The stops for rest were gradually lengthening out, +and he was getting hard and wiry so that his endurance was greater. He +was quicker at catching himself when he stumbled, and he did not puff so +hard between grades. Claire felt the easier swing of his body when he +walked, and noticed that he was growing surer of foot and more graceful +in movement, and she realized that except for his eyes he was a splendid +specimen of manhood. She now admitted all these things to herself, but +they only added to her feeling against him. She wondered if he had been +as indifferent to all women as he was to her, and was displeased that +she wondered. + +Suddenly Lawrence stopped and put her down by his side. Claire looked up +at him and saw his forehead gathering in a frown. + +"What is it?" she asked anxiously. + +"You are letting your thoughts obstruct your eyes," he said simply. "I +have walked into three boulders without your knowing it." + +"I am sorry," she said earnestly. "It was silly of me." + +He laughed and sat down. "You see, as eyes you can't afford to think. At +other times perhaps I, too, should wander into abstractions, but at +present it won't work." + +"I know it," she admitted contritely. "I won't repeat it." + +"What," he asked, "is the subject of all this meditation?" + +She blushed, and her eyes darkened. She wondered whether she should tell +the truth, started to do so, then changed her mind. "I was asking myself +what my husband was probably doing and thinking." + +"Poor fellow!" Lawrence was sincerely thoughtful. "I can imagine what it +must be to him, supposing you lost at sea. Yes, he must be suffering +badly. I don't believe I would change places with him." + +Claire started at Lawrence. "Are you flattering me?" she asked coldly. + +"Not at all," he replied. "I am merely stating the truth. I have an +imagination, my dear lady. I can quite grasp your husband's position. +You would certainly be a loss to a man who loved you, and I shouldn't +care to be that man." + +"Shouldn't you?" she said instinctively, and bit her lip for saying it. + +"Not under the circumstances," answered Lawrence. "I never did fancy the +idea of death visiting my loved ones. I have never got over its having +done so." + +"Oh"--her voice softened--"then you have lost your--" She waited. + +"I am an orphan," he said bruskly. + +She was ashamed of her relief. How ridiculous it was to have imagined +him, even for an instant, as a married man! He was so cold, so +impersonal; of course, he had never married, and never would. Well, that +was best; a blind man had no right to marry. He owed it to himself and +to any woman not to place her in the position of caring for him, +handicapped as he was, and so unable to give her the companionship, the +comradeship a woman deserved. She could see how he would treat a wife: +feed her well, clothe her, care for her comfort, and talk to her if she +desired, but he would never be tender, loving, sympathetic, or +understanding. No, he could not be; he was too self-centered, too much +the artist. That last seemed to her a correct estimate of him, and she +settled her mind on it as being final. + +"So you are alone in the world?" Claire said, renewing the conversation. + +"Quite," answered Lawrence. "I am as free from family hindrances as a +young wolf that runs his first season's hunt alone." + +She thought how apt a comparison he had made. "So you regard the family +as a hindrance?" + +"Oh--no and yes. One can never do quite as he pleases while a family and +its wishes, aims, and loves are concerned. They always hold him down to +some extent. He is an equal hindrance to them. They love each other, and +as a result they have to sacrifice their individual wishes. But the +family keeps man more social, more gregarious, and less selfish. If we +were as free from family love as is the wolf I mentioned, we would be +able to live our lives more completely, and, on the other hand, we would +die in greater numbers. The love of man and woman for each other and +their children lifts humanity out of its serfdom, but it also places +limitations. You ought to know more about that than I, however," he +laughed. "I merely theorize." + +"So I noticed," Claire observed. "One can easily gather that you aren't +experienced." + +"No. My parents died when I was small. I had to work my way through +school. The accident made it somewhat harder, but I got along." He was +plainly matter of fact. + +"Oh!" She exclaimed at his words more forcefully than she had intended. + +He smiled a little, comprehendingly. "Yes, it explains a lot, doesn't +it?" He spoke carelessly. "You doubtless can now understand my lack of +social grace." + +She thought to deny it, but that seemed foolish. He was silent, and +there seemed little use in talking. Claire knew she understood him well +enough. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE FACE OF DEATH. + + +In the days that followed they talked but little. Lawrence had fallen +into the habit of speaking only when she seemed to desire conversation, +and his mind was occupied with planning their escape. If he thought of +her in any other way than merely as his eyes, he never showed it. Though +watchful of her comfort, in every act and word, he was markedly +impersonal. + +Following the river, they had progressed steadily north and east over +increasingly higher and rougher ground. The tropical vegetation of +intertwining crimson was now changing to a faint gold. There were days +when they were forced to make long détours over broken ridges to get +around some deep gorge through which the gray-green stream dashed its +foamy way downward. They were well into the mountains, and above them +the higher Andes raised their snowy peaks in forbidding austerity. It +was daily growing colder, and their clothes were now only ragged strips. +Then came days when sharp, biting winds whipped through the cañon they +followed, or headed against them on some plateau, and they were forced +to face new issues. Food was less plentiful, and winter was at hand. To +be sure they were in the tropics, but on the mountains the air was cold, +and warmer clothes became imperative. + +Claire's ankle was almost well. After weeks of pain, which she had borne +bravely, it was healing, and the time was near when she would be able to +walk. Shoes were absolutely essential for her. Furthermore, Lawrence's +own shoes were worn through, and his walking was becoming a continual +pain. In spite of Claire's increasingly careful guidance, he stepped on +small, sharp rocks that dug into his flesh. He did not complain, but +Claire knew that he was suffering. The times when he stepped out freely +became more and more seldom, and his face was usually taut. + +They were, indeed, a pitiable couple. Lawrence's thin face was shaggy +with hair. Claire's once soft skin was now brown and hard. Both were +thin and wiry, with the gaunt lines of the undernourished showing +plainly. + +One morning, to fight the frost that bit into them, they were forced to +build a fire long before dawn. As they sat huddled together over it, +Lawrence finally broached the subject that had been engrossing both +their minds for days. + +"Claire," he said thoughtfully, "we can't make it through. We'll have to +find a place somewhere and prepare for winter. It's tough, but it's +inevitable. I hate to give up now, but it will be even worse for us if +we don't get meat, fur, and a house against the snow that will soon be +covering everything." + +"I know," she said sadly, her thin hands supporting her chin. "It seems +as though we had played our long farce to its end. Death is as +inexorable in its demands as life." The circles under her eyes were +great half-moons. + +"We have done well, though," he argued. "We've done better than well. +Who would have believed that a blind man and a crippled woman could have +come as far as this?" + +"I didn't believe it, Lawrence," she said, and her voice and eyes were +full of a warmth that had grown of late to be fairly constant. "I +didn't believe it, and I wouldn't believe it now if I were told the +story back home." + +"I'm not sure; I might have," Lawrence said proudly. "I know the blind +and their capabilities." + +"I'm learning to know them," she admitted, and lapsed into silence. + +"Shall we go into camp, then," he asked, as if they had not mentioned +anything else. + +Claire hesitated, then said slowly: "It's our only chance. Are you +willing to spend a winter with me?" Her eyes glanced amusedly at him. + +Catching the note in her voice, Lawrence laughed. "It seems inevitable," +he said, "and, anyway, I couldn't ask for a better companion. You don't +disturb me, and I don't irritate you--that is, not especially." + +She looked at him impatiently. "Don't you?" she said, meditatively. +"Well, I'm glad I don't bother you." + +"Yes," he assented seriously. "You've been mighty open-minded, Claire, +and you haven't hampered me with incredulities." + +"Oh, that is what you mean." + +He moved uneasily, his muscles drawing a little. Claire saw and +wondered. + +"Yes," Lawrence said shortly. "When morning comes, we'll hunt for a +location." + +They ceased speaking, each occupied with his own thoughts. + +Claire was asking herself what the winter would mean to her, spent with +this silent man, and he was questioning how long she would continue to +regard him as a mere imperfect carrier, devoid of the stuff that men are +made of. Sometimes when her body was in his arms, he had wondered if she +was capable of love, but always he had remembered her husband, her +social life, her assumption of superior reserve, and had forced himself +into a habitual attitude of indifference. The strain was telling on his +will, however, and often he longed to make this woman see him as he was. +He thought of the old days in his studio when he had proved himself +master of blindness in his power to imagine and carry the sense of form +into the carved stone. He recalled the praise of his comrades, and over +all else there surged in him the swift, warm blood of the artist. + +"Lawrence," said Claire suddenly, "at what do you value human life?" + +"That depends," he answered, "on whose life it is." + +"Well, at what would you value mine?" she demanded. + +"From varying points of view, at varying prices. From your husband's +point of view, it is invaluable. From your own, it is worth more than +anything else. From my point of view, it is worth as much as my own, +since without you mine ceases." + +"Then your care of me and all your trouble is merely because you value +your own life." + +"What else?" He moved uneasily. + +She ignored that question. "If you could get through without me, would +you do it?" + +"That depends on circumstances. If I could get through without you, and +do it quickly, and could not get through with you"--he paused--"I should +leave you behind." + +"And suppose, when I can walk, I do that myself?" + +He smiled. "As you please," he said quietly. "I advise you to make your +estimate well, however. My hands and strength are assets which you might +have trouble in doing without." + +"And do you estimate the whole of our relationship on a carefully +itemized basis of material gain and loss?" + +"Claire, isn't that your understanding, stated by yourself, of our +partnership?" + +"Yes, but--well, it's hard to estimate human companionship." + +"I know it." He shifted nearer the fire. "I've tried to estimate yours." + +"Indeed?" Her voice was full of interest. + +"I've failed. You are worth a great deal, potentially." + +"Exactly what do you mean?" + +"I mean just this"--he stood up suddenly and faced her, his shadow +covering her like an ominous cloud--"that as Mrs. Claire Barkley you are +worth nothing to me except eyes, and, therefore, your personality and +conversation are of value only as time-fillers." + +"Go on," she said steadily. + +"But as Claire, the almost starved, ragged human being who is living +with me through a prolonged war with death, you are worth everything to +me--everything that I value." + +"But isn't that what I have been from the beginning?" she flashed. + +He answered slowly. "Yes--in a way." + +Once more they lapsed into silence. In turn she tried to estimate his +worth to her, but failed. She began to recall the men she knew, and +concluded that she was without a standard of measurement. One by one she +pictured them and cast them aside, as somehow not the scale by which to +evaluate this man. At last, she began to think of her husband. It had +not occurred to her to think of him in comparison with Lawrence before, +and it made her wonder at her doing so now. + +She fell to dreaming of the man who had been her lover in girlhood, and +her husband and dear companion these past six years. He was surely at +home, aching, yearning for the little girl he had lost. She could see +him sitting before the fireplace in their big living-room, his head on +his hands, his tired face in repose, while he gazed into the flames and +longed and longed for her. The picture grew in clearness. She saw the +joy that would be his when they met again, and she felt around her those +dear arms, crushing her against him in a rapture of reunion. In sudden +contrast, she was again conscious of the cold, impersonal arms of the +man beside her. As she thought of the difference she hated Lawrence +wildly. At least, her husband knew her worth. He knew her golden +treasure-house of love; he knew her as she was. + +This blind man before her there, unkempt, hard, expressionless, what did +he know of her? What could he know, born of poor people, and working his +way among inferiors? She almost laughed aloud. Why, at home this man, +who had carried her in his arms, would have been one of her wards, an +object of her charities. But would he? Lawrence was an artist. She +considered that. + +"Isn't it light enough to get moving, Claire?" His rich, warm tones +broke in upon her thought like a shattering cataract. How musical and +vibrant his voice was! + +"I think so." She stood up unsteadily. + +"Good. We'd better go down nearer the river. We will want a sheltered +ravine for our winter camp." + +"Very well." She threw her arm over his shoulder. "It isn't far down, +and it's clear going. When we start again, I'll be able to walk. And +then I'll lead you, Mr. Lawrence." She spoke half in jest. + +"And if we are alive, I shall make it possible for you to do so +comfortably. I hope for something to make shoes of." He answered with a +frank, sincere joy at her being able to walk, and she was ashamed of her +anger. He was not to blame for being anxious to have her well, to have +felt otherwise would certainly have been to be a fool indeed. She should +rejoice with him, for then they could get home that much sooner, home to +her husband and her old life. She warmed at the idea, and felt a sense +of gratitude toward Lawrence that was good and wholesome. "I have been +silly," she thought. "He is really not to be expected to fall and adore +me, and certainly I ought not to blame him for being blind. He couldn't +help that, either." + +"Lawrence," she said aloud, "I am a beastly unjust wretch." + +"I don't see it," he protested. + +"But you ought to see it. I don't play fair with you." + +"You said that once before, I believe. I don't agree any more now that I +did then." + +"But I think all sorts of beastly things." She could not understand her +frankness. + +"Oh"--he paused. "So do I. But as I am not a Puritan, I scarcely hold +myself responsible to you for my thoughts. One's thoughts are his own, +and, as long as he keeps them to himself, he is entitled to as many as +he pleases, of whatever variety he prefers." + +"Do you think so?" + +"Of course, and so do you." + +"Yes, I did--but it seemed to me," she faltered, "that in the present +case--oh, well, let it go." She laughed nervously, and said no more. + +Lawrence wondered at her silence, and wanted to know very much what she +thought, but he told himself that after all it was none of his +business. + +They had reached the river. The water rushed from the mouth of a gorge +in rapids that sent its every drop sparkling and flashing over a great +rock into a mass of white foam below. + +"Oh," cried Claire, "it's beautiful, beautiful!" + +He put her down and laughed. "It sounds as if it were leaping from +points of light into cloud-banked foam." + +She stared at him in amazement. "It is," she said in a subdued tone. +"How did you know?" + +"One learns," he said carelessly. "And how about a camp?" + +Her admiration of him vanished into the commonplace. + +"We can't find it here," she said, hiding her appreciation of the scene +under her professional-guide tone. + +He frowned. "Nowhere close?" + +"No. And what is worse, we'll have to go over a mountain. The stream +here is rushing right out from between cliff walls." + +Lawrence's spirit sank, but he did not show it. "We'd better eat what +little we have left and then be off," he suggested simply. + +That morning was the beginning of their hardest experience since they +first left the beach. Scarcely had they started to climb over the great +ridge, which broke into sheer precipice at the river, when a sharp wind +rose and cut through their unprotected bodies. Claire drew in against +him as close as she could, while he tried to give her more protection +with his arms. The slope was steep and filled with loose rocks so that +he lost ground at every step. They were forced to stop often, and by +noon he was worn out, and they were both bitterly cold. Claire thought +they were near the top, so Lawrence nerved himself to press on. + +Night found them standing on the crest of the ridge, in the face of a +bitter wind; before them, across a small plateau, rose a still higher +mountain around the northern side of which a ravine cut its jagged gash +away from the river. Claire stared at the scene until her courage broke +down. + +"We can never do it, Lawrence," she moaned, and her head sank wearily +against his shoulder. Her cry was the aching moan of a heart-broken +child. The proud, self-contained Claire was gone. It stirred Lawrence +strangely, and for the first time a warm tenderness for her came over +him. He drew her to him, and tried to comfort her. Her poor +undernourished body shook with the sobs that despair and the cold wrung +from her, and, though his own hands and body were blue, he tried to warm +her. Had he seen the ground ahead of them, he, too, might have given up, +but blindness was the barring wall of black which shut out even defeat. +He clenched his teeth firmly, and lifted Claire in his arms again +resolutely. + +"We've got to do it, Claire," he said, "and we will." + +She attempted to paint the scene before him in graphic detail, her words +broken by sobs. When she finished he started forward. + +"We'll follow the gulf," he stated. "We must keep going, Claire. We +don't dare to stop." + +"We can't. It's dark, and will be black soon," she answered. + +"We've got to do it," Lawrence repeated. "It isn't the first night of my +life I've struggled against a black so dense its nothingness seemed +overpowering." + +She strained her eyes through the gathering night to turn him into the +smoothest way, lapsing into jerky, habitual words of guidance. + +In the darkness they entered the ravine and staggered down to its broken +bottom. The time soon came when she could see hardly anything until they +were almost upon it, and the white face of a boulder spotting the +endless black before her filled her with a vague dread. Often they +paused to rest, but the cold drove them on again. Claire almost ceased +to direct him, and Lawrence gritted his teeth till they hurt him and +forged ahead. + +Once he slipped and fell, but got to his feet again and went on. Claire +was not injured beyond a few bruises, but she noticed that he limped +more than before and her fear increased. + +How they ever fought that night through neither knew, but morning came +at last and found them still staggering down the ravine. They were +almost out of it now and were entering a rather heavy pine forest. +Fortunately the gulf they followed had turned around the mountain in the +direction of the river, and their desire for water drove them to keep +on. To their blue and shaking bodies all feeling had grown vague, +tingling, and uncertain. When Claire looked at Lawrence she could have +screamed. His lips were drawn back, and his hairy cheeks and sightless +eyes flashed before her the image of a dehumanized death mask. Her own +face must look like that, she thought, and buried her head on his +shoulder. Through that morning he struggled on, faltering, lurching, +resting a little, girding himself against the death now so surely at +hand. In his mind thought had ceased to be coherent; his starved body, +whipped by the cold, was beginning to play with the imagery. + +He gurgled a grim little laugh, and all clear thought was at an end. +Claire heard and looked at him wonderingly. She knew that she was +freezing, and she had resigned herself, but this man, what was he doing? +He still lunged through the trees, where, at all events it seemed a +little warmer. She heard him muttering incoherent jargon that gradually +cleared to speech. "We'll go on, Claire. We'll go on to the end. I've +got to do it. I need my life. I need you!" + +She started and listened, though even in her present state she grew +resentful. "So that was it," she thought; "he's waiting to get me out +before he breaks into his love. He wants his rescue as an argument." +Then her thinking was broken into detached images. She saw her husband +and cried aloud to him. She had pictures flashing in her mind of him, of +old scenes, parties, places they had been together, tenements she had +visited in her charity work, the beach that morning when Lawrence had +found her, and in and through it all she heard words falling from his +lips that recalled later, stung her to wrath. + +"I need you, Claire," she heard him again, and then, "I shall use you, +Claire. You will be my masterpiece. It is you, proud, superior, human, +social, intellectual, sexed, vital, you, carrying in your being the +whole tumultuous riot of the ages gone, and hiding it under a guarded +social exterior, not knowing when in a sentence it breaks through, you, +you, Claire, you, the woman!" + +He stumbled, regained his balance, and plunged through a fringe of +pines, staggered against one, then another, cursed, and went again +forward and out into a clearing. She saw it vaguely before them. At +first she doubted, then, as he let his hold on her slip, she gripped his +neck with arms that scarcely felt the body they closed around. + +"Lawrence," she screamed in a voice that was shrill--"Lawrence, a cabin, +a cabin!" + +He sank down with her clinging to him still. "I know," he muttered, +"I've got to find one." Then he lay quiet. + +She freed herself and crept toward the house. She was at the back of it, +and she was obliged to crawl slowly on hands and knees around to the +front. There was a door, she pushed on it, but it did not open. She grew +angry at it, and beat against it with her fists, abusing it for its +obstinacy. When at last it opened she laughed wildly. + +Before her, his tall body, clad in warm, heavy clothes, stood a man +whose dark eyes grew wet with tears of pity the instant they saw her. He +lifted her in his arms like a child and carried her inside. She had a +fleeting sense of being at home, she thought he was her husband and +threw her arms around him passionately, then, remembering Lawrence, she +murmured as he laid her down, "Out there--behind the cabin!" and was +unconscious. + +The man turned and hurried out. In a few minutes he came back, carrying +Lawrence, and his face was lined with pity at the state of these two +human beings. + +He laid them together on a wide berth at the side of the cabin and began +to work over them alternately. Swiftly and deftly he heated blankets and +prepared food. He wound them in the hot cloth, chafed their hands and +arms, and forced brandy down their throats. + +Lawrence's eyelids drew back. + +"The man is blind," muttered the stranger in Spanish. + +Claire was looking at him dazedly and reaching greedily toward the +kettle that simmered over a great open fireplace. + +He brought a bowl of hot savory soup and started feeding them. Lawrence +swallowed mechanically, but he could hardly get the spoon out of +Claire's mouth. + +"Not too much, _señora_," he said, turning away. + +When he looked again toward them they were both asleep. The utter +exhaustion of their long night claimed rest. He walked over to Claire +and stood looking down at her. + +"She was beautiful," he thought. "And he is blind. Ah, well, for her, +beauty is again possible, but for him"--he shrugged his shoulders--"it +is bad, bad!" he said softly, and, turning to a shelf of books that +stood against the wall, he drew out a volume and sat down before the +fire to read. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE STONE THREAT. + + +When Claire awoke she stared around her for a few minutes before the +events of their frantic struggle came back to her. Her eyes strayed to +the figure before the fireplace. Idly she noted the lustrous, wavy black +hair and deep brown eyes protected by unusually heavy lashes. It was +clearly the face of a thinker, a dreamer, yet there was something +sensual about the mouth, potentially voluptuous, abandoned, and +suggestive of tremendous passion that slumbered close beneath the brain +that was so actively awake. Claire ached, and her body tingled with the +unaccustomed warmth. She lay quiet, looking at the fire, her mind still +uncertain in its action, weaving sharp, dynamic images about this new +personality. While his appearance gripped and awed her strangely, at the +same time she felt drawn to him. She turned and threw out her hand. Her +host closed his book and looked up, smiling. + +"Ah, _la señora se siente mejor_?" His deep, rich voice, although +lighter than Lawrence's, was full of music, but she did not understand +his words. Her blank expression told him, and he smiled again. + +"I remember, you spoke English," he said with only the slightest accent. +"Are you better, _madame_?" + +She answered his warm smile and said weakly: "Much better, thank you!" + +"And your husband?" Claire saw that he was looking beyond her, and she +turned to find Lawrence at her side. Instinctively she resented his +being there. The warm blood rushed to her face. + +"He--oh--he will be all right, I trust!" she stammered falteringly, and +her host looked puzzled. Her impulse was to tell him that Lawrence was +not her husband, but she thought better of it and said nothing about the +relationship. + +"He had a long, desperate struggle to bring me here," she said instead. +"You see, I broke my ankle and he had to carry me." + +"Oh!" The man rose, his face filled with respect as he looked at +Lawrence asleep beside her. + +"From where did he carry you?" he asked. + +"From the coast," she shuddered. "It has been terrible!" + +His face expressed utter amazement as he repeated: "From the coast? It +is a miracle!" + +She made no reply, for Lawrence stirred and tried to sit up. + +"You'd better lie still," the stranger said kindly. "You deserve rest, +my friend." Then, as to himself, he added: "It is the first miracle in +which I can believe." + +Claire stared at him, and he laughed softly. "Pardon, _madame_! I am an +unhappy seeker after truth," he apologized, throwing a log on the fire. + +For Lawrence and Claire the days that followed were uneventful days of +recovery from their hardship. Slowly both of them grew stronger and +resumed their normal habits of thought and speech. Their host was a +gentle nurse, kindly and considerate. Claire assumed her wonted attitude +of the cultured woman, a guest in the house of a friend, and the +Spaniard met her with the polished courtesy of a cosmopolitan. Lawrence, +too, became the usual man that he was, careless of little niceties, +indifferent to form, but a charming companion and a delightful guest. + +From the first he and Philip became intensely interested in each other. +They discovered early that each was a thinker and a searcher in his own +way for the one great solution of life. + +During the first half-hour Claire had demanded of their rescuer where +they were and how soon they could get back to civilization. Philip had +laughed gently. + +"You are on the borders of Bolivia," he told her, "and the nearest +railroad is two hundred miles away. It is impossible to get out until +spring. Long ere this snow will have barred the way through the one pass +that leads out and we are prisoners--the three of us. You will have to +accept the hospitality of Philip Ortez until the spring." + +Lawrence had accepted the verdict with calm indifference. + +"Oh, well," he said, "it's hard on you, but as far as I'm concerned, one +place is as good as another." + +"I shall enjoy your company," their host laughed. + +After voicing polite thanks, Claire, in her own thought, had rebelled +against the situation vehemently. She wanted to get home, she wanted to +get away from everything that suggested her last weeks of suffering, she +wanted to get away from these men. Her heart leaped to the +ever-recurring dream of the husband, whose arms should take her up and +hold her warmly against the memory of their separation. + +"Then there is no way out?" she asked again. + +"None, _madame_," and Philip Ortez bowed. "You will have to be the guest +of a humble mountaineer." + +"I shall enjoy it, I am sure," she answered. "It is simply a woman's +natural desire for home which leads me to ask again." + +His eyes clouded. Claire somehow found herself fancying a tragic mystery +in the life of this man, and then rebuked herself for romancing. +Certainly, such fancies were not her habit, and she wondered why they +were occurring to her. + +The cabin stood on the very edge of the forest through which Lawrence +had carried Claire the last morning of their long march. Protected by +its pines, the little house fronted on a small lake, a place where the +river which they had followed widened to a half-mile, and stayed thus +with scarcely any current save directly through the center. All around +the lake the forest stretched its massed green, and here Philip trapped. +The lake, in its turn, provided him with fish. + +The week after their arrival snow had heaped itself into the ravine and +piled up high around the cabin. Ice was beginning to form on the edge of +the lake, and their host was preparing for his winter's work. They were +too weak to go with him, and he left them in possession of the cabin. + +At first there had been an unaccountable awkwardness between Lawrence +and Claire, and it had left a reserve which was difficult to overcome. +Lawrence had explained their situation to Philip; the Spaniard had been +apologetically gracious, but there was something in Claire's nature that +made her wish that Lawrence had never been thought of as her husband. +Dressed in Philip's clothes, and in the presence of a roof and fire, she +felt a desire to be free from the memory of the days when she had clung +about Lawrence's neck, and, above all, she felt that she was not able to +meet him with understanding. His blindness in these surroundings seemed +to set a sudden and impassable barrier between them, and made her ill at +ease when she was alone with him. + +Lawrence was irritated that she should so immediately react into what he +called the old conventional habit toward blind people, and keep it +standing like a stupid but solid wall between all their talk. Now that +she was no longer dependent on him, she appeared to him more attractive. +He thought of her husband, and wondered if Claire's attitude toward +himself was tempered with the thought of the man at home. "Surely," he +told himself, "she can't be allowing that to come between us, for it is +so obviously quite unnecessary." Then he began to wonder how much of her +life was centered about her husband. What sort of man was he, and did +she love him devotedly? As he thought, there crept into his feeling a +sense of irritation against the unknown man who was obstructing his +friendship with the woman he had carried half through the Andes +Mountains. + +Then the longing for his work came over him, and there were times when +he felt he must do something. He spoke needlessly sharp words to +Claire. Though she concealed her anger, there grew between them a +continuous straining born out of mutual misunderstanding and a great +submerged tangle of emotions. + +One morning when Ortez in snow-shoes and fur had gone for the day to +look after his traps, Claire washed up the tin dishes they used, and sat +down before the fire opposite Lawrence. His head was in his hands and +his face was somber. + +"You look sad this morning," she said casually. + +"Do I?" he answered. "I'm not--especially. I was just planning a piece +of work, dreaming it out in outline." + +She looked at him thoughtfully. His forehead was high and broad, she +thought, and his hands-- Their days in the wilderness rushed back over +her. She was angry at the memories they brought her, and doubly angry at +Lawrence, as if he only were responsible. + +"It's inconceivable," she said calmly, "that you, without seeing, can +really carve anything true to form and line." In her voice was +incredulity and unbelief. + +He rose suddenly, his face white, and said, with an intensity that +startled her: "That sentiment is as familiar to me as my name. I have +heard it from sight-bigoted people from the days when I made my first +attempt to go back to my school work. I am rather weary of it." + +She sat staring at him for a moment, then she laughed. She could not +have told why she did it, and she was instantly sorry. The blood rushed +to his face. + +"I shall create that which will forever assure you that I can carve true +to the most familiar form and line you know," he said fiercely. + +Her face was as crimson as his now, though she felt ice cold. + +"What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice unsteady. + +He laughed bitterly. In his own heart a fierce volcanic surge was raging +which he did not attempt to control. + +"Do you think that I, trained as I am to gather fact from touch, could +carry you through weeks of hell in my arms, against my breast, and not +know you, you as you are, Claire Barkley? I shall carve you, you with +your cold reserve suppressing the emotional chaos within you, and you +will not fail to recognize yourself." + +Claire gripped the chair arms. Anger, fear, doubt, then the knowledge +that he could do as he said, swept over her in rapidly succeeding waves, +and gathered at last into a steel hate that she felt must last through +eternity. + +"You, you would do that, after I guided you here! You would take +advantage of what I could not help, and--and--" she choked, and then +said swiftly--"so, under your indifferent exterior you used your touch +that way these days! Oh, you--you beast!" + +Lawrence laughed coolly. "I could no more help it than I can avoid being +here." + +"Lies!" she exclaimed. "A gentleman could help it!" + +"Perhaps, but not an artist." + +"And what of beauty, of your boasted purity of art, is there in that?" + +"All," he said calmly. "If you knew, oh, if I could make you see what +every artist knows"--he was talking passionately now, his face illumined +in spite of his blind eyes--"you would realize, that I could not help +it, that I glory in it, and that it was and is the way of art." + +He rose and walked the floor, pouring out his creed in a stream of +burning words. "I am a machine, a sensitive thing that registers what it +feels and knows, that is all. You touch me, my brain registers that +touch, and something in me, the will to live, the desire to create, the +insistent shout for expression says, 'Take that and carve it in stone.' +If I could see, if I were not blind, I would have been a painter. I +would have painted you, almost naked as you were, your eyes filled with +the hunger for life, your face tense with racing thoughts, I would have +painted you fully, all of you, as you were in night-gown and skirt there +in that forest, and you would have shouted to all the world from my +canvas, 'Look at me, I am the primitive, the wild, the passionate, the +tender, the selfish and unselfish living woman. See me as I am, +cultured, refined, educated, elemental withal, and the emblem of +humanity as it is, still stained with the traditional mud of +superstition and blood that marks its origin. Oh, I would have painted +you so, and now I shall carve you so!" + +He stopped, and Claire looked at him wildly, her eyes aflame with hate +and admiration. + +"You would use another human being that way?" she gasped. + +"I would use any one, I would, I will, at any cost to them, to me, if +the outcome be a piece of art, a work that in its truth, its immortal +beauty, shall stand a lasting testimony that I, Lawrence Gordon, have +mastered blindness and registered life correctly." + +A great light swept over her mind; that was the key to him. He would +sacrifice himself to conquer blindness--but would he, she wondered, and +instantly her thought found expression. + +"Would you crush yourself to create that mastery of blindness?" + +He laughed. "I have, I am doing it," he said. "I would go through all +the torment of the world if I might create something lasting, true, and +beautiful." + +Claire leaned forward, her lips apart, her eyes bright. That she hated +this man she was sure, yet all her woman's soul was awed by what she now +saw behind his mask of blindness. Then a new thought came to her. + +"Might it not be," she asked subtly, "if you hold suffering to be the +key to beauty that you would profit more at last by denying the impulse +to create the thing you are planning?" + +He laughed again. "I hold that pain is only the spur to progress. I care +nothing for the sentimentalism you are talking now. I carried you +through the wilderness, I suffered and bore it, I staggered through +nights and days with your warm body against mine that I might live, and +now--now I know the value of life, I understand as never before the pain +our fathers paid. I know the bitter animal war against environment, +evolution whipped into action by pain, hunger, fear of death, and I +shall carve that, all that, into the statue of one woman." + +"And what of me, me and you as such, Claire and Lawrence, who were there +through that struggle in the wilderness?" The speech leaped from +somewhere in her being before she knew it, and with it came knowledge +that stung her into tearful self-hate. + +"We shall go back to our old lives, I suppose, and live them out." + +It was what she had expected him to say, yet the calm matter-of-fact +statement hurt her as nothing he had ever said before. + +Lawrence dropped into the arm-chair again, and rested his head on his +hand. He was calmer now, and, reviewing in his mind what he had said, he +was beginning to ask himself why had he given way to this sudden +resentment against Claire. If she doubted him because he was blind, was +that any more than others had done? He had never burst out against them. +What was the matter with him? He surveyed the whole trend of his life up +to this minute: how he had broken at late adolescence from a glowing +idealist to a wanderer through varying paths of thought; always stirred, +stimulated, and swept on by contact with other people, books he had +read, women for whom he had occasional fancies of love, until gradually +he settled into his assured manner. It was exercise he needed, that and +work. + +He asked himself if he seriously loved Claire, and answered +unequivocally that he did not. He wanted her friendship very much, +indeed, but love, not at all. If she had been single, perhaps--but no, +he did not care about her that way, that was all. He had been too long +shut up here in the cabin with her and without work. He must get some +wood and amuse himself carving things with Ortez's knife; it would be +good practise, and, at the same time, relieve his nerves. He was sorry +he had let himself go; Claire must not be hurt. + +"Claire," he said quietly, "if I wounded you, if I said things I ought +not, pardon me! I am getting nervous doing nothing, and I am not myself +these days." + +She laughed calmly. "Oh, very well!" she said. "I wonder that we don't +come to blows, cooped up here as we are. I think next time Philip makes +his rounds I'll go with him." + +"It would be a good thing," answered Lawrence. "I'd like it myself." + +Claire did not keep up the talk. She, too, was thinking fast, and facing +new problems that demanded her attention. She was surprised to find that +her resentment toward Lawrence was completely gone. What would her +husband think of him? What would he do when she returned, when she told +him of her journey with this blind man through weeks and weeks of +wilderness when they were almost naked. She stopped, that was what +Lawrence had said, 'almost naked.' Her flesh tingled as she saw the +picture which he said he would like to paint of her. + +What would she, Claire Barkley, do if such a picture were painted? She +buried her face deep in her hands, but in her heart she knew that she +would respect the man who painted it. And if Lawrence carved her so in +stone, and did it as he thought he could--she pondered over that for +some time. + +"I think," she said aloud, and Lawrence raised his head, "that if I were +to stay shut up here alone as Philip does, I should go crazy before +spring." + +"It all depends on how your mind is occupied," he laughed. + +She blushed guiltily, and was glad he could not see her face. + + +TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK. Don't forget this magazine +is issued weekly, and that you will get the +continuation of this story without waiting a month. + + +WHAT LIBERTY BONDS MEAN + +PATRIOTISM, VICTORY, THE SOUNDEST INVESTMENT IN THE +WORLD, A PERFECT MEANS OF SAVING + +BUY ALL YOU CAN + + + + +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 VII. + +PLAYING WITH FIRE. + + +In the late afternoon, Philip returned to find Lawrence still sitting +before the fire, his mind centered on ideas for his future work. Claire +had disappeared behind the canvas curtain which was stretched before her +bed. + +"It is almost Christmas," announced Philip, as he entered. + +Lawrence straightened up. "Back again?" he said, carelessly. "It's been +a beastly day." + +Claire came out from her partition, laughing. "If you don't take one of +us with you next time," she said, "I won't answer for the tragedy that +may follow." + +Philip laughed, and shook the snow from his big coat. + +"Too much of your own continuous company?" he asked. + +"Yes"--her tone was light, but he saw that she was in earnest--"we are +so accustomed to each other that we both need a rest." She drew up a +chair for Philip before the fire. + +His dark eyes looked searchingly at her. + +"If you knew the path to peace," he said, "you would be happier. I see +that I must take you out with me and teach you the hidden entrance to +that mystic roadway." + +"You know one, then?" Lawrence's voice was amusedly skeptical. + +"It lies through the heart of man into the heart of"--Philip +paused--"shall I say God?" + +"You may as well, though it isn't especially clear." Lawrence smiled. +"God is a big, but vague, term." + +"I find it so," Philip answered, seriously. "There are days, however, +and this was one of them, when I am sure of the meaning of that term. +Claire must go forth with me and see." + +"Yes, do let me go," she said, eagerly. Then, with a little laugh: "If +your mystery out there is as discomforting as the Lawrence mystery in +here, I sha'n't worship him, however." + +"He isn't." Philip arose and crossed to his books. "He is the mighty God +who speaks in solitude." He drew down a volume, and returned to his +chair. + +"I find here in these mountains the medicine that _Hamlet_ should have +had. He would have been no _Hamlet_ had he ranged this plateau for a day +in winter." + +"And the world would be the loser," Lawrence interposed. + +Claire rose and started to prepare their evening meal. She had taken +over the duties of housekeeping from the time her ankle had allowed her +to walk. + +"If you two are going to plunge the house into an argument such as that +one promises to be," she said gaily, "I am going to reenforce the inner +man so that at least you won't suffer from physical exhaustion." + +Both men laughed, and one of them listened to her thoughtfully as she +moved about, while the other watched her, his dark eyes full of a keen +appreciation of her grace and her concise, accurate movements. + +"How good it is to have her here," thought Philip. Aloud, he said, +seriously: "I do not think the world gains enough from _Hamlet_ to make +it worth the price he paid." + +"Why not?" Lawrence was quick to respond. "Whatever his agony, whatever +his failures and his death, he left the world a picture of man's heroic +struggles to solve the riddle of the universe, his wisdom, his +strength--and his weakness." + +"But that is just what we don't want--the picture of man's weakness. It +is made all the worse when it is presented with the power of a sublime +work." + +Claire turned from the stove, and looked at Philip. His eyes were +burning with a deep, earnest fire that held her fascinated. She thought +him the most beautiful of all the men she knew. It was not his face, not +his appearance generally, but his eyes. Oh, the loss of such eyes! she +thought--yes, they are what makes him a finer man than Lawrence. Why +hasn't Lawrence such eyes? + +"Believe me, friend," Philip was speaking again, "if I could erase from +my knowledge the weakness of man, I would not need to trail my feet +through these snow-buried forests to find an hour's rest from life." + +Claire saw his fingers move nervously on the arms of his chair, and +thought: "That is it, then; I was right; he has his tragedy." She looked +at him again, and as she met his eyes she felt that she was sorrier for +him than she had ever been for Lawrence. Yes, she was sorrier for this +man whose soul burned out of his eyes than for that other whose soul was +always curtained by the expressionless mask that hid him. + +"I can't quite agree with you," Lawrence was saying; "I, too, know the +weakness of man, but there is, nevertheless, the glory of sublime beauty +which alone stands, immortal. I should indeed mourn for man if he were +unable to be truly immortal even in his created work. That, it seems to +me, saves him." + +"Or loses him," Philip added. "One golden life of unbroken sunshine, +dead at last and laid away in the memory of friends is worth more than +your greatest poem." + +"I should call that sentimentality," Lawrence laughed. + +"So it is," Philip flashed, "and why not? Must we kill sentiment and go +about with hearts of ice because our world is hard?" + +"Is there no way to keep ourselves warm without poultices?" retorted +Lawrence. + +Claire sat down at the table. "Come on and enjoy your venison, you two, +and have done with the ills of the universe." + +The two men joined her. It was a strange trio: Claire, a dashing boy in +Philip's made-over corduroys; Lawrence wearing his host's summer serge +as though it were his own, and Philip looking at them, amusedly. + +"I never quite recover from the charm of you in male attire," Ortez +remarked, looking into her face. + +"I've tried at times since our fortunate misfortune to imagine her in +evening gowns and furs," said Lawrence; "but I always fail and end by +getting her into some sort of barbaric costume belonging to the distant +past." + +"You are both flattering and both foolish," she told them. "It's my +business to look well in clothes, you know, and it's masculine to admit +my efficiency in a particularly feminine line." + +"You were scarcely fascinatingly efficient in the garb in which you +first appeared to me." Philip laughed at the recollection. + +"That isn't fair. I would have been if I had had enough to eat." + +She looked at him, and her eyes sparkled gaily. + +"I surrender," he said. "You would have been. Too fascinating!" + +"That also depends on circumstances," said Lawrence. "She wouldn't be +fascinatingly efficient in that back-to-nature garb if she were doing +charity work at home or if she were taking a trip in an airplane." + +"You carry your point," she agreed. "I shouldn't care to try." + +"Which leads me," Lawrence went on, "to observe that our friend, +Shakespeare, was, after all, right in bequeathing _Hamlet_ to us. He +might not look well in our own castle, but as a portrait viewed in our +neighbor's house, or in a house unspecified, he is the high point of +subjective tragedy." + +Ortez did not answer for a moment, then he said, quietly: "I had rather +lose my winter's work than lost _Hamlet_ from my memory, yet when I +think of what there is in life for a man, did he not have _Hamlet's_ +doubt to face, I think perhaps we would all be better off for no +knowledge of that subjective war. Man has too much to do to lift himself +out of the still clinging primordial slough to dally with +subjectiveness. We should be acting, aggressive, strident in the +strength of the war we wage toward freedom." + +"Of course," agreed Lawrence, "but that requires only one thing, the +master passion to do, because for us, doing is life. I cannot regret +_Hamlet's_ hesitating failure. It was his life. To every man there is +but one way, his way, and whether it be failure or success does not +depend upon an avenged wrong, a successful marriage, or even a great +work done for humanity. The test is, is his life worth the price he pays +to live it? I imagine _Hamlet's_ was." + +"Fallacies!" interrupted Claire. "Why, then, the tragedy?" + +"Because _Hamlet_ did not know that the governing laws to which he +strove to hold himself were not laws, not true, not necessary." + +"You mean," Ortez inquired, "that he was not bound to avenge his father +and punish his mother?" + +"I mean just that. Why should he? She was satisfied, his father was +dead, and _Hamlet_ gained nothing by his moral strutting and raving +against his own hesitating hand." + +"But you have swept aside all moral law," protested Philip. + +"What moral law is there that is external to me? What, indeed, is moral +law?" + +"That which makes for life, perhaps, as some one has said," offered +Claire. + +"For my life, yes. That which to me means life, is good. That which to +me means less life, is bad." + +"Yet you carried Claire through the mountains," Philip's voice was hard. + +"Because I needed her, because she was essential to my life." + +"Then you would have left her, had she been a hindrance?" + +"That depends," answered Lawrence slowly. "Had she made my life +uncertain when otherwise I might have lived, I think I would. Of course, +if her being there merely increased my trouble, I should have brought +her." + +Claire was watching Philip's face. It was a study. On it there was +something that made her heart beat faster, she found herself unable to +tell why. She glanced at Lawrence. There he sat, his strong, stern face, +calm and soulless. She wondered why blindness robbed this man of his +rightful appearance. He had a soul, and it was a wild, beauty-loving +soul, she knew, but blindness quite mantled it. On the other hand, +Philip's was a mighty fire within, which shone in beauty through his +eyes. Lawrence had quietly spoken of how he would have left her under +other circumstances. Philip would have died at her side, she knew it. +What a difference between them! + +"But if you feel as you declare, why take that extra trouble to save +her?" Philip asked. + +"Because I have a certain dislike of death and don't care to cause it +myself if I can help it." + +Claire laughed. "But death, you said once, is a mere stopping of animal +action. Why dread that?" + +"Because I myself do not care to die, I would not care to cause your +death." + +Philip rose and went to the fire. "I do not believe you could live by +your theory," he asserted. + +"I do live by it. There is but one thing I dread worse than death. I +would die rather than give up my creative impulse." + +"And he would sacrifice your life or mine for art's sake," merrily added +Claire. "It's a good thing he doesn't think we are hindrances to art." + +Philip also laughed. "Well," he said, "there might come a time when I, +too, would want a thing enough to kill in order to obtain it." + +"What, for example?" asked Lawrence. "That is the best way to determine +your value of life." + +Philip did not answer for a few minutes, then his voice vibrated. + +"The things that mean more than life to me. I know that one holds his +own life dear, but there are things, love, courage, honor, for example, +that he holds even above life." + +"Would you kill me, for instance," asked Lawrence pleasantly, "if I +stood between you and Claire?" + +"That is scarcely answerable," nervously interposed Claire. "You see, +you don't and the man who does--though it's all absurd, since we none of +us here are the least in love--is my husband." + +"I had almost forgotten him," said Lawrence, his voice lingering softly +on the word "almost." + +Philip laughed. "Why, yes, in the abstract, I should say that if +anything would make me kill you, it would be your standing between me +and the woman I loved. Of course, the case is fair, but scarcely +probable enough to make any of us worry." + +"True"--Lawrence joined him at the fire--"and by the way, while I think +of it, I want a knife and a block of soft wood. I'm going to entertain +myself these days." + +Quickly Claire looked up. + +"And you shall entertain me, Philip," she said gaily. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE TIGHTENING NET. + + +Christmas was upon them. They gathered before the big fireplace in +silent meditation, while outside the wind whipped sheeted snow against +the walls and wailed dismally its endless journeying. They could not +help but feel the something melancholy in the air. The little cabin, +standing so far away from civilization and all the things they were +accustomed to know seemed somehow to set them apart from the rest of the +world and leave them stranded as it were, upon a barren stretch of +thought. + +In keeping with the setting, solemn questions of destiny, death, and the +meaning of things took the place of the usual Christmas festival and +glitter. + +In Lawrence's mind, Claire was growing more and more predominant. He +found her constant association weaving itself into his life until, when +he looked ahead toward the day when they must part, he discovered +himself asking what he could find that would take her place. Her voice, +her little habits of speech, the unexpected question that showed her +deep interest in him, in his work, and in his attitude toward her, these +had gradually stirred in him the desire to establish in his own mind a +definite relation toward her which he could maintain. + +When Claire went out for a while with Philip, Lawrence spent the interim +in trying to reason out his problem. He told himself that he would feel +differently in his old environment with friends and work, but the answer +was not satisfactory. He knew that even there, he would miss the quick +sound of movement, the quick phrase that was Claire. + +Did he love her then? He asked himself that, and could not answer. What +was love to him, anyway? He sought to think out a scheme of love that +would fit into his system of utter selfishness, and failed. The memory +of her in his arms came to him now with a warm, emotional coloring that +had been absent during the days of their journey. + +Had he been so impersonal then at first? He remembered his first wild +joy at finding her there in the surf, and he admitted that even then +there had been a subtle heightening of his pleasure, because it was a +woman. Since his blindness he had been separated from the other sex even +more than from his own, and now he was to live with one daily, having +her alone to talk to, to watch, to be interested in, and to know--yes, +that had been a part of his feeling that morning. He remembered that he +had been slightly irritated at her when he had first decided that she +was cold and intellectual. He had wanted her to be warm, colorful, +vivid, and feminine. He had found later that she was all these things, +but not toward him. It was a man whom he had never known, her husband, +Howard Barkley, for whom she was wholly woman. Always when she spoke of +him her voice had warmed, grown softer, subtly shaded with color. + +Claire opened the cabin door. + +"Hello, Mr. Dreamer! Still in the land of to-morrow?" she called, taking +off her heavy wraps. + +"Where's Philip?" Lawrence demanded gruffly, without moving. + +"Working over a trap in the ravine. I was a little tired, so I didn't +wait." + +Lawrence could hear her brushing her hair. He was glad she had returned +without Philip. Now at least they would have a few minutes alone. + +"Snow bad?" he asked. If he could only have run his hands through that +curly mass! The memory of her hair brushing against his face made his +temples throb dully. + +"Yes, my hair is filled with it. I caught my cap on a branch, and the +whole load of snow came down on top of me." + +"How old are you, Claire?" he demanded suddenly. + +She laughed. "Guess! Don't you know it isn't good form to ask a lady her +age?" + +"Sometimes you are quite thirty, and other times--" + +"Well, go on." Claire was standing at the opposite side of the fireplace +with her back to the flame. + +"Other times, you are two," Lawrence continued calmly. + +"I thought that was coming. Well, just to prove what a really nice +person I am, I'll tell you. I'm twenty-six." + +"When were you married, Claire?" Her breath tightened at his question. + +"Curiosity is a wonderful thing, and the impudence of man passeth all +understanding. I have been married exactly six years, three months, and +twenty-four days." The last sentence brought the catch into her voice +that Lawrence had expected. + +"I know you miss your husband," he forced himself to say formally. + +"Yes, you see"--Claire hesitated--"ours wasn't like some marriages one +hears about. Howard and I were both very much in love." She realized too +late the past tense. Had Lawrence noticed it? "I miss him dreadfully," +she added desperately. + +Lawrence said nothing. He had noticed Claire's slip, and the verb had +sent him into a thousand realized dreams. The next instant he was +cursing himself for a fool. "Fools, all of us," he thought. "Philip, +too, warming himself with dreams of Claire." Before the nearness of the +Spaniard's personality, Howard Barkley faded into the background. +Lawrence reviewed his own position moodily. + +Blind, unable to do the work that Philip did, certainly unable to use +the million little ways of courtesy-building as Philip did, his chances +were unequal. + +Did he want Claire for Claire, or was it only the fighting instinct, the +desire to overcome men not handicapped as he was? Would he still want +Claire after he had won her? After the intimacies of home life had made +her familiar as nothing else could, and had dispelled all romance, all +the alluring appeal that sprang from the deepest sex-prompted desire yet +unattained, would he still want her? That was the question, and he could +not say. The experience alone could tell him--and would that experience +ever come? + +Claire watched Lawrence's face, the while her own thoughts raced on. It +had been love she felt for her husband. She was sure of that. Of course, +in the years of their life together, the old, wild passion had gradually +retired into its normal proportion, leaving them free to go about calmly +and untroubled. But it was there, as she well knew in the hours when +they became lovers again. Certainly those hours had been joyous, happy +ones, unclouded by any suspicion of mere gratification of impulse or +desire. Yes, they had been hours of love claiming its rightful +expression over the more constant hours of daily living. + +Then she recalled her experience of the night before. She had been +dreaming of her husband, but he possessed Lawrence's features, illumined +with the glow of Philip's eyes, and she had started into full +wakefulness with a sudden sense of her position. Now she sat before the +fire, and resolved grimly that no matter what happened she would be +faithful to Howard. Of course, she would go with Philip to look after +his traps, the exercise was the best antidote to such morbid thoughts, +and he would never make advances to her, of that she was sure. As for +the days that she might spend alone with Lawrence, he was too +self-centered, too much wrapped up in his wood-carving, to think of a +woman--and she disregarded the little pang of discontent that +accompanied her thought. + +Philip was hanging the skins over the door. Claire realized that she had +been too engrossed to notice his entrance. + +"I break a six weeks' fast to-day"--and he turned toward Lawrence. "Do +you smoke?" + +"Man!" said Lawrence, springing up, "if I'd known you had tobacco in +store I'd have murdered you long ago to get it. I would be a more +agreeable companion if I could taste tobacco now and then." + +"Pardon me for not thinking to ask you. I was declaring a six months' +course in self-discipline for the good of my soul." + +"Bring forth the smoke," said Lawrence joyously. + +"Unfortunately"--Philip turned to Claire--"a bachelor's storehouse +contains no treat for a lady. Your visit was unexpected." + +"I shall gain my pleasure through watching you two sink back into a +beloved vice," she answered. + +"Horrible!" Lawrence sat down, and took the cigarette which Philip +produced. "To enjoy seeing one succumb to vice." + +"Isn't it characteristic of scandal-loving humanity?" she rejoined. + +"And on Christmas Day!" Philip chided her lightly. Then he went on, +seriously: "But one should really be above all things save love and +gratitude to God on this day." + +"I suppose so," said Lawrence, "but it's difficult to determine just +where this object of gratitude abides and what He is." + +"Is it necessary to locate Him?" asked Claire. + +Lawrence breathed deeply with the satisfaction in his cigarette. "I +should hate to direct my gratitude toward some one who missed it, and +thus have it lost in desert space," he answered. + +"It isn't that we need God so much as it is simply the good we gain +ourselves," said Philip slowly. "I still follow the old trail for my own +heart's sake." + +"And does it get you anywhere?" Lawrence's question was characteristic. + +"Yes, I think so. I find myself nearer to the source of that which is +worth while." + +"What is worth while?" Claire asked. + +The answers she obtained were the two men revealed. + +"The fullest life possible for me," said Lawrence. + +"The fullest heart possible for me," followed Philip. + +"But you both mean the same thing, don't you?" asked Claire. + +"I mean the fullest number of my own desires gratified," Lawrence +avowed. + +Philip leaned back in his chair and looked at Claire, meditatively. + +"If he did as he says, we should have to lock him up," he observed. + +They all laughed. + +"Not at all." Lawrence was amiably argumentative. "To be sure, if my +desires were gratified at your expense, as this smoke, for example"--he +laughed--"and on an all-inclusive scale, you might have to resort to +personal violence. But, in fact, many of my desires would bring you joy +in their gratification, you know." + +"I do know," said Philip cordially, "but the danger in your point of +view is that it allows for no check. You would sacrifice both of us if +it were necessary to gratify your desires--that is, if you lived true to +your assertion." + +"Perhaps I would. I don't know. There is the weak point in my whole +scheme. I evade it by failing to sacrifice you, but I support my theory +by saying there is no occasion to do so." + +"I don't like your principles," Philip rejoined, "though I admit that my +own fail me more often than not." + +"Exactly. We humans do fail, and the conclusion to which it brings me +is, why hold principles that you find unworkable? I prefer a standard to +which I can at least be true, in the main, and avoid self-condemnation, +pricks of conscience, and other little inconveniences." + +"Such as a sense of duty?" interrupted Claire. + +"That above all, Claire," he laughed. + +"And obligation?" + +"Yes, that too, if you mean a sense of being bound to one because of +something he has done in the past. For instance, I am obliged to Philip +for his food, his house, my life, and this cigarette, but I scarcely +feel that that would imply that I must sacrifice my greatest desire in +life as payment if necessary. Of course, it isn't necessary, but if it +were, I should refuse." + +"I think you would not," asserted Philip. + +"I know I would. I rather believe you would also, though it might be +that you would not." + +"I would sacrifice anything to pay a debt of gratitude." Philip spoke +warmly. + +"You would--perhaps--but in so doing would you not feel that gratitude +was the thing of supreme worth to yourself?" + +"Not necessarily. I might even suffer all my life for having done so." + +"Impossible. You would either redeem your sense of life's value by a new +belief, or you would die." + +"Then you think a man can do as he pleases and maintain his +self-respect, his personal integrity?" + +"He will find some way to make himself feel worth while, or he will +cease to be." + +"You think that a criminal, or perhaps better, a person abandoned to +vice, feels justified?" + +"Yes. He creates a belief by which his abandonment is not destructive to +himself, or he is converted, which is simply a convulsion of nature for +the same end, to preserve his life and make it seem valuable to him." + +"Could you, for instance, murder a man, and do it believing that +afterward you would somehow make it seem right, or at least so necessary +that you would feel as self-respecting and sin-free as before?" Philip +was speaking earnestly. + +"I should not do so unless I were forced to it, but if I were, I know +that I would somehow reconstruct my mental life so that I would still +feel existence worth the price." + +Claire leaned forward. "Lawrence," she said jestingly, "you have swept +away the bulwark of the home, made infidelity easy, and numberless +separated families inevitable with your bold, bad talk. Aren't you sorry +for all those tragedies?" + +He laughed. "Very," he said, "though it was watching such proceedings +take place so frequently that led me to accept my theory. Think of the +men and women who are unfaithful, who leave their wedded partner for +another, and still find life worth while." + +"But that is their failure to live true to their principles," said +Philip. "It is commonly called sin, my friend." + +"It may be, according to their light, but they generally get a new light +afterward. You see, I do not believe that God joins men and women. I am +persuaded that a very natural physical desire does so, and it doesn't +follow that the first is the only or best union." + +"My husband would simply dread me if I held your view, and I should feel +very wary if I were your wife, Lawrence," remarked Claire. + +That was the central point in the whole discussion, though none of them +were aware of it. Vaguely they felt that they were groping their way +toward the future, but they did not allow the feeling to reach a +conscious state, and Philip laughingly broke up the talk. + +"Here we are," he said, yawning, "the fire is making us all sleepy, +we're talking foolishness, and we need exercise. Why not get it? I think +we might all of us go out and face the wind for a quarter of an hour, +then let it blow us back to camp like three children. I have the skis +for us all." + +"Great!" Claire clapped her hands in applause. + +"It's a splendid idea," agreed Lawrence, and they set forth. + +It was hard going against the wind; Philip was the only one who managed +his skis very satisfactorily, and Lawrence, of course, had to be +assisted, but the crust was smooth and clear, and they made great sport +of it. The two men placed Claire between them and crossed hands in front +of her, like skaters. The fresh snow-filled air blew into their lungs, +and they laughed like boys on a holiday. Claire glanced at the two and +thought: "What a pair to be between!" Then laughed again. All the +morbidity was gone, she was not thinking follies now, and neither of +them was more than a good friend. Philip was thinking that Claire was +good to see as she moved along between them, her graceful stroke +carrying her over the snow, her cheeks stung red in the wind. Lawrence +was not thinking at all. He was simply moving, deeply enjoying the wind +and the exercise and the soft, strong little hand upon his own, helping +to guide him through his darkness. + +When they turned and stood close together, the wind caught them like a +sail and sent them skimming before it. The sense of tobogganing was +keenly exhilarating. Home, problems, worries, the future, all seemed +very simply, very easy, and not at all a matter for long conversations +before a hot fire. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +CLAIRE'S ABASEMENT. + + +The following days and even weeks passed quickly, carried on the wave of +light-hearted play which Philip had so wisely started that Christmas +night. February came with clear sun that set the snow glittering like a +field of crystal under the dark pines, and they laughed with exuberance +of spirit as they swept over it on their skis. Even Lawrence became an +adept as long as he had one of their guiding hands to hold. All +speculation was gone for the time being. Lawrence and Claire gave +themselves up to a frank comradeship, in which Philip formed a splendid +third, so that they seemed a trio of happy, healthy animals whose lives +flowed without a break in the mere pleasure of living. + +But one morning early in the month, Philip said after breakfast, over +his coffee and cigarette, "I'm going for the day to my farthest traps +across the river. Claire, would you care to go? We'll get back late this +evening." + +"I would," she said promptly. "I'll be ready in a few minutes." + +Lawrence did not say anything, but to his sudden surprise he felt his +heart sink. An insistent inner voice was saying, "I wish she wouldn't +go." + +He heard her, back of the curtain, dressing for the trip, and his little +petulant thought grew into gloom at the prospect of her being away. He +felt irritated at Philip for suggesting that she go. + +"You'll have to leave me a good spread, Claire," he said finally when +she emerged into the room. + +"I'll fix you up a great meal," she laughed. "You can eat all day, if +you like." In her voice there was an unusual warmth, for at his words +she felt suddenly as though she were thoughtless of him in going. For a +minute she pondered giving up the trip, then concluded that to do so +would seem ridiculous, and set about preparing his lunch. + +Philip rose and, putting on his heavy coat, said carelessly, "You can +carve us a new wooden image, Lawrence." + +The words were casual and without intention, but they angered. Lawrence +felt as though both of them were trying to make amends to him for their +going, as though, being blind, he must of course stay at home, but ought +to have something to occupy his time. His resentment grew stronger as he +continued to think of their supposed condescension. + +When the lunches were ready Claire and Philip started. At the door she +paused and said gaily: "Keep the house warm for our returning, +Lawrence." + +He was sullenly angry and made no reply. The frank way in which she +spoke of herself and Philip somehow recalled to his mind other couples, +married lovers starting out somewhere, and his heart tightened +perceptibly. After they were gone he sat thinking for a long time, and +his impulsive feeling clarified into certainty. Claire and Philip were +in love. Perhaps they did not know it yet themselves, and had not +spoken, perhaps they had; at any rate, they were in love. It had grown +between them in his very presence, and he, doubly blind fool, had not +known. If he could have seen, it would have been clear to him, of +course. + +He thought of Claire's husband, and grew virtuously angry at Claire. +Howard Barkley would mourn his days out, never knowing that his beloved +wife was living in Bolivia with a Spanish trapper! He saw Claire going +about the cabin as Philip's wife and doing for love the things she now +did out of a desire to be of use, and his rage grew. Was it not for love +that she did them now? But she was just as thoughtful of him as she was +of Philip. "Of course, idiot," he muttered, "she pities you; you poor, +abandoned, blind man, you are to be cared for, don't you see?" He strove +to shake himself into a different mood by self-ridicule. Was this the +philosopher who made life a matter of calm acceptance of circumstances +which he knew to be his master? He laughed at himself, but the laugh was +bitter, and he knew that he was not willing to accept this particular +turn of circumstances. + +But what right had he to judge what she did? She was not his wife nor +the woman who would be his wife. She could never be his wife. There was +her husband. No, it was not her husband that counted, but Philip! +Suddenly Lawrence realized the point that he had reached. + +He loved Claire Barkley. + +The admission of that at last in frank, utter avowal set him dreaming of +the joys she might have been to him. He thought of a thousand little +intimacies, cares, thoughtfulnesses, that she might have given him and +received from him, and they were all made vital, real, by the now ardent +memory of her in his arms, of the hands he had held in his own so often +of late in the open. + +In the afternoon he grew disgusted with himself. He had moped all day in +his chair, moving only to replenish the fire or get a cigarette, and he +now shook himself vigorously free from his thoughts. "You love her, yes, +and she obviously does not love you," he told himself. "Why, then, make +the best of it, if you can't do better, and at least don't be a beast in +your treatment of your host when he comes back to his own hearth." + +With that he dragged out a block of wood, took his knife, and went to +work. As was his way, he was soon unconscious of everything but the +piece of wood beneath his hand. He had never done wood-carving before, +and he was learning the technique that made it very different from clay. +He had gone at this piece without any special intent and was shaping it +into a cherub merely out of whim, but he was giving to the task every +atom of his skill, and his hands worked with every nerve strained to +detect and keep line and proportion. + +Swiftly under his knife the child's body grew in shape, and he caressed +the rough form tenderly. He would polish it later, and then what +pleasure it would represent! It would make a great decoration for the +cabin--for her cabin. He winced--yes, for hers and Philip's cabin. +"Fool!" he ejaculated. "Forget it!" He bent again to his work, but it +did not go so smoothly. Out there she and Philip would be laughing +merrily together, skimming over the snow in long, sweeping strides, hand +in hand. Would they think of him? Probably not, or if they did it would +be to say, "Poor Lawrence! It's a pity he's blind. He has real talent." + +He gritted his teeth. Well, he had real talent, and they should know it. +She should know it. He would show her such carving as she had never +thought possible. After all, was her love to him, Lawrence the artist, +the capable, blindness-conquering artist? "I am reconstructing my life," +he thought, "so that I can still find it valuable without the woman I +want." He again laughed bitterly and said to himself, "You poor, blind, +groveling beast, you, what a poor excuse for life you have, and what a +tawdry substitute you would offer Claire for the vast joy that is hers! +Oh, it is contemptible!" + +He bent over his work again, and the door opened. + +Claire came across the room and leaned over him, her body radiating a +cool, healthy perfume as she laid her hand on his shoulder. + +"Oh, what a splendid piece of work, Lawrence!" + +Her voice was joyous, triumphant, and his heart beat desperately against +his chest. "They've declared their love," he thought, and then he said +simply, his voice vibrant with the emotion he did not otherwise show, +"It's been beastly lonesome to-day, Claire." + +She laughed gaily, while her eyes clouded. Then she noticed the +untouched food on the table. + +"Why, Lawrence, didn't you like the lunch I fixed for you?" + +"It was bully, Claire," he answered quickly, "but I wasn't very hungry +to-day--I don't know why." + +The emotional coloring in his voice set her whole being atremble. She +had come in, radiant with the day's pleasure, and he had met her with +his need. He had been too blue even to eat. She was suddenly seized with +pity for him, as she thought of his long day alone. But more than that, +over and over in her heart she kept saying, with a joy she could not +conceal from herself, "He loves me! He loves me!" + +Philip came in and bent over them both to look at the wooden child. + +"_Caramba!_ it is a marvelous thing!" he exclaimed. The unconscious use +of the Spanish word showed the genuineness of his admiration. + +Claire laughed joyously. She was glad that Philip knew the power of this +blind man who loved her, and a vague feeling came over her that she was +now somehow safe from Philip. Instantly she wondered at her feeling the +need of safety from him. Glancing back over Lawrence's head, she met +Ortez's eyes and read in their look a tenderness that he did not know +was there. Her heart leaped unsteadily, and her lashes dropped. She was +saying to herself, "How wonderful he is!" + +Then she turned and almost ran behind the curtain that walled her room. +On the edge of her bed she sat, her face in her hands, hot tears burning +her eyes, while over and over the blood rushed into her cheeks and out +again. + +"Claire! Claire! What sort of a woman are you?" she moaned. + +Her heart beat irregularly under the surge of emotion that shook her. +She was glad, glad that Lawrence loved her. She had looked into the eyes +of Philip Ortez, and her own had dropped, while her mind had leaped into +admiration of him, warm, yielding admiration. What was it that had swept +her on the discovery of one man's love to a deep, vibrant gladness--that +another man's eyes had been filled with tenderness for her? Was she so +changed from the Claire of old? Was she utterly degraded? Did she want +both men to love her? Did she love either of them? What of her husband? +She sank down on the bed and wept silently. + +They were talking out there in the cabin. She heard Lawrence say +laughingly: "One gets accustomed to hearing your voices around, and to +hearing Claire do things, so that a day alone seems endless." + +"Hearing Claire do things"--that was it--and suppose he knew what she +was, would he want to hear her then? + +"Oh, I know," Philip was answering. "It gets to be a sort of necessity, +doesn't it, when we have so many associations and memories all among +ourselves? I shall find the place dreary next winter, I am afraid, when +you are back among your friends, and Claire"--he paused slightly--"will +be going about as ever, doing things for her husband somewhere up there +in the States." + +Would her husband ever imagine or discover what she was? If he did, he +would leave her. She remembered a girl in the slums at home who had +refused to be uplifted. "Aw, one fellow ain't enough. A plain ham is all +right for some, but I want a club-sandwich." She shuddered now at the +memory of the girl's words, and shrank together on her bed. Was she +another of that sort, abnormal, degenerate, whose life must find its +level at last in the sordid riot of promiscuity, disguising itself as +love? If Claire had never touched the bed-rock of self-abasement before, +she was doing it now, there in that cabin. + +She heard Ortez starting to get supper, and she sat up quickly. With +stern control she forced herself to seem composed and quiet, while +within her passions raged like a tornado. Self-contempt, wonder, +amazement, pity for her husband, for Lawrence, and hatred for Philip +Ortez swept round and round in her brain like a maelstrom. + +She stepped through her curtain and said gaily: "You're preempting my +privilege, Philip." + +He laughed. "I thought perhaps you were tired," he said. + +"She ought to be," remarked Lawrence from his chair, and in her present +state she imagined in his voice a tenderness, a worry for her, and a +distrust of her. + +She took up the kettle, and hung it on its hook in the fireplace. "I +never in my life imagined myself cooking over an open fire in this way," +she said as she turned toward the little storeroom adjoining. + +"You like it?" Philip asked carelessly. + +She felt sure that his eyes had read her heart and that he was looking +toward the future, his future with the wanton mistress he had found. + +She could have screamed, "I hate you! I hate you!" but she said only, +"It's great fun for a while; I wouldn't fancy it as a permanent thing." + +"It surely must be different from the conveniences of your home." + +"Rather," she laughed as she began cutting from the smoked meat that +hung in the storeroom. + +Now it was Lawrence who was speaking. "I guess she'd surprise us if we +could supply her with a chafing-dish. I'd like to see her at work over +one in my studio with the bunch around waiting hungrily for results." + +Would these men never stop saying things that made her want to scream? +What was the matter, that all at once the beauty of her day should be +smashed into a discolored memory of self-hatred? Was there nothing in +all the world but sordid thoughts of oneself and of men who, causing +them, said things to make them worse? + +After they had eaten she went to bed as soon as possible, leaving the +men to smoke before the fire. She had pleaded weariness, and they had +laughingly told her to get to sleep. They were out there now, talking in +subdued tones so as not to disturb her--as if their voices did not ring +through her suffering mind like clarions of evil! What should they say +if she should suddenly spring before them and shout out her mad fancies? +For a moment she had the wildest of impulses to laugh aloud, then +suddenly she turned on her face as she recalled the emotion that had +swept her when she saw Philip looking at her over Lawrence's head. Sleep +finally stopped her tears. + +The two men went to bed, and there was silence in the cabin. Lawrence +was smiling, as he felt Philip's body there beside him in the darkness. +"I could kill you now," he was thinking ironically, "and end all +question of your loving Claire." + +Philip, too, was awake. He had seen the hot flush that came into +Claire's face that evening, and he knew that she had been troubled +during the supper. He wondered if she were ill. Then suddenly he asked +himself, "Is she in love with one of us?" He immediately tried to +dismiss the thought as unworthy of her. She was not the kind of woman +to forget her marriage vows. But what a home she could make for the man +she loved! If he had only known her in time! + +But there was still friendship--yes, surely she could give that. +Complete understanding and perfect sympathy would be the basis of a +lasting attachment. "Who knows?" he pondered. "It may be that fate has +sent her to me to teach me what a great self-denying love can be. In +Claire I may find my dream-star again." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +HOW SIMPLE THE SOLUTION! + + +When Claire awoke the next morning her whole being seemed gathered into +a tense strain that made her feel as though the least thing might snap +the taut nerves in her body and leave her broken and stranded on some +far, emotional shoal. Her heart beat unevenly, while her lips and hands +felt dry and hot, as if she had spent hours in a desert wind. She did +not experience the bitter anguish of the night before; such storms are +too wild to last, but it had left her deadly heavy within, and she was +unable to recover her usual calm. + +One great determination dominated her, to prevent these men, at any +cost, from knowing her real feelings. It was a determination born out of +the sheer force that was carrying her on, a struggle that came from the +very strength of the tide she sought to resist. + +She had been awakened by a sudden and clear image, the result of her +unsettled mind. Her husband was beside her, leaning over the bed and +looking down at her with a great love and a greater pity shining in his +eyes. She thought that she had thrown up her arms to close about him +with the frantic joy of a rescued person, only to have them meet in +empty air and fall listless at her sides again. + +Beyond the curtain she heard Philip saying cheerfully: "It is a great +day outside, one of Claire's days for play." + +"Good!" Lawrence answered. "We'll go out, then, and play." + +A rush of self-pity, anger against her situation, fear of she knew not +what, and a gnawing desire to escape blended in her thoughts, while her +heart warmed at the sound of Lawrence's words. + +"Oh," she thought, "I can never, never stand this day!" + +She got out of bed and began to dress, her nervous hands fumbling at the +buttons on her clothes. Her eyes, deeper and shadowed in dark rings, +stared vacantly at the white canvas before her. Lawrence was talking +again, and she listened. Presently he started across the room and bumped +into a chair. The incident was one which had become long familiar to +her, and ordinarily she would have thought nothing of it, but this +morning she flushed with sudden anger that a chair should have been left +in his way. Then she realized that she was foolish, stepped through the +curtain, and said before she thought: + +"Lawrence, I do wish that you'd look where you are going!" + +He laughed merrily. "So do I," he rejoined. "For some years failure to +do so has kept me with at least one skinned shin. But just think of the +cost of stockings had I been blind as a boy!" + +Suddenly she had a vivid picture of him as a ragged, little fellow, +stumbling about through his unfathomable darkness, bumping into things +and leaving jagged holes in his child's black stockings. Whether she +wanted to laugh or cry she did not know, but a great, warm surge of +motherliness came over her for the child she imaged, and she said aloud, +"Poor little urchin!" + +Philip turned and looked at her, smiling. "It would have been a picture +indeed," he said. + +"I had enough troubles during my rebellious childhood at the orphanage +without adding imaginary woes," Lawrence went on, amusedly +retrospective. "I remember one day when I was at the awkward stage. I +was all dressed for church and happened to stumble over another boy +lying in the grass. I fell against a bench, my trousers caught on a +projecting nail, and ripped dreadfully. The matron gave me a scolding +and sent me to bed for the day." + +"Brought up in an orphanage!" thought Claire. "No wonder he is +pessimistic." + +"I didn't mind missing church," Lawrence continued; "but it struck me as +a piece of gross injustice that I should be punished for a boy's lack of +muscular coordination. I've experienced the same fate over my blindness. +It seems to be a special trick people have, and they play it +incessantly. I should think it would get as tiresome to them by and by +as it did to me some years ago." + +Claire felt as if she were included in his casual criticism of mankind, +and wondered just how she had been addicted to the practise. A dozen +different instances came to her, and she felt very penitent. + +"It's because we're all so thoughtless," she said. + +"Perhaps. I rather choose to state it differently. It's for the same +reason that I do thousands of things, because I'm more interested in +myself than I am in any one else. I'm selfish, and so is the rest of +humanity." + +"But we aren't deliberately so," Philip protested. "Isn't it rather that +we are short-sighted and unimaginative?" + +"It may be. The end is the same. If I am too short-sighted, too +unimaginative to know how a fellow being feels, I can do nothing but +blunder along. He may be hurt by me. I may do him an injustice, I may +even cheat him of his chance at life, but it can't be helped, and again +the result amounts to my being selfish." + +As she worked over her biscuit dough, Claire listened to their talk +resentfully. She wished they would keep still, but she said nothing. +They went ahead, demonstrating, she thought bitterly, the truth of +Lawrence's argument. + +"I suppose mankind generally does the best it can," Philip said +thoughtfully. "If you ask a man, if you really talk with him, you will +find him kindly, inclined to be generous, and willing to do what he can +for another. I have always found that true." + +"So have I, in a way. He is kindly, he is inclined to be generous, and +he is willing to do what he can for another. The trouble is, he makes a +maudlin sentiment of his kindliness, a self-flattering charity of his +generous inclinations, and is unable to do what he can for another +because he is quite sincerely persuaded that he can't do anything." + +"My friend, I have had men help me when it cost them trouble to do it. +We all have. Without it, we would none of us accomplish anything of +value." + +"I, too, have had them help me, from the lending of money down to +guiding me across a traffic-blurred street, but I have never yet found +more than three or four whose imagination was keen enough and whose +judgment clear enough to give me a square deal at living." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that the same man who will help me across the street, lend me +money, and be a splendid comrade, stops short when he comes to the field +of self-support. He will say sympathetically, 'I don't see how you can +do it,' or 'I admire your grit, old man, and I'd like to see you do it,' +and then begin scheming around to direct my interests, aspirations, and +efforts into some other channel from where I want them, as though, out +of his own great wisdom, he knew much better than I what a blind man +could do. If you want to learn just how small the imagination of mankind +is and how obstructive to progress is their fool good-heartedness, go +among them as a capable mind with a physical handicap. You'll size them +up, yourself included, as the most blindly wall-butting set of +blundering organisms that ever felt their way through an endlessly +obstructed universe." + +"Breakfast!" Claire broke in with an unwonted sharpness in her tone. +"And do let the biscuits stop the argument." + +They laughed and sat down to a silent meal. When it was ended, and the +men took their cigarettes to the fireplace, she said: "I wish you would +both do me a favor to-day." + +"We will! Name it!" They spoke at the same time. + +She turned toward them with an earnestness which she had scarcely meant +to betray. + +"Go out, both of you, and leave me here alone a while." + +Lawrence was silent. Her words and her tone sent a sharp pain through +him, and he wondered if she were ill. He wanted to say something to her, +started to do so, checked himself, and laughed embarrassedly. + +Philip stared at her. He noticed the pale face and the dark rings under +her eyes. + +"Why, certainly," he said, and rose. "You aren't looking well, Claire. +Is anything seriously wrong?" He looked at her again with the same +unconsciously tender warmth in his eyes. + +She saw it, flushed angrily, wanted to scream at him, and said simply, +"No, I just want to think, and want it quiet. You two talk too much +about yourselves and about things that you don't understand." + +"Very true"--Lawrence also had risen--"if I did understand them, I'd +show humanity how to stop being animals and be men." + +"While as it is," she said nervously, "you allow them to blunder along +and help the good work out by making plenty of trouble for them by your +own blind shortness of vision." + +He stood, wondering at her. How had he unintentionally hurt her, and +what exactly did she mean? + +Philip laughed heartily. "A just judgment on him for his sorry view of +the world," he commented, opening the door. + +"We'll tramp back into the hills," he said to Lawrence when they were +both outside, "and see what there is of deficient imagination in them." + +"There isn't," Lawrence said quietly; "they and the ocean are +testimonials to the real potential power of an otherwise very faulty +artist." + +Left alone, Claire worked furiously at setting the house to rights. Her +nervous state led her to throw herself into the work with an energy that +kept her from thinking. She sought for things to do with the desperation +of a person whose only escape from the furies that followed him is utter +physical exhaustion. When the cabin had been arranged and rearranged +until there was no possible excuse for further effort, she took her +heavy man's coat from its place and stepped out upon the snow-covered +plateau before the house. + +Along its edges the lake shone milk-white in the sun, while farther out +the ice glinted a clear, watery blue that made a gleaming jewel set in +the sparkling snow around it. She stood gazing across the ice to the +forest beyond. Its still beauty crept over her, and she breathed deeply +of the cold, crisp air. Her head ached dully, and her chest felt tight +as though trying to expand beyond its limit to make room for the trouble +that filled her being. After standing motionless for a few moments, she +started briskly across the snow toward the far side of the lake. She +walked carefully over the ice and into the trees beyond. In her mind was +one thought, to escape--but escape from what? From herself, she +answered, and then suddenly, with a panicky bursting of the tension, she +thought that is done only through death. + +She stopped and let the word "death" fill her mind, as a word sometimes +does, growing and growing until its increasing weight oppresses the +brain with a sense of physical pressure. "Death"--is it an escape? She +tried to imagine herself dead, and failed. She could find no adequate +image to express oblivion, and she gave up trying, while she began to +wonder if she actually were immortal, and if she were, what would she +say to herself beyond the edge of life? + +She thought of herself as standing, naked of soul, unbodied, in some far +etherealized atmosphere, and she shuddered. "I would still be Claire, +loving these two men and fearing a third." Tears crept down her cheeks. +No, she did not want to be immortal and have no escape from herself. + +If she would only be able to endure the months still remaining before +she got home, then everything would be settled. But would it? Did she +want Lawrence to go out of her life, did she want to lose him? She could +have him still as a friend, her home open to him always, her husband as +glad to welcome him as she herself--yes, that would be best. + +She was walking again now, rapidly, thinking as she moved, and it all +seemed very clear to her. She would tell her husband how Lawrence had +suffered, how brave he had been, and how he had carried her on and on, +when death seemed inevitable. Howard would owe Lawrence a tremendous +debt of gratitude, and would make existence easier for him. Lawrence had +had a hard life, his bitter attitude showed that he deserved a less +obstructed road, and she would give it to him. In their home all three +would talk, laugh, and be, oh, so happy, while Lawrence could work +better with his studio near her, perhaps in her own house where care +could be taken of him. He would create great art there, and his +bitterness would end. She would show him that her husband was +understanding and imaginative. Again she stopped suddenly. + +But Lawrence--would he accept? He was so independent, so doggedly +determined to fight his life out while his very battling made him +ironical and darkly pessimistic. She tried to imagine him agreeing to +her plan, and instead she heard him say, "I'm sorry, Claire, but I can't +do it. I've got to go it alone and win or go under. I can't accept the +charity you offer me in place of love. Gratitude, I know, prompts you, +but you owe me nothing, you paid your debt by being eyes for me. No, if +we can't be lovers, we can't be anything else. I know my limitations." + +Why had she put in that about "lovers"? He had never said anything to +lead her to think he would say that. She answered herself that it was +because she would want him to say it. And if he did say it, what would +she answer? She would say--no, she couldn't do that--she would want to +say, "Then let us be lovers!" But that was impossible. In her own +husband's home! + +And what would she think of Philip when she was again in her old world? +He, also, was deserving of gratitude. She stamped her foot in the snow. +She hated him, hated him, and he would drop out of her life, utterly and +forever. She would be glad when she saw the last of him with his +seductive eyes. Those eyes--why did he, and not Lawrence, have them? +They should have been Lawrence's. It was one more instance of the +endless ironic humor of the universe. + +Lawrence--Lawrence and her husband! She turned wearily back toward the +cabin. + +It was nearly noon when she reached home again, and Lawrence, a worried +look on his face, was standing in the door of the cabin. + +"You beat me back," Claire said, as she approached, and her heart leaped +at the look of relief that came into his face. + +"Claire, you ought to be punished," he said in gay, tender tones. + +"What sentence would you pass, Mr. Judge?" she questioned. + +He stepped out toward her. + +"Perhaps your fate needs a good washing in cold snow," he laughed. + +"Perhaps it does," she said, caressingly. "Do you think you could +administer it?" + +"I know I could." + +He stooped and took up a handful of snow. + +She did the same and said gaily, "Two washed faces seem inevitable." + +Lawrence laughed and caught her around the waist. Her blood tingled, and +her throat hurt as if she would choke. She began to struggle +desperately, frightened at her own emotion. He laughed, and held her +tighter with one arm while he tried to reach her face with the other +hand. She was pressed against him, and they swayed back and forth, while +Philip laughed from the doorway. Her heart was beating trip-hammer blows +against her breast, she gasped for breath, and her eyes closed. His hand +reached her face, and she ducked against his shoulder. + +"Lawrence! Lawrence!" she sobbed. Her voice startled him. Its pleading, +yielding intensity sent his own blood racing. He let her go, and stepped +back quickly while his breath came short. + +"Pardon me, Claire," he muttered, and turned away. + +Claire saw Philip watching them, in his eyes a strange, new glitter. She +rushed past him to the cabin and into her little room. + +It was a silent dinner they ate that day. + +Claire was deeply, bitterly humiliated, and she kept seeing again and +again with exaggerated clearness that look in Philip's eyes when she had +staggered free from Lawrence's arms. It burned in her mind like an +unquenchable coal, and she revolted at it. She was utterly unable to +collect her thoughts. She fancied she could still feel the warm pressure +of Lawrence's body while she suffered untold agony of soul for having +been carried away by his touch. She reproached herself with a scorn that +seared for having ever allowed herself to engage in that silly scuffle. + +She could scarcely bear to sit at the table with Philip, and she did not +once look in his direction. In her heart there was no anger against +Lawrence, only a dull, aching dread, tempered with a longing she did not +attempt to analyze. + +Dominating her thought was the one phrase, "Why need Philip have seen?" + +That look in his eyes--oh, God! would she have to go on day after day +facing those eyes that compelled her in spite of herself? Must she feel +his glances burning through her when her soul was filled with hatred for +him? But was it hatred? Surely his eyes, those lights that made her +marvel, were the windows to a high and noble soul. Yes, he was fine, yet +she wished he was not there, that she had never known him. She asked +herself if she would rather have perished, and she knew she would not. +Better to have lived forever with Philip's eyes piercing into her than +to give up life when Lawrence was with her, needing her, and--she +stopped--loving her, yes, loving her. It was true. She remembered his +voice when he had released her, and thrilled again at the tense note. + +He did love her! And Philip? She felt her heart sink, and then a +strange, subtle warmth came over her. It was good to be loved by two men +so powerful, so worth while, each in his own way. + +Of course, she could never care for Philip. He was beyond her power to +love; besides her heart was filled with Lawrence. But her husband, yes, +she had loved her husband. Her many days of happiness with him proved +that. She could never have lived with him as she had if love had not +been between them. She must remember that, and be true to him. It would +be hard to see Lawrence go out of her life, but it was her duty, she +owed it to herself, to her husband, and to society. + +If she could only get through the remaining months without allowing +Lawrence to hope! She must not give him another opportunity to want her +or to discuss his feelings with her. She would be very, very careful. + +She must plan it as easily for him as possible. The way to accomplish +that was not to be with him. This would necessitate her associating more +with Philip. After all, why shouldn't she? He was good and strong, and +not really in love with her. Of course, he might be, if she allowed it, +but she would stop that. She would show him by word, look, and act that +any such love was inconceivable. He would understand and forget his +earlier feeling, for after all he was not yet alive to the situation. It +was merely circumstances that had brought that look into his eyes. + +Disliking him as she did, it would be hard to associate with him. She +studied this last problem carefully, and at last arrived at a new state +of mind. She did not dislike him, it was merely the natural unconscious +trend of male and female that she hated. He was not to blame, neither +was she, and they were, fortunately, beings with mind and will. They +could use their God-given power to talk it out and face the situation. +Then Philip's natural nobility would make the solution easy. They would +be on a splendid footing of frank understanding; their foresight would +have saved them from a ridiculous and criminal mistake. + +In these mountains she would have found two real friends and a higher +ground of life. After the first painful talk with Philip they would go +out from the cabin, warm comrades, with nothing to regret. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE MAKING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. + + +Silently, Lawrence rose and went to his work-chair. The zeal with which +he began to cut his wood showed more clearly than any of them quite +knew, the turbulent state of his mind. He was carried far into +speculative possibilities that shook him with their power. He was +absolutely in love with Claire, that was undoubted. He knew it, and he +was determined to tell her so. To continue living in this uncertainty, +with the memory of her pressed against him always compelling him to put +out his arms and draw her again to himself, was intolerable. He would +speak, and settle it once for all, nor would he take any compromising +negative as a reply. That tone she had used could indicate but one +thing, she loved him, and whether she knew it or not, whether she wanted +to know it or not, should not matter. He would argue it out with her, +showing her with the inexorable logic back of their whole experience how +she was his, his in spite of her husband, in spite of blindness, in +spite of everything. Without her, life was useless, barren, and dead. He +must have her! + +He carved viciously but accurately, while his mind and body yearned +toward the hour when she would be in his arms, yielding, abandoned, +loving. + +Claire watched him from her place at the table in calmness of mind that, +following her day of tumult, she could not understand. Peace, the peace +that comes when one thinks he has settled something forever, was hers. + +"Philip," she said, "our artist has buried himself in his work. Shall we +go forth on a chance adventure?" + +Lawrence choked back a whirl of jealous suspicion that swept to his +lips, and said from his corner, "Do! I'll have a surprise for your +return." + +He wanted to say, "No, stay here, Claire. I wish to tell you something, +to make you see that I love you, that this Philip is not for you, that +he is outside our real lives," but his tongue refused to obey his will. + +"It sounds inviting," said Philip, rising. "Suppose we do." + +They were gone. + +Lawrence worked savagely, his mind grasping at impossible thoughts which +kept struggling for expression. He was afraid, afraid till it chilled +him, lest, after all, she loved Philip. If her voice had sounded so +intense that noon, it had been because she resented his holding her +while her real lover looked on. + +Meanwhile Claire and Philip tramped through the pines in silence. She +was wondering why she had come. She hesitated before speaking to him as +she had determined. Perhaps he would be hurt at her imagining he could +think of making any advances to a married woman, he would feel that she +had suspected and accused him of a thing of which he was incapable. + +Speech was difficult, so she trudged along, feeling very uncomfortable. +Her heart ached as she saw again the lonely look on Lawrence's face +bending over his work back there in the cabin. + +"The adventure is slow in coming," Philip said, genially. + +"Perhaps we don't know how to find it," she answered, not heeding her +words especially. "To find adventure, one must be awake to +possibilities." + +"True," he mused, looking at her. "So much depends on a man's +experience, knowledge, and imagination." + +"I suppose life itself may set us, even calmly walking here, in the +heart of an adventure." + +"I have no doubt it does," he said. + +Claire looked at him in faint alarm. + +"Why," she stammered, "I didn't imagine it was true when I spoke." + +"To him who has faith, the wildest dreams are always possibilities." + +"Do you believe that, Philip?" + +"I have found it to be quite true. I often dreamed of good company here +in my wilderness and a charming woman about my cabin. It has happened." + +"But even that has its very strong drawbacks, hasn't it?" + +"What, for example?" He looked at her, earnestly. + +"Oh," she hesitated, laughed, and said, "the rapidly depleted food +supply, your time for thought broken, and all the rest." + +"One sometimes finds a relief from thought very agreeable." + +She wanted to laugh at the force with which his words struck her. "I'm +sure that depends on the thought, as Lawrence would say," she answered, +smiling. + +"It does. And there is nothing I would not give to escape from my +present thoughts." His voice was pitched low. + +Her heart failed her, but she said bravely, "Perhaps you need a +confessor, Sir Philip." + +"I do, a gracious one, who can listen well." + +"Then a woman would never serve," Claire laughed. "She would want to +talk, you know." + +Philip stopped, and looked at her. As far as he could see, she was calm, +indifferent, the lady making talk. + +"Perhaps," he said, lightly. "They have that reputation, I know." + +"Now, I"--she laughed--"I, also, need a confessor." + +"You?" His look searched her, incredulously. "What in the name of all +the saints have you to confess?" + +"Oh! Many things. Misunderstandings, social follies, mistakes in +character reading, mean thoughts, lots of things." + +"Absurd!" His tone was amused. "Who of us is not a sinner in those +things?" + +"But suppose," she ventured, hesitant--"suppose I had misjudged you? +Suppose I had suspected you of things you were not at all guilty of?" + +"I should be sorry if you told me of them." + +It was impossible, she thought, to go on. He would indeed be sorry, and +how foolish she had been! But what had he meant a moment before? + +"Is your confession worse?" she asked. + +"I think so. A man is so apt to be a mad fool," he said, and lapsed into +silence. + +They walked some distance before either spoke. Then Claire laughed +suddenly. "Philip," she said, "we all three need a change of scene." + +He turned, and his face was crimson as he looked at her. "It will be +here soon. We can go out in April." + +He had answered her dully, with a heavy sadness in his voice. It was her +golden opportunity; and she took it. + +"Splendid!" she cried--"splendid! I so want to get back to my husband. I +am scarcely able to wait at all." + +"I suppose," he said, "it seems a long time that you have been +separated." + +"Oh, so long," she answered, softly. "And I do so want him." + +He walked on, slowly. "I shall miss you very much." + +Her manner and expression were those of a pleased, frank child when she +answered. "Really, I was so afraid I had been stupid company, and I owe +so much to you. My husband will want to come clear back here to thank +you for your winter's hospitality." + +"It would hardly be worth his while. The debt is more than paid." + +"I shall be sorry--in a way," she went on. "We have become such good +friends, such good comrades with not the least bit of unpleasantness to +remember. I shall always be glad of that." + +"Yes," he said. "I am glad, indeed, that you feel so." + +"If any one had ever told me that I should find so rare a gentleman +here"--she laughed--"I would have thought they were talking medieval +gallantry." + +"Thank you. A gentleman is always himself when a lady is a lady." + +Claire flushed a little, and said nothing. + +"I shall remember you with pleasure and regret," continued Philip, his +head high. + +Her eyes opened wide, like a child's. "Oh, with regret, too?" + +"Yes. Regret that you did not come to my cabin sooner, freer, and to +stay longer." + +"You are a consummate flatterer, Philip," she chided. + +"I suppose it seems artificial; one can scarcely imagine that I should +be in earnest," he said, a little bitterly. + +Her conscience hurt her, though she did not know why. She could have +said those things before and thought nothing of them. Why did she feel +sorry now? + +"I didn't mean that," she said, earnestly. "Believe me, I did not." + +"No," he replied, "you answered out of mere indifference." + +"But I am not indifferent to you, Philip. I like you very much." She was +afraid she had hurt his feelings, and she, herself, was so tense, so +troubled, that she was uncertain of her emotional attitudes these days. +She felt that somehow she had been cruel and very ungracious toward the +man to whom she owed so much. + +"I know," he said, "one is interested, of course, in a novel, foreign +mountaineer." + +She was beginning to feel achy, and tears were near the surface. + +"Philip, why do you misunderstand me?" she cried. "It isn't that at all. +I like you for the man you are." + +He smiled sadly. "And did it ever occur to you that I might love you for +the woman you are?" he said suddenly, his good resolutions all gone. + +She stopped and her breath quickened. Over her rushed a tide of fear, +regret, sorrow. Even then she wondered that it was pity and not anger +which moved her. + +"I do not believe that. How could you?" she said swiftly. + +"You cannot even conceive of my loving you?" + +"I--I can, Philip--it isn't that, I--I"--she was floundering among her +own emotions--"I can under other circumstances, different conditions. +Oh, don't you see--think of"--she had almost said "Lawrence," but +hastily substituted--"my husband." + +"I have thought of him. From the day you came, he has haunted my +footsteps. But after all, he thinks you are dead." + +"But I love him. Think of that, too." + +"Oh, Claire, Claire, I have seen you when I felt perhaps you +might--might learn to love me." + +"Philip, it is impossible!" she cried. "Please don't let's spoil +everything now. I so wanted to be just friends." + +His faced kindled and his deep eyes glowed with a fire that both +terrorized and fascinated her. + +"We cannot be that, Claire." His voice vibrated with growing passion. +They stood, facing each other, and she trembled like a reed in the wind. + +"I saw you this morning in his arms," he was tense and speaking rapidly, +"and I knew then that I loved you. Loved you with all the soul of me. I +could have killed him, I tell you. Claire, Claire, I love you! You must +not deny me love." + +She did not, could not answer, her tongue refused to move, and her dry, +hot mouth felt as if she would smother. She looked into his eyes and +said nothing, while she shook violently. + +"Claire!" he cried. "Claire! I love you!" His arms closed around her +and he held her tightly. His eyes burned into her own with a flame that +was contagious in its intensity. She gasped, trembled, and did not +struggle, though in her mind she was crying, anguished, "Lawrence! +Lawrence!" + +He pressed her more tightly, and his body against her own stirred in her +a passion beyond the control of will. Her eyes lighted warmly and then +closed. She felt suffocated, weak, and her senses reeled. His head bent, +and his lips were pressed fiercely against her own parted ones, stopping +the cry that rose to her throat. He held her fast, keeping his lips +against her own until she felt her strength giving. She half leaned +against him, letting the weight of her body sink into his arms. + +A savage joy sprang into his eyes. She opened her own and saw. Throwing +up her hands wildly, she struck his face, twisted her body free, and +shoving him from her, stood, white, defiant, and determined. + +She was not angry with Philip, only with herself, but the storm of +self-reproach that swept over her burst into bitter, scorching words +against him. + +"You, you coward! You dare to touch me, to take me that way! If I had +only known what sort of a thing you were, you, you viper! Oh, to be here +with you!" + +His dark eyes flashed with sudden rage, and he moved to seize her. She +stood defiantly before him, her white face cold as outraged chastity +itself, and his anger died. Into his face came the dejected, suffering +look of a man whose passion ebbs before the compelling force of a +woman's scorn. + +"Forgive me, Claire," he moaned, "forgive me. I was mad, mad." + +She knew he was sincere, and she smiled sadly. + +"I know, Philip," she said. "I understand, but you must realize that it +is impossible. Won't you see that? It was, perhaps, partly my fault. +Forgive me if it was, and let us be friends. Philip, I want a friend," +she continued. "I need one, a big, strong man whom I can trust, whom I +know to be my loyal friend and my husband's friend." + +He put out his hand, shame and love mingling in his face. + +"I will be that friend, Claire," he said, earnestly. + +She took his hand, her mind breaking with relief. She felt she was going +to cry, and she leaned forward to hide her filling eyes. + +"Oh, Philip, God bless you! You do not know what this means to me! You +will never know. I thank you, I thank you!" + +The tears rushed down her cheeks and dropped upon their clasped hands. + +"Claire, don't, please--please don't," Philip pleaded, anguish in his +tone. + +She stopped, forced back her sobs, and smiled at him. + +"Philip Ortez," she said, "I shall make you glad of this." + +Deep in his heart, the words gave him hope. He grasped at them as a +drowning man at a life-belt, but he did not voice the hope. + +"I want to spend much of my time with you, Philip, in the out-of-doors. +I must do it, and it is such a relief to know that I can do it +without--without fear. You will be just my friend, won't you?" + +"If it is in my power, I will." He spoke as a knight of old, taking a +holy vow, and in his heart was the deep, sacred sense of the spirit that +still moved in his idealistic soul. + +Claire laughed joyously, almost hysterically, with the peace that came +over her at the sound of his words. She was sure that all was well. If +she had known that already he was building on the promise of frequent +days alone, she would have been more afraid than ever. But she did not +know that, neither did she know that in her very promise she was +preparing a more difficult situation for her own struggle with herself +than any she had ever faced in her life. She was only aware of the +crisis passed and the peace that was now hers. + +"Let us go back," she said gaily. + +They found Lawrence smoothing his little carved child with a stone. +Claire was effervescent with joy. Her great plan seemed sure of +success, and she greeted him with a gaiety that was as abnormal as her +despondency had been before. + +"Lawrence," she cried, "we have had such a walk! And here you have +finished for us this beautiful cherub as the symbol of our little home." + +Her words stung him with savage pain, filling him with a great fear born +of love and jealousy. For a minute he did not know what he was doing or +saying, and he was scarcely aware of the words that fell from him. + +"Cherubs are said to be symbols of the greatest love." He laughed +tonelessly. "It belongs to you, Claire. Take it." + +The child was carved standing upon a stump with wings outspread. In the +form and face of the figure there was so much of benevolence, love, and +charity that the imaginative power of this blind artist filled Claire +with awe. She stood reverently before it, her heart singing with pride +in the handiwork of the man she loved. She interpreted his words as a +confession that he had carved it for her as a symbol of his love, and +she was humbled before him, before his work. She wanted to throw herself +in his arms and to tell him with the gift of her unreserved self how +grateful she was for his gift, but she only said, very softly, taking +both his hands: "Thank you, Lawrence." + +The words struck his ear with a strangely mixed power in their sound. He +wanted to laugh at the bitter mockery that swept into him. He had made +the image for love of her, and he presented it to her as a symbol of her +love for Philip. It was cruel, but he could endure it. Oh, yes, he was +accustomed to life's little jokes. He did not answer her thanks, only +gripped her hands in his own capable ones till he hurt her. + +To Philip, the child brought still other suggestions. Moved by his +present feeling of great, chivalrous guardianship of the woman who had +said she needed him, he felt that it was a symbol of the great +sacrificial love which he was privileged to know, and at the same time +he felt that it was a symbol of hope. + + +TO BE CONTINUED 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 XII. + +THE UNHORSING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. + + +Between men and women who have established what they believe to be an +unemotional friendship there nearly always springs up a relation +franker than any which is otherwise possible. Such was the experience +of Philip and Claire during the days that followed. They took many walks +together, and their conversation grew daily more exclusive and more +personal. + +Lawrence, through ignorance of their situation and jealousy of Philip, +grew daily more dissatisfied. He would hear the intimate ring in their +voices and writhe within. The artist felt keenly that he was being set +aside, and his eager determination to live and be in the front rank of +warring manhood made him determine to win Claire against this man who, +it seemed to him, was taking her from him by mere advantage of sight. He +felt that they were shelving him as a blind man, a very nice fellow, but +quite outside the possibility of any relation with their real lives. He +now thought that Claire was kind to him as one is to those whose +situation makes them objects of pity. + +There were days when he sat alone before the fire in the cabin brooding +until he was filled with savage hatred of Philip. He would think of all +sorts of impossible means of eliminating this Spaniard from Claire's +life; then Philip would come in, talk to him, seem so very normally +friendly as man to man, that his reason mastered his fancies and he +laughed at himself. He ridiculed his own thoughts with an irony that +inwardly grew in bitterness with his growing love for Claire, and he +would end by admitting that Philip was only doing what he himself would +like to do. + +In his fair-minded moments he did not blame his friend. "I should be a +fool to expect him to act differently," he told himself. "In this +struggle for meat and mate which we all wage, he is doing what any one +would do. I who am losing must at least be just to him." He resolved to +be just, and in a little while was again ensnaring himself in his own +notions. "She is throwing herself away upon this Spaniard," he thought, +"while I sit by. If I were not blind, she would see that after all I am +the better man. I put all my power into the carving of that little +statue, and she knows it is good, better than anything he has done or +can do, and yet--she loves him." + +He would rise and walk the floor in his tension, knocking into the +chairs recklessly. His thoughts would gain speed from his bodily +movement, and soon he would rage against the man whose guest he was, +against Claire, against life, fate, and blindness. Then suddenly his +ever self-questioning mind would demand of him, "Why are you doing +nothing, then?" He did nothing because he could do nothing. That was +his answer, no sooner made than contradicted, no sooner contradicted +than to be restated, "I do nothing because I will do nothing." + +Several times he refused to go with them on tramps or skiing trips. When +they were gone he would revile himself for his stubbornness and ache +because Claire could not see that he had refused with a petulant boy's +hope that she would stay with him. "Why should she stay with me?" There +was no reason, he told himself, and again he would be off on a mental +whirlwind that carried him still farther from reason. He became +perpetually sullen, irritable, and discontented. He realized it, thought +that Claire would certainly grow to dislike him if he continued so +disagreeable, and with the thought became even more disagreeable. + +Claire, however, was not growing to dislike him. She avoided him in +pursuance of her settled policy, but she thought of him all the more. + +One morning when she and Philip were out in the pines together, she +observed, casually, "Lawrence doesn't seem to be doing any work these +days." + +Philip glanced at her carelessly. "Yes. I'm very sorry for the poor +fellow." + +His pity angered her a little. Lawrence did not need his sympathy. "I +think he must be feeling badly," she replied. + +"I believe he is moody by nature." + +"Oh, do you? I hadn't thought so," she objected. + +"It is not strange," Philip went on; "he is so limited by his blindness +and so ambitious that the effect is almost sure to be a disgruntled +mind. He cannot hope to overcome his blindness, and he ought to realize +it. I think that is the cause of his odd philosophy. He certainly would +be happier if he could get a more sunlit view of things. He needs +optimism, and he ought to practise it." + +For a moment, Claire was silent. She was not willing to admit that +Lawrence was unable to conquer blindness or even that his beliefs were +altogether wrong. She had more often disagreed with him than not, but +now for some reason she found herself desiring to support his +convictions. + +"I don't agree with you," she answered Philip, a little shortly. + +"Well then, what is my lady's diagnosis?" He had not noticed her curt +reply, for he was thinking of something else and was not really +interested in Lawrence as a topic of conversation. + +Claire was unable to answer; she disliked both his tone and his +expression, but she had nothing to substitute for his explanation. + +They walked on in silence for a few minutes through the trees before she +ventured a little lamely, "I don't know what to say." + +Philip looked up, smilingly. "To say about what, Claire?" Then he +remembered, and continued hastily, "Oh, pardon me. I know, of course. +About Lawrence. If I could suggest anything to do, I would. He is an +interesting friend, but I have nothing to offer. It seems to me that we +can do no more than to let him alone. He will work it out for himself. +If he does not, we cannot help. He would not expect us to do so." + +"That's no reason we shouldn't try," she flashed, "unless, of course, +you quite agree with his argument after all." + +Philip colored slightly and said, "I admit the fault, Claire, but what +can we do?" + +"Couldn't you get him to tell what's the matter?" she asked, groping for +something to say. + +"No more than you could. Perhaps even less easily. You know him better +than I and understand him better." + +She laughed, a little satisfaction warming her at his words. "Sometimes +I think I understand him, sometimes I know I don't. As he himself would +say, it is merely a matter of blind psychology, is it not?" + +"It is not," she answered positively. "It's more a matter of artist +psychology, I think." + +"Perhaps," he admitted; "certainly the combination is difficult." + +"I do wish we could do something for him." + +"He would be better off if he would come out with us, but since he will +not, he will not." Philip's tone showed clearly that he was inclined to +let the matter drop. + +But not so Claire. "You are willing to help me, aren't you, Philip?" + +"Why yes, if there is any way in which I can be of service." + +"We might stay and talk with him more." + +"That is useless, I fear," he said abruptly, his own wishes revolting +against sacrificing his companionship with Claire or against sharing it +with Lawrence. + +"He was unhesitating in his care for me those days we wandered," she +remarked simply. + +"Pardon me again. I forgot for the time that you owed him anything." + +"He doesn't consider that I owe him anything. It's simply that I want +him to be as happy as possible shut up here with us away from his own +kind of life." + +"Oh!" Philip looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you think he could be +happier with other people?" + +"I'm afraid so," she answered, a little regretfully. + +Philip's eyes searched her face. "I should think you could satisfy any +one's need for companionship," he said, quietly. + +"Don't flatter, Philip. That was a very silly speech." + +"Was it? It was not flattery at any rate. It is my feeling about you." + +"Please," she said, stopping, "let's not go into that again." + +"Very well, but why cannot my lady extend her charity? There are other +unfortunates besides Lawrence who have troubles to face." + +"Oh, Philip, you really haven't any troubles. You merely imagine you +have." + +He laughed, a little bitterly. "I suppose a life's happiness is a small +thing." + +"It isn't, Philip," she protested. "But you can get out and tramp and +trap and see things, and, after all, you don't really love me as you +thought you did. We've settled all that." + +"I know we have," he agreed. "That is, you have." + +She looked him over, angrily. "So this is the outcome! I ask you to +think of another person who needs our care, and you disregard him for +your own little troubles!" + +Philip looked down and flushed crimson. "Well, it does seem as if I +were selfish. I am afraid I am. But I do not mean to be. I can talk to +him if you wish." + +"You needn't," she said, angered still more. "It isn't charity I'm +asking you to bestow on him. He doesn't need that, and you ought to know +it." + +She had laid more emphasis than she intended on the word "he," and +Philip's face darkened. + +"I see," he said coldly. "It is I after all to whom you are charitable. +Thank you." + +Tears of vexation came to Claire's eyes. "Oh, I do wish you'd be +reasonable," she said, half angrily, half pleadingly. "Don't you +understand that I am giving you more frank friendship than ever I gave +any man in my life? Isn't that of any value to you? Don't you realize +how unfair you have been to Lawrence?" + +His face grew suddenly white, as he said, "Do you love him, Claire?" + +She did not look away from him. "If I did, would it concern you?" + +He took one step toward her, then stopped. + +"Yes, it would," he answered. + +Her anger almost mastered her, but she controlled herself. + +"Philip, are we two irrational animals going to spoil everything? I had +hoped you might at least allow our companionship to live." + +He looked at her without answering. Finally, he choked, "Don't--don't, +Claire, I have the right to know." + +"If I promise to tell you when there is anything to tell, will you be +satisfied?" She felt no scruple of conscience at her pretense of +indifference to Lawrence, only a sense of protection for him. She did +not know from what she was protecting him, but the feeling gave her a +strange pleasure. + +"I will," Philip returned, simply. + +"And in the mean time will you help me pull him out of his slough of +despond?" she asked, smiling with the old, frank, intimate manner. + +"Surely I will, though I confess I do not see the way." + +"Then shall we go at once and begin our cheering process, my friend?" +she said, as though she were conferring a favor by the use of the word. + +He winced at her immediate application of his promise. + +"Perhaps we would better," he answered sadly, and turned toward the +cabin. + +As she walked by his side she had already dismissed him from her +attention and was busy planning what she might do to make Lawrence +happy. + +When they entered the cabin, Claire looked eagerly about the room. As +she glanced around, her face clouded. Lawrence was gone. His coat and +hat were not on the rack, and the cane which he had carved one day from +a stick which she had brought him from the woods was also missing. + +Claire walked slowly into the room, her mind filled with an +unaccountable apprehension. + +"Why, how abandoned the place seems without Lawrence! Where is he, I +wonder?" She tried to appear casual. + +Philip followed her in and placed a chair for her. His mind, already +touched with the potential jealousy that Claire's talk had begun, leaped +ahead at her words and he felt more than ever doubtful of her attitude +toward Lawrence. Though he quickly dispelled his fear, the thought left +behind, as such things do, the readier soil for a stronger weed to +spring up in. + +"He has gone out for a walk, I suppose. Doubtless, he will be back +soon." His voice was indifferent. "Will you not sit down, Claire? You +stand there looking about you as though you had lost something." + +She was on the point of saying she had, but checked herself, and +accepted the chair. + +"It's so unusual. He never did this before." Claire forced a smile. + +"Well, he will be the better for it; I am glad that he has gone out," +Philip answered. + +"I know, but it is so difficult for him to find his way through the +snow," she said. "He told me it muffles sounds until he is almost +helpless in it. His feet can't feel the ground, and he doesn't know +which way to turn." + +"He cannot possibly go far, and he cannot get lost." Philip's tone was +becoming a little edged. + +"All the same, it worries me to have him out this way." + +Philip started toward the door. + +"Shall I go search for him?" His voice, unknown to himself, was heavy. + +Claire glanced at him quickly. Her intuition told her he was jealous, +and she saw he was angry. She wanted to shout at him, "Go find +Lawrence!" and she was surprised at the sudden panicky nervousness that +seized her. But she rose calmly and crossed to the fireplace, saying as +she sat down, "No, thank you; I think he is able to take care of +himself." + +Philip also seated himself. + +"I think he is," he said. "Certainly he thinks so, and comes near enough +to proving his assertion." + +She was both angry and pleased with his words. + +"I never saw a man less handicapped by misfortune," she remarked. + +"He does do very well." + +"Lawrence seems all capable sense-nerves, and he is so very efficient +with his touch. What a keen appreciation of beauty he has!" + +"I think he does remarkably well." + +"In the hills he used to describe scenes to me, and do it accurately +just from their sound; running water and wind in the trees," she went +on, not noticing Philip's short replies. + +"Yes, that is quite surprising." + +"He certainly has taught me a great deal about blindness." + +"Association with him does do that." + +"Do you know, I believe he is one of the most unusual men I have ever +known." + +Philip rose quickly. + +"Doubtless. He is not the only topic of conversation our friendship +permits, is he, Claire?" + +She looked up at him, and rose immediately, her eyes flashing. + +"I think you are more selfish with your theories of altruism than he +with his egoism." + +Philip looked quietly back at her. + +"Perhaps I am where the woman I love is concerned." + +Claire turned away and walked angrily toward her room. + +"I see you can't maintain a friendship," she exclaimed. + +"Meaning, you cannot." Philip's voice was bitter. + +She turned quickly and looked at him. + +"What do you mean?" she asked him, fearing. + +"I mean that you are unfair. You ask me not to talk of my love, you wish +to talk friendship, while you are forcing me by your every word and act +to think of my own misery." + +Claire stood aghast before him. His words seemed to her to be an +accusation so grossly false that she was stunned beyond anger. + +"I don't understand," she said anxiously. + +"You ought to understand. I love you, I cannot help but love you, fight +it as I will. You say you cannot love me because of your husband. Yet +your talk is not of your husband, but of this blind man. You say you +desire friendship, yet you allow me all that a woman allows her accepted +suitor." + +Claire was appalled. She stared at him in amazement, faltering. + +"Why, Philip, I--what is the matter? I don't do any such thing." + +He laughed. + +"Of course not," he replied. "You look at me with that warm light in +your eyes, because you think I am not human. I am a mere duenna, a +chaperon, perhaps." + +She sank into a chair and covered her face. "I didn't think," she +moaned, and could say no more. A thousand memories of her intimate +treatment of Philip swept through her mind. She had considered him as +one of her own family, without thought, without intent, because she had +believed so strongly in his assurance of friendship. After a pause, she +gathered her thoughts. + +"Philip, I may have done as you say," she spoke slowly, "but it was not +because I was not conscious of your manhood. It was because I thought +you stronger than you are. I believed you could be my friend and not ask +more." + +He stood quietly looking at her where she sat. + +"And what of him?" he asked, steadily. + +"I am worried about him because he is blind, nothing more." She lied, +looking straight into his eyes, then rose and stepped behind the +curtain. + +"Claire," he almost sang. "I am deeply, humbly, a thousand times sorry. +You cannot know how your talk of Lawrence made me wild. I am a fool, I +will admit, but I cannot think of your loving him, blind, selfish, +egoistic, intolerant of other people, I cannot." + +"You needn't," she returned, coldly. Her whole soul was filled with +rage. She was recalling that he had said her eyes were alight when she +looked at him, and she told herself that it was not true. + +"Won't you give me a chance to show myself as I am, Claire? I want to +prove to you that I am not a selfish beast." + +She thought of Lawrence's cynical view of Philip's sentiments, and she +laughed. + +Philip groaned, and then said again, "Aren't you fair enough to do that, +Claire?" + +"And what will you read in my eyes next?" she inquired icily. + +"Whatever is there?" he answered. + +"But your imagination spoils your sight," she returned. + +"Perhaps. I will not deny that I am not myself where you are concerned. +But I ask only for one more trial. And I will do my best." + +Claire was growing more and more worried about Lawrence. What could have +happened to him? + +"Then go and find Lawrence," she said suddenly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY. + + +Claire heard Philip leave the house, and she sat down on her bed to wait +and think. It seemed ages that she sat there, her imagination busy with +a hundred possible calamities. When she finally heard the door open she +was almost afraid to look. + +"Lawrence!" Her voice was full of warm gladness. + +He was hanging his hat in its place. + +"Hello, Claire. Back, are you?" His voice held the impersonal, sullen +note that he used of late. "Where is Philip?" + +"Why, didn't he find you?" + +Lawrence was immediately angry. He thought, "Why should Philip be +hunting for me? I don't need his care. Can't I even go out without a +guardian?" + +"I didn't see him," he returned, aloud. + +"I sent him to find you." She was standing looking at him, her whole +figure expressing love and relief at his return. + +He was too angry to catch the fine warmth of her voice, and his +inability to see handicapped him more at that moment than at any time in +his life. + +"I sent him to find you," she said again. + +"He didn't. I came back as I went, alone." + +"Lawrence, what is the matter with you?" she asked, pleadingly, with +tears in her voice. + +He felt the emotion in her words, and was suddenly contrite. If he had +known it, he was acting like the sentimentalists whom he ridiculed, but +he suffered from the egotist's fate, he did not recognize his own +failing. + +"I don't know that there is anything the matter, Claire. It angered me +to think that you still imagine that because I am blind I need a +guardian," he said, dropping into a chair. + +She came over toward him, impulsively. + +"That isn't the idea at all," she said, still very worried. "It was +simply that you told me yourself that you were helpless in the snow." + +"I didn't ask to be cared for," he snapped. + +"I wasn't caring for you--nor about you," she retorted, in sudden +irritation. "I didn't want you to be lost, that's all." + +"I should think you'd be glad to see me gone." He was a little ashamed +of his own words, but he did not try to remedy the speech. + +"What do you mean?" + +He smiled ironically. "Even a blind man sometimes sees too much of +lovers." + +Claire sank into a chair and struggled against the starting sobs. It +seemed to her that her whole life was becoming one continual argument +wherein she was accused and in return forced to demand explanations. + +"What in the world do you mean?" she faltered. "Are you saying that +Philip and I are lovers?" + +"Aren't you?" + +"Of course not! It isn't like you to say that. And what if we were?" + +"It wouldn't be any of my business, would it?" He was bitter. + +"I suppose not," she said, weakly. + +"You needn't be hesitant about admitting it. It's true," he went on. +"Why shouldn't it be? I am a mere piece of excess baggage which you are +too kind-hearted to eliminate. I know that, too. Why shouldn't you +eliminate me?" He smiled, satirically. "If I were Philip Ortez, loving +you and loved in return, I would feel like killing the blind man, whose +presence hampered." + +She stared at him, wondering if he were in earnest. + +"Then it's fortunate that you haven't the opportunity to feel that way." + +"Obviously." He laughed, sullenly. "I sha'n't, because you couldn't love +a blind man." + +Claire only sat and looked at him, thrilled with the knowledge that he +was about to tell her he loved her. She was trembling and desperately +afraid of herself. She moved uneasily, and against her will; her lips +said, "I could love a blind man, Lawrence." + +He sat up and clenched his hands together quickly. The tone of her voice +in itself was a direct confession. But his deep skepticism of blindness +would not let him believe that he was right. + +"Do you mean that you do love me?" he demanded. + +She wanted to say "Yes," but she thought of Philip and was afraid of +what he might do, should he learn of her lie. Then, too, there was her +resolution to go back to Howard. Strange that her long-planned friendly +explanation of her own attitude did not occur to her, but it did not. + +Lawrence rose and came toward her, his hands out. He was determined to +know, once and for all. The gathering emotion in his breast was growing +into an unbearable pain. + +"Claire," he said, coming nearer and nearer. "Could you love me?" + +His hands were almost to her. She saw them coming; terror, love, +happiness, anguish, and the desire to be his paralyzed her will. She did +not move. + +"Yes," she whispered, "I could." + +He put his arms around her and lifted her until she was crushed against +him. + +"Do you love me, Claire?" he asked, tensely. + +She did not answer, but her head sank against his shoulder. + +Outside the cabin, she heard Philip's step in the snow. + +"No!" she cried frantically, filled with dread. "No, no! Let me go!" + +Lawrence, too, heard, and released her, stepping back indifferently, as +though just going toward a chair. + +The door opened, and Philip entered. + +"Oh, you're back, I see." The artist was coldly cordial in his greeting. + +"And I see you, which is more important," Philip laughed. + +"I suppose so." Lawrence sat down, thoughtfully. "Claire has just +scolded me for going out. She doesn't like to have me add to the bother +I am already." + +Claire was still under the spell of her own emotion, and she resented +Lawrence's sang-froid. He was as cold as a block of stone. Her heart +cried out against him because he could not see why she had said "No" to +him, because he believed her! She wanted to cry, but did not dare. + +"I told him we were worried," she said, indifferently. + +"So we were." Philip was cheerful and friendly. + +Lawrence buried himself from them both, and sat brooding, clothed in the +blackness that blindness brought when it suddenly loomed before him as +the wall between him and his life's desires. The brief instant Claire +had been in his arms had made him feel that his life was intolerable +without her, and that blindness was the curse of a double living death. +She had told him that she did not love him. She had struggled to be +free. + +Lawrence failed to read Claire aright because he had not seen her, and +because his blindness made him uncertain of himself. + +That was the truth of it all, the awful truth of his life. + +He was always uncertain of himself because he was afraid of blindness. +He strutted, boasted, lied, and above all pretended to himself that he +believed his hard philosophy because he was afraid, afraid of failing to +do the things he wanted to do. He saw himself clearly now, he was a +coward, a deceiving ape, a monkey caught in the terror of tangling +roots, and denying it. He barked like a frightened dog, at the thing +that was his master. He was gripped by life, tortured by life, denied +death by life, and cheated by life of living. His imagination, fired by +his passion, leaped into play, and he felt himself a thousand times a +slave, a chained prisoner in the hand of circumstance. + +Philip was laughing gaily, and talking to Claire, who listened, +answered, and was all the while lost in her own thought. When he had +entered, Philip had looked quickly at the two to see if there was aught +between them, and had found Lawrence colder, more despondent than ever. +He told himself that Lawrence had evidently pleaded with Claire for her +love and been denied. At least, this blind man had not been successful, +and Philip could afford to be good-humored. The more agreeable he was, +the more Claire would turn to him from that dark, ungracious form +yonder. His would be the victory of pleasant manners. Therefore he +talked, gladly, smilingly, while Claire listened, or seemed to listen. + +She was rebellious at the fear which had made her cry "No" to Lawrence, +and at the same time glad that she had done so, afraid of the future, +exasperated with Philip for coming in at the supreme moment, and angry +with Lawrence for his stupidity. + +Perhaps these tangled relations might have been cleared had it not been +for a piece of folly more stupendous than any they had yet experienced. +This event occurred the day after Lawrence's walk in the snow. + +Philip had stepped out for a few minutes to look at a near-by trap, and +Claire and the artist were left alone for the first time since her +denial. She wanted him to renew his suit, feared that he would, and sat +waiting for him to speak. + +But he remained silent, and at last she said, "Lawrence." + +"Well?" He did not move. + +The psychology of woman has been too often commented upon and attempted +by those who thought they could explain. Why Claire was doing and saying +what she did, she herself could not tell. + +"Lawrence, don't you ever, ever act as you did yesterday again." + +He smiled. "It would be dangerous if your gallant should come in less +slowly." He was filled with a desire to hurt her. + +Claire was angry with him for saying what was so utterly far from her +mind and so different from what she wanted him to say. + +"If my gallant should come in," she thrust coldly, "he would scarcely +appreciate the melodrama you are playing." + +Lawrence sat up with a jerk, his rage near the boiling point. + +"What do you mean?" he demanded. "I have not interfered with your +delightful episode, have I?" + +"No, and you couldn't. I mean that my husband--he is my lover--for I +know that is what you intend by 'gallant'--would scarcely appreciate the +type of man who mopes and abuses the woman who does not care to lie in +his arms." + +Lawrence sat still, while a fierce, uncontrollable rage consumed him. He +felt that to take this woman and whip her into submission would be a +pleasure. He thought of the lash he had in his studio at home and wished +it were in his hand. With the thought he rose and stepped swiftly toward +Claire, his teeth set. + +She saw him, and rose. + +"I have one way of showing you who is master," he began, and stopped. + +She had stepped forward and was standing almost against him. + +"Even blindness does not allow you the freedom to threaten." + +He shrank back and dropped once more into his chair. + +Claire was talking rapidly, savagely. Later she was to be thrown into a +despairing self-hate that kept her many a night in tears, but now she +went on. + +"Do you think I will overlook everything in you because I pity you? +There have been times when your impositions, so carelessly thrust upon +me, because you were selfish, because you knew I must accept them from +you, were almost unbearable. The touch of your thief-trained hands to +steal from everything its beauty and self-respect has galled me beyond +all endurance. My body has received its last vile grasp from you." + +She stopped, appalled at his expression. She did not know, neither of +them knew, that love, the ever-changing impulse of creation within men +and women, speaks its desire through bitter scorn and abuse, when softer +words are too slow in finding their way. + +He was sitting there, white, anguished, cowering under her tongue, his +whole life shaken. Her words made him feel that the thing she said was +true. He had always feared it, realizing that in a measure it was +inevitable, and his great strength was now turned against himself, +against his bitter handicap, and he was in that tremendous upheaval that +requires a rebuilding of one's faith. His belief in himself was broken. +His belief in his power was gone. Coming after weeks of thought and fear +about blindness, Claire's words tore him asunder and made him feel that +there was nothing for him but abject misery and dependence upon charity. + +Instinctively, his hand went up as if to shield him from a blow, and he +murmured, "For God's sake, Claire!" + +There was to come a time, later, when experience would have taught him +that there is a wild strain in the nature of human hearts which abuses +out of a desire to be conquered. He did not yet realize that he had +spoken truly when he said that this woman had hidden in her the savage +warring sexed tumult of all the struggling ages. + +She saw him there, his hand up, and suddenly her emotion changed. It was +love, still love crying out for expression, but now she was all +compassion, tenderness, and fear. She read in his face what she had +done, and her heart was gray with the pain at her own failure. + +Now all love for her was buried, perhaps dead, under his shattered +selfhood, slain in the wrecking earthquake that she had brought to pass +with the ardor of her passion. She had meant to sting him into taking +her in his arms and forcing her to love him, and instead--"Oh, God!" she +whispered, and slipped behind the curtain to throw herself on her bed +and weep with heart wrung by self-condemnation and loving pity for the +man whom she had clubbed with his own dread weakness. She had shattered +into chaos the strong soul of the man she loved, with the only weapon he +would have felt, and she realized now that it was her love, her desire +to be his, to be his utterly, that had led her to do it. + +Lawrence was too hurt to move. His mind repeated again and again the +words she had spoken. He kept saying to himself: "Blindness has made me +that, an egotist beggar." He did not reproach Claire. She had swept him +too far from his habitual moorings for that. There was no rebellion +against her, none, indeed, against life. Over him rolled wave after wave +of self-contempt, distrust, and anguish that shook him with an agony +that only the assured man knows when the one he loves most of all on +earth strikes dead his faith in himself. He thought of a multitude of +things that stabbed anew, but not once did he move in the interminable +period that passed before Philip returned. + +When he did come, the Spaniard was amazed at the crouching, white-faced +man whom he found before a dying fire. There was something so sad in the +blind face that Philip felt no suspicion and no anger. He looked for +Claire, but she was not visible. He stirred the fire and set about +preparing supper while his mind began digging at the problem which he +saw in the attitude of the man there in the chair. Claire did not come +out to help. She was too exhausted from the storm that had swept over +her. In her bed she could hardly smother the scream that kept rising to +her lips. She wanted to spring up and cry aloud to Lawrence for +forgiveness. She was scarcely aware of Philip as he moved about. + +She could have thrown herself at Lawrence's feet and pleaded with him. +She was discovering that her whole wild outbreak was a strange +expression of her physical desire for this man whom she loved, and the +discovery made her as self-detesting as she had been violent in her +outbreak. It seemed to her that there was nothing, nothing she would not +do to make amends to Lawrence for what she had said. She wanted to tell +him what it had been that prompted her, but she dared not lest in +revulsion at her viciousness he turn on her and kill her. + +"God, God," she muttered, "what have I done!" + +Philip was calling her to supper. She steadied her voice, and said +humbly: "I can't come out. I'm not feeling very well. Go on without me, +please." + +She heard him speak to Lawrence, and she strained her ears to catch the +answering movement toward the table, but there was none. At last Philip +spoke again in a voice that was full of anxiety: "Lawrence, what in +God's name has happened?" + +Lawrence was moving now, and she waited with bated breath for his +answer. He walked to the table and sat down. His voice was heavy. "I've +found myself out, Philip. That's all. I know what I am." + +There was a moment of silence. Claire covered her mouth with her hand to +suppress a cry. She wanted to shout: "No, no, no, not that, but what I +am, my beloved, my adored one." + +"What do you mean?" Philip's voice seemed stern. + +"I mean that I am indebted to you and Claire for the truth I needed." + +Behind the curtain Claire turned on her face and burst into sobs. + +Philip arose abruptly. "Lawrence," he said quietly, "I do not know what +has happened to you this afternoon; I do not know what you mean; but +this I do know: I am deeply sorry if anything I have done or said has +made you feel that you are an unwelcome guest in my home." + +Lawrence stood up and gathered his scattered senses. + +"Philip, I beg your pardon, old man. It isn't that at all. The truth +is"--and his voice broke--"I have lied to myself and to the world these +many years. Much of it hasn't been my fault, but I must pay the price +just the same. I am blind. That has led me to a sort of clamorous egoism +which carried me on and on until I came to feel that I was really doing +something. At last, I know that I am a narrow human parasite, worthless, +utterly worthless. A blind, clinging, grasping, vagrant beast, fed upon +the mercy of too kind-hearted humanity. I am sorry. It isn't my fault, +but it is so." + +Philip stood for a few minutes in silence. "You're ill, Lawrence," he +said finally. "Get back to yourself if you can. Things do not stay at +this point in human abasement. I know of what I speak. I have been +through that myself. I cannot say anything comforting. No one can." + +They went to bed with but a few commonplace remarks, and the cabin +became silent. Lawrence lay awake through that night. Claire, unknown to +him, spent her vigil in a great readjustment of her life. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +PHILIP TO THE RESCUE. + + +It is always the little things in human relations that have the most +far-reaching results. Claire might have avoided much trouble with a few +well-chosen words to Lawrence, but her own mental state prevented her +from speaking. + +On his part, Lawrence was so shaken by her outburst that his love for +her was driven deep into his subconscious self, and for the time it lay +there dormant. After the sudden volcanic upheaval of his entire +universe, he was utterly absorbed in the immediate task of +reconstructing his faith in himself. The primitive stages of his +thinking did not allow for any relation between himself and the woman +who had released the dam of self-abasement. She was unavoidably at hand, +reminding him of her speech, and that alone delayed what otherwise would +have been an unconscious process. + +Claire was not able to forget the intense desire which, she now +realized, had prompted her terrible diatribe. Humiliation held her in +its throes, and she was reserved, distant, and unnatural toward him. + +Philip saw it all, and his mind was filled with conjectures which made +him less and less charitable toward Lawrence, more jealous, and more +hopeful of a happy issue of his love for Claire. She turned to him +eagerly for companionship. Instinctively she sought refuge from her own +thoughts--and from Lawrence--by talking to Philip. + +The morning after the incident between Lawrence and Claire there had +been an austere reserve in the cabin. Claire had fled from the +oppressive gloom into the open. Outside Philip joined her, and they +walked together in silence. He was determined not to ask Claire what had +happened, although he was extending her a silent sympathy which she felt +and a little resented. + +Lawrence, left alone in the cabin, gave small heed to their departure. +He had risen with a frightful headache and a fever. He lay on the bed +and thought of his situation, his past life, and his future chances, in +bitter, heartrending, self-condemnatory sarcasm which made his condition +even less tolerable than it would have been otherwise. + +"I am a miserable groveler at the feet of humanity," he thought, +"clutching at shrinking shoestrings for a piece of bread in pity's name. +If I could see, God, if I only could!" + +He thought of all the little things which his blindness made it +absolutely necessary for others to do for him, and his excited mind +magnified them into colossal proportions. If his landlady in New York +had removed a spot from his clothes, as she had often done, that was a +proof of his despised state. He fell to imagining that he was unkempt, +dirty, disgustingly unclean, and that people had tolerated it because +they had pitied him. At last, with a cry of anguish, he thought: "And my +work, too, it is a botched mess which they are amused at and do not dare +to tell me the truth about. It, too, is a jest that the world is having +at my expense." He remembered praise and prizes that he had won in +contests with other students, and he was too excited to see the folly of +his answer: "That was charity, the award of kindness to me. I know now +what they thought--that for a blind man the thing was nearly enough +correct to be interesting and quite amusing." + +His body felt hot, and he went outside to prowl about in the wind and +snow, like a despairing beast. His mind kept up its terrible work, and +he did not notice the continual drop in temperature. Round and round the +cabin he walked, instead of going into the forest, as he would have done +the day before. In his mind was a sudden doubt of his own ability, and +he said that Claire had been right to keep him in. She was more aware of +his pitiable weakness than he. At last, however, from sheer weariness he +went inside. He was chilled through, but instead of rebuilding the fire +and warming himself, he rolled up in a blanket and lay on the bed, +chilling and burning by turns. + +In the mean time Claire and Philip were discussing the man in the cabin. +Philip had finally broken the silence by saying: "Claire, you needn't +feel so about whatever has happened. Remember he is blind and must be +treated less critically than other men." + +She knew that that was just what had made Lawrence so deadly white when +she had spoken, and it filled her with sickening pain. She answered +unsteadily: "That isn't true. It isn't Lawrence, anyway, it's myself who +should be condemned." + +Philip was thoughtful. "It is like you to take the blame on yourself. +You are so kind-hearted that way." + +In her present state, his words seemed like a reproach. "Philip, don't," +she said sadly. "I know better than that." + +He persisted. "No, you do not. You are too sympathetic, and you let your +heart get the better of you." + +"I wish you wouldn't talk that way," she repeated. "You wouldn't, if you +knew the truth." + +"Of course, I do not know what happened," he said, "but I do know +you--even better than you know yourself." + +"Do you know what I've done?" + +"No, and I do not care. It was right, I am sure. The queen can do no +wrong." He was intensely serious. + +"Isn't there any common sense left in you, Philip?" she railed. "Have +you gone clear back into medieval nonsense in your feeling toward me? I +tell you, you are indulging in foolishness." + +"Am I?" He smiled. "Well, if that is the best I have to give--" + +"I don't want you to give me anything." + +"But I cannot help it, neither can you." + +"I have killed a man's love before this," she answered bitterly. + +"But you cannot kill mine. I love you, whether you love me or not. I am +proud to acknowledge my unreturned love." + +"As you please." Claire stopped suddenly. "Are we apt to get anywhere +with this subject?" she asked ironically. + +"I don't know. I earnestly hope so." + +She looked at Philip thoughtfully. Perhaps the truth about her own +weakness might cure him. + +"Suppose I allowed you to love me, and you found that you had won a +woman whose passions were her whole life. Suppose she should prove to be +a mere bundle of sex, all polished over with other people's ideas, a +social manner, and a set of morals which she did not really feel, which +were deceiving ornaments hiding her soul. What would you think of your +prize?" + +"I should not love such a woman. I could not." + +"But suppose you were deceived and thought her other than she was." + +"I hardly expect such a thing to happen. Why suppose?" + +"Because if I were your wife you might find it to be true." + +Philip laughed aloud. "Claire, how preposterous! Are you trying to kill +my love for you with such terrifying pictures of depravity?" + +"I wasn't trying to do anything. I just wanted to know." + +"Have you been answered?" + +"Yes, you are like all of your type; you are in love with what your own +desire chooses as an ideal, and then you shout, 'Behold, I am not a +sensual lover!'" + +He stared at her in amazement. "What sort of a thing do you think I am?" + +She laughed carelessly. "A man. And what do you think I am?" + +"A very strange woman, but a dear one," he said earnestly. + +"Why strange, Philip?" + +"Because you talk of love as Lawrence might." + +She winced. "He would know," she said. "He does know, perhaps." She was +talking to herself, and her voice was pathetic. + +Philip's eyes grew fierce with anger. "What do you mean?" + +"Not what your very ideal mind thinks," she said coldly. + +He flamed scarlet, and looked away. "Claire," he said softly, "will you +never have done stirring up suspicions no man could avoid, and then +condemning them?" + +"I didn't stir them up," she mocked. + +"Who did, then?" + +Claire was undergoing a developing reconstruction, but that she did not +know. She thought she was degenerating, and the immediate result was to +make her careless and ironical. + +"Oh, the devil, perhaps," she hazarded. + +"What are you, Claire?" Philip demanded hoarsely. + +Suddenly her suffering broke into tears. To his utter amazement, she +began to cry unrestrainedly. + +Over and over she sobbed: "I don't know, I don't know." + +For a moment Philip stood motionless, bewildered, then his love and +natural tenderness swept over him, and he said tenderly, "Don't, Claire, +please." + +She only cried harder, weakened the more by his pity. He took her in his +arms as he would a child, and comforted her. She was tempted to +struggle, but her need for sympathy prevailed, and she did not resist +him. He held her in his arms, pouring out his love, his anxiety, his +tenderness, and in her momentary condition she listened and made no +protest. In her aching mind she kept repeating, "I have killed +Lawrence's love with my bestial talk"--and she wanted love. She did not +think of her husband. He was too far away. In her present attitude she +exalted Lawrence to the unattainable, and, without formulating the +thought, she was willing to lie in Philip's arms and take what he could +give. They were two of a kind, she thought scornfully. In her +bitterness, the bleak, snow-covered land, with its drooping pines, +seemed in its cold monotony a fitting background for two such worthless +derelicts. + +In the Spaniard's mind was but one thought--to comfort Claire and +restore her to her usual self. Vaguely he knew that love was already +promised by the unresisting body in his arms, but there was no thought +of immediately pressing his suit. He petted and talked until she stopped +crying, then he stood her on her feet, and said, with a tender laughter +in his words: "There, you are all right again. We would better go in. +You are cold." + +Silently she walked beside him back to the cabin. She was indifferent, +she thought, as to whether he did or did not continue his appeals for +love. She was under her own deep, unexplained, emotional control which +led her forward. She was finding herself, but before she would be safe +she would have to throw off a mass of traditional views, beliefs, and +teachings. If Philip chose to press his suit while her knowledge of +herself still seemed vile and abnormal, she would be surely his. Claire +thought herself lost. She had revealed her terrible state to Lawrence, +killed his love, filled him with abhorrence, and struck at his life's +source. + +With silent turmoil in her brain she entered the cabin beside Philip. +When she saw Lawrence, a sharp pain went through her. He was white as +death save for the red spots that marked his fever. She took off her +coat and snow-cap hurriedly. + +"Lawrence," she said softly, going toward him. + +He lifted his head slightly. + +"What is it, Claire?" + +"I want to do something for you. You're ill." + +His face clouded. "No, thanks," he said. "You've done too much for me +already." + +"Won't you do anything for yourself?" she begged. + +"I'll be all right. It's just a cold, I guess." + +Philip came and stood looking down at Lawrence scrutinizingly, while +Claire went to the fire and heated water. + +"I am going to fill you up with quinin," he announced. "It is never +missing from my medicine-chest." + +"All right," Lawrence laughed. "It isn't bitter compared to what I'm +filling myself with." + +"Are you not making a fool of yourself?" Philip asked plainly. + +"Yes. I know it. That doesn't keep me from doing it, though." + +Claire turned and looked at them, her eyes sternly reproachful toward +Philip. + +"One can't help thinking," she said. "I can't." + +"I shouldn't want you to," Lawrence returned. "Indeed, I'm grateful to +you for making me think, too." + +"She started you off, did she?" Philip smiled. + +Lawrence did not answer, and Philip sat down by the fire where he could +watch Claire as she worked. + +After a time Lawrence said thoughtfully: "If one could establish some +sort of a relation between himself and the ultimate first cause of all +this blind snowstorm we call life, things might get shaped with some +measure for perspectives." + +"Yes," Philip assented. "I manage to establish one, though I confess it +isn't clearly logical." + +"What is it?" Lawrence asked. + +"Simply having faith; hope, if you prefer it." + +"But faith in what, and what do you base it on?" + +"Oh, on my experience." + +"I wonder if we really matter at all to the rest of the scheme," Claire +voiced. + +"I am inclined to think not," replied Lawrence. "We matter only to +ourselves, and what we can do with the universe around us." + +"We matter to God, I think," said Philip. "I don't mean in the old +accepted sense; but we must matter to Him in some way, perhaps as your +statue here matters to you." + +Lawrence chuckled weakly. "It mattered tremendously when I was doing +it. Now it doesn't in the least matter. I shouldn't care if you burned +it as firewood." + +"But you must care," Claire protested, feeling that he was losing +interest in his work because of her. + +"I don't see why. I haven't any real assurance as to its value. It may +be good, more likely it isn't; in any case, I have turned it loose to +shift for itself. It can survive or not; its doing so is immaterial. +Perhaps as immaterial as my existence is to the Great Artist who +conceived the botched job called me." + +"But, Lawrence, why insist that you don't matter to Him?" + +"Oh, because I am scarcely aware of Him at all; indeed, I am not aware +of Him, and I am sure He isn't aware of me." + +"You have not any way to prove that," declared Philip. + +"True, except that I can imaginatively comprehend the size of time and +space, and all that is therein. I know my own size, and I can readily +imagine that the creator of the whole is no more aware of me than I am, +say, of a small worm that may be in the heart of my cherub there." + +"We do seem pretty small in the face of the stars," said Claire. + +"Yes, and so impossible," added Lawrence. "I didn't realize until to-day +how utterly impossible I really am." + +"But, impossible or not, here you are," Philip laughed. + +"Yes, here I am and there I may be, but in either place I am not +especially possible. You are; you can go out and make a definite, +independent impression on life; that makes you possible in that you are +forcing recognition of power and capability. I can't do that. The +impression I make is one of incapability. For myself I am impossible, +and for others more so." + +"Which has nothing to do with God," said Philip, in his tone a touch of +distaste. + +Lawrence recognized it and became silent. + +Claire made him take the quinin and heated bricks for his feet. Philip +went out to cut wood for the fire, leaving her alone with the sick man. +She was so full of her own wickedness, as she conceived it, that she +dared not tell him her thoughts. She wanted to explain that she loved +him, that she had loved him all along, but she could not. She looked at +him, and felt sure that he had now no love for her. + +Lawrence was trying to follow out in his mind a searching inquiry as to +his relation to life. "If I could only establish that," he thought, "I +could get myself straight and there would be something to start from. If +I knew which way to move!" But he was unable to do any coherent +thinking. His head ached, his lips burned with fever, and his body kept +him busy with the sensation of pain. It seemed to him that illness made +his state more detestable, but it also offered him a chance of escape +from the whole drab business. He was quite sure that he wanted to +escape, and he would not have believed it if any one had told him that +he would resist death to the uttermost; yet deep within him was that +will to live which had made him the creative artist. It was working, +unknown to him, now, toward the reconstruction he so needed. + +He turned restlessly, and muttered something about his foolishness. +Claire came and sat beside him silently. She was wondering what would +happen if she should tell him of her discovery of herself. + +"Claire!" Lawrence spoke. "Is it possible for any one to get his life +platform built so that it will stand without that first great plank?" + +"What plank?" + +"God." + +"I don't know." + +"It seems to me that you couldn't have shaken me so yesterday if I had +been built up right." + +"Lawrence," she said piteously, "I didn't mean to do that, to say that." + +He waved her words aside. "Never mind, Claire, it did me good. I was not +realizing, quite, just what I was. I'm finding it out, and when I get +right I'll be all the better for it." + +"But you don't know why I did it." + +"Yes, I do, but it doesn't matter, anyway. What was behind your words +doesn't count so long as you told the truth." + +"But it does count, and I didn't tell the truth." + +"I'm afraid you did. Please don't try to cover it with kind fibs now." + +"I sha'n't, but you don't understand." + +"Well, Claire, it doesn't matter, as I said. What is it to me what you +do or don't do, so long as you bring me face to face with more truth?" + +She thought he was telling her that he cared nothing for her. She did +not blame him, yet there was a tiny streak of pride that said, "At least +Philip finds me worth while." + +"It is simply my own salvation that is involved," Lawrence went on. + +"Well, I hope you find it," she said simply. + +"I must find it to live," he answered. + +"And how do you propose to find it?" + +"I don't know. I wish I did." + +"You might find it, as you once said, in creative work." + +"No, that isn't a salvation. I must have a platform from which to work. +Don't you see that, Claire?" + +"I don't understand anything about it." + +"Pardon me, I didn't intend to force this upon you." + +"That isn't what I mean, Lawrence." Her eyes were moist. "What I meant +was that you live above me entirely." + +"Nonsense," he said wrathfully. "You talk like a silly girl, Claire." + +"Do I? Well, I am perhaps less worth while than you think." + +"Oh, I guess not," he returned carelessly. + +She covered her face with her hands. + +"I know you are worth all that I think you are," he continued. "But I am +afraid that just now I am too interested in my own salvation to think of +you at all correctly." + +"Yes," she observed wearily. + +She was thinking of Philip as he had comforted her that morning, and his +tenderness, compared to this cold statement from Lawrence, seemed +attractive beyond measure. She admitted that all hope of Lawrence's +loving her was dead, and she said to herself: "It is what I wanted. I +can go back to my husband." But she did not want to go back to Howard. +She received this discovery calmly. She would never go back. But why +shouldn't she? She could not tell for certain. She thought it was +because she had found herself unworthy, but deep within her was the +knowledge that she no longer loved him. It would be useless to go back +to him in any event. He could never be the same to her after hearing of +her long months with this blind man in the wilderness. + +What months they had been! She thought them over, day by day, and she +saw what might have been a great joy sink, after a glimpse, into utter +darkness. Before her she saw the endless gray years beside Philip. Yes, +she would stay with him. At least he loved her, and she could help him. +If she did not love him, what of it? She would be an able wife to him. +She could keep him from ever knowing that her heart was away with +Lawrence, who would be back in the world at home and have forgotten her. + +"Claire!" Lawrence was speaking. "We have certainly reaped a strange +harvest from our months of sowing in the wilderness." + +"Yes." + +"Whatever brought it about?" + +"I don't know." + +"Perhaps it was fate, that you should teach me where I stand in life." + +"Perhaps." + +"And perhaps you, too, will find that I have been of some value when we +are separated." + +"It may be." + +"I wish things might have gone differently." + +"They didn't." + +"No, and they can't. Well, let them be as they are." + +"I guess we'll have to, Lawrence." + +A few minutes later, when she looked at him, he was asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +UTTER EXHAUSTION. + + +Claire rose and slipped quietly to her own bed. All the aching pain of +her proposed future came over her with its dirty sordidness. She could +never stand it, she thought, and clenched her teeth. Well, it was not +necessary. When Lawrence was gone, there was the lake. That would be her +way out of it all. No one need ever know. The thought of death seemed +very sweet to her. + +Philip came in, saw Lawrence asleep, and stole across the room to peep +in at her. She met his glance. + +"I beg your pardon," he murmured. + +"Never mind," she answered dully. "Come in if you like." + +He hesitated, then stepped through, and let the curtain fall behind him. + +"May I sit here?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. + +"Why not?" Her voice was colorless. "Only please speak softly. Don't +wake Lawrence." + +"He'll feel better after his sleep, I think." + +"I hope so." + +He sat looking down into her dark, clouded eyes. There was something so +tragic, so sad, and so submissive in them that he was filled with utter +tenderness. + +"Claire," he whispered, "what is the matter?" + +"Nothing. I'm quite well." + +"You look absolutely desolate." + +"I don't especially feel so." + +"Are you happy?" + +"I don't know." + +He stooped over her, studying her face. She did not move, only her deep, +dark eyes looked up coldly into his. He took the hand which she did not +draw away, and whispered: "Claire, let me make you happy." + +She did not answer. He bent nearer. Her eyes did not shift from his, she +saw that he was going to kiss her, but she did not move. If the whole +world had come crashing down upon her, she could not have made the +slightest effort to escape. + +He pressed his lips against hers. She did not return his kiss, but she +did not protest. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her up. +Still she made no objection. He held her more closely, kissing her again +and again. She remained impassive, unable to summon sufficient willpower +to resist. Besides, had she not decided to be this man's wife? + +He was pouring into her ears short, whispered words of endearment, +giving his love free rein. + +"Claire--Claire," he whispered passionately, "you do love me! Say you +love me!" + +"Oh, must I say that?" she asked languidly. + +He laid her head back on the pillow tenderly. + +"Why shouldn't you?" he demanded. "You do, or you wouldn't let me act +this way. Oh, Claire, isn't that true?" + +"Doesn't your own heart tell you, Philip?" She could not lie easily. + +"Yes, of course. I just wanted to hear you say it, dear." + +"Why?" + +"Because--because it means so much to me." + +"How does it mean any more than my unresisting lips?" She wanted to be +fair to Philip. Would he want a wife without love? + +He looked at her, puzzled by her calm question. + +"Because, dear, it would mean that you put your seal on our divine +betrothal." + +"I gave you my lips, you held me in your arms, doesn't that mean love to +you?" + +"Claire, why do you talk that way?" + +"Why shouldn't I? Isn't it true?" + +"Yes, but you--you seem so unlike the woman you are." + +"Oh, I see. But you haven't told me fully why you wanted me to say I +loved you." + +He stood up nervously and moved a few paces away, but the patient, +self-reproachful gaze in Claire's eyes brought him back again. + +"Why talk of that at all, dearest?" he whispered. "We have each other. +Isn't that enough?" + +"Perhaps not. You asked me to say it, you know." + +"Yes, but I don't care. I won't plague you. I know you do love, me." He +kissed her again and then looked at her. Her lips had been cold. + +"What is the matter, Claire? Don't you love me? Is that why you wouldn't +give me your word?" + +It was coming at last. How could she make Philip see, and yet be fair to +him, too? + +"I don't know what you mean by love." Her voice was carefully toneless. + +Philip's eyes lighted. "Don't you want me here beside you? Don't you +warm to my kisses? Isn't there an awakened tenderness in you at my +touch? Isn't there, dearest?" + +Claire's hands moved nervously up and down the edge of the comforter. +"If I should stay here with you, that would be the highest proof that I +loved you, wouldn't it?" + +"What else?" He looked at her, hope giving his face a renewed glow. + +Was that all that love meant to him? "Is that what your years of thought +have taught you?" she said aloud. + +"Why, yes, Claire, the return of passion for passion, of warmth for +warmth, of tenderness for tenderness, must be the last test, mustn't +it?" + +Despite her resolution her eyes narrowed ironically. + +Philip started, and stared at her. + +"Would you ever be jealous of my husband?" she asked, slowly. + +His head dropped. "No--and yes. Of course, I wish he hadn't been your +husband, but we can't help what fate has decreed." He raised his eyes, +and then suddenly he smiled. "Claire, is it because of him that you are +unwilling to tell me you love me?" he asked softly. "I think I can +understand. You'll have to be freed from him in some way, and we must be +married, of course." + +"I am free from him. To him, I am dead. Isn't that enough?" + +"Yes," he answered judiciously, "if your own conscience is satisfied." + +She smiled a little, her eyebrows lifting in amusement. "Oh, my own +conscience dictates my every act, Philip." + +"I know it does," he agreed, earnestly. "But your lips were cold to my +kiss." He bent over to test the truth of his remark. + +"Do you forget Lawrence so easily?" Claire raised a hand over her face. +"Certainly I cannot." + +"I beg your pardon," Philip said, rising hastily. "Of course he is to +be remembered. We will wait until we are alone to talk of our future." + +"Yes," she said. "I should prefer that greatly." + +He touched his lips to her forehead tenderly, then stepped silently into +the room beyond. + +She heard him as he moved quietly to replenish the fire, and it seemed +to her that he made enough noise to echo from the mountains across the +lake. She must think her situation through. She was studying the look +she had read on Philip's face, and was angry with herself, yet she could +not help thinking of it and its meaning. Suddenly she remembered the +same expression on her husband's face, and she shuddered. She had +thought it beautiful then, why not now? And why should she be so +contemptuous when probably the same look had been in her own eyes when +she had raged at Lawrence because he had not taken her in his arms. +Philip was sitting out there beyond the curtain dreaming ecstatically of +the days when they would be alone in the cabin, and she smiled +ironically. After all, there was but one way out. He would find little +comfort in her ghost, and her drowned body would scarcely fire him to +passion. + +She rose and slipped out into the room. Lawrence was still asleep. She +did not even glance toward Philip because she foresaw his look of +proprietorship. She went straight to Lawrence, and bending over him as +if to arrange something about his blanket, she whispered softly: +"Beloved, when I am alone with him, I shall be more with you." + +Philip came and stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on her +shoulder. + +"It looks like a serious fever," he said softly. + +Claire listened to Lawrence's breathing and felt his temperature. She +stood up, gray with anxiety. "I'm afraid for him," she said, and there +was that in her voice which Philip did not understand. + +They ate their supper in silence. Claire glanced at Philip occasionally +and found in his eyes the anticipated look of tender ownership. She let +him slip out of her mind while she thought again of the afternoon when +Lawrence had declared his creative principle. How dearly she would love +to help him, to have him model his statue of her. He had said that she +was savage and elemental underneath her polish. He had known, then, all +the time. What a man he was! If only she knew how to find his love, to +reawaken it. But no, he would never forget. Well, he would not have been +able to care for her, anyway, she was so utterly sensual despite all her +training in culture. He would want a more spiritual woman to fire his +imagination to do great work. She tried to imagine what sort of woman +would be best for his wife. + +Lawrence stirred restlessly. She rose and went quickly to the bed. He +was still asleep and she stood looking down at him. In her heart was a +great tenderness and a great fear. What if he should die? Memories of +their days in the woods swept over her in waves of love. + +Abruptly she turned to Philip and said quietly: "Philip, until I am your +wife you must not touch me again." + +He looked up, startled, then smiled. "I understand, my dear," he said, +"I will not." + +She sat down at the table to wait for Lawrence's waking. It was late +when he did, and immediately they realized that he was worse. Claire +gave him some hot soup made from dried meal and helped Philip get him +undressed and into bed. + +"I'll put some blankets here and sleep on the floor beside him," Philip +whispered. "I don't in the least mind, and I can help him if he wants +help during the night." + +"Thank you," Claire said gratefully. She felt indebted to this man for +every kindness shown Lawrence. + +Long before morning she was aroused by the sound of movements out there +in the room. + +"What is it?" she called softly. + +"I am looking for something in which to heat water," came Philip's +voice. + +She scrambled out of bed, drew on a few clothes, and went out. Lawrence +was tossing on his bed and breathing heavily. She set to work heating +the water herself, and sent Philip back to his blankets. There was a +pleasure in doing this nursing for Lawrence. She felt glad that hers +was the chance to care for him. + +"You're to have the best nursing a sick man ever got, Lawrence," she +said, stooping over him tenderly. + +He smiled faintly and whispered: "Good, Claire." + +"You'll be well so quick you won't remember being ill." + +"I know," he murmured huskily. + +"What do you know?" she asked eagerly. + +"I know, it's natural for you, this kindness." + +"Is that all you know, Lawrence?" + +"About all, Claire. About all, yet." + +"Why do you say 'yet'?" + +"I haven't thought it out yet." + +"What, Lawrence?" + +"My platform, my work-bench for the future." + +She laughed, a little sadly. "You would better stop thinking about that +for a day or so, wouldn't you?" + +"Perhaps. I can't, though." + +She drew up a chair and sat beside him. "I'm going to become a regular +guard, and if you don't sleep and let thinking wait, I'll scold +dreadfully." + +He tossed uneasily and turned toward her, his cheeks brilliant with +fever. + +"I like to hear you scold, Claire," he said. "I shall go my limit." + +She rubbed her cool hand across his forehead for answer. + +When he at last slept, she continued to watch by his side, rocking +slowly in her chair. It was peace for her to sit there and dream. There +was rest from her ceaseless questionings, and it was welcome rest. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE QUESTION ANSWERED. + + +During the days that followed Claire's attitude grew into one of +motherhood. She watched over Lawrence for the least thing she might do, +the least promise of returning health. There were times when he raved in +delirium, and she listened with a swelling heart. + +One morning he began suddenly talking of himself. In broken sentences, +shapeless phrases, half finished thoughts, he unfolded a strange tale. +Claire was glad that Philip was away at work with his traps. She sat +beside Lawrence, her hands clasped, and did not miss a word. + +"You see," he began one day without preliminaries, "you see, I wasn't +just given the best of chances. That was the beginning of it all. I +wasn't fairly treated." She tried to comfort him into sleep, but he did +not know she was talking to him and went on earnestly with his +unconscious revelation. + +"The whole business was a squalid sort of thing banked by mountains so +grand in their rugged strength that I never got used to the dirty, dusty +little half-civilized town there on the plateau. Even as a child I felt +the intolerable difference between the place and its surroundings. Men +ought to be better up there, but they aren't. They just magnify faults +with the bigness of the hills around. Lots of it was romantic, lots of +it ought never to be lost, the frank freedom, the vital living, the joy +of uncertain victory over the dirt of the mines. It made men wild, wild +to the last degree, that ever possible stumbling into gold, pure, +glittering gold. Why, I saw it as a kid, shining like stars all over the +side of the tunnel. It made even the children mad, I think. When I +modeled rude little figures out of the red clay, I was always on the +outlook for a possible gold-mine." + +He laughed, then went on seriously. "I didn't have the chance to grow up +learning things gradually. There was no dividing-line between vice and +virtue, all of it spread out there, street behind street, in a glow of +abandoned riot. Even virtue flashed with a loose frankness that deceived +a growing boy. It was a grand drama. Fifty thousand mad men and women!" + +She looked at him in amazement. This was something beyond her knowledge. +What was it all that he was talking about? + +"There was Josey; she didn't know. I didn't. We saw love played with in +hilarious open passion. We thought it was the thing to do. Children +oughtn't to see it quite that way." + +Claire felt guilty, but he stopped and when he began again he was on a +different line of old memories. + +"Why, when I sold papers down on the main street I could see the girls +of the district standing around, one block below, in their business +regalia. I thought at first they were angels." + +Claire sat in wonder and listened. + +"The first time I ever went down there I was eight. Eight years old, and +one of them called me from the open door of her house. When I stepped to +the door, she was coming down a stairway, her white dress open and +spread like wings at either side of her naked body. I was sure she was +an angel out of my Sunday-school book. I could scarcely take the dime +she gave me. I never forgot her kissing me and patting my head when I +stared so at her." + +Claire felt a strangely tender pity for the little chap she was seeing +now in her imagination. + +"And the fighting, dirty, freckled sons of those women--they kept me +hard at it, keeping the money I got. After that day, I went down there +often. Traded a paper with a golden-haired angel for a box of +cigarettes, the first I ever owned. It was great, wonderful, to have her +cigarettes. I smoked them with a sense of reverence. + +"Wright and I played hooky, and the girls hid us all day in their +shacks, played with us, teased us about sex, and taught us things we +oughtn't to have known. Poor old Wright! They sent him to the pen for +burglary after I had been gone years and was blind. I wonder if I'd have +followed him. Most likely would. + +"And, oh, the hills! There was old Pisga, pined to its cone point, and a +race-track, with a saloon, at its foot. I ran away out there once at a +big Fourth of July barbecue. It rained like the devil and I lounged in +the bar with jockeys and sporting girls, listening to their ribald talk. + +"I don't know--a street urchin in a camp, that was all I was. If I got +licked, and I did, I was a coward for years and had to give up my +pennies. I used strategy, cunning, because I was afraid to fight till I +whipped Red. That made a difference. If the old fellow I liked so hadn't +given Red a quarter to lick me, I'd have been a coward yet. It made me +so mad I licked Red." + +Lawrence laughed again merrily. + +"That started me fighting, and I fought daily without provocation. +Dirty, scaly fisted little rat, whose stockings sagged around his shoes, +fighting for money in the saloons! The men liked me, too. All of them +called me their kid. I used to stand big-eyed and watch the faro-table +stacked with gold. There were days, too, when I went out alone over the +hills. I was ashamed of my little figures and afraid lest the boys find +my mud-pies, as Red had called a tiny dog that fell out of my pocket in +a fight. + +"One day in an electric storm I saw a man and his horse killed by +lightning. I was awed, and electricity became my god. I worshiped it +like a little heathen. I even bought penny suckers and stuck them up in +the ground where the lightning played in stormy weather. + +"It always seemed that the only things about the whole camp that fitted +with the hills were that girl in white and an old mountaineer who fought +with his fists alone against a gang of drunks. I don't know why. They +just belonged." + +He stopped and lay a long time in silence. Claire thought over what he +had said, and her heart went out to this man as if he were still the +little gamin of the hills. + +"Poor little chap," she murmured aloud. + +Lawrence half raised himself in bed, talking again, and she was obliged +to push him back. + +"It was all paradise, though, compared to that school where the Women's +Club sent me. I didn't want an education. Freedom was taken from me. I +was chained with discipline. I had seen too much and I told the other +marveling boys. They talked, and I was punished as a degenerate little +villain. I couldn't see why. That first winter was hell. They all +misunderstood me, and I them. I ached for my mountains again, and when +they sent me to the camp for the summer I whooped for joy. + +"I must have been thirteen at that time. The men in camp paid the Widow +Morgan to keep me through the summer. She had a daughter seventeen or +thereabouts. Georgia had curly hair and blue eyes. She didn't pay much +attention to me at first. I didn't care. + +"Then one night the widow went off to a lodge-meeting and left us alone. +Pearly and the gang came around and began throwing rocks at the house +and demanding that Georgia let them in. I was furious, and she was +nearly scared to death. She got her mother's pistol and asked me to +shoot it. I took it and, opening the door, fired into the night. The +gang slunk off, but Georgia was still frightened. + +"We slipped out of our clothes in trembling silence and huddled together +in her mother's bed. She was crying, and I felt very brave. I put my +arms around her and comforted her. She became quiet by and by and +slipped her arms around me. After that we found ourselves. + +"She said we were in love, and I guess we were. That night was the +beginning of my rebellious manhood. Her mother abused us roundly for +immoral little whiffits. I was put out, and after that the county kept +me. Georgia hated me, for she said I was to blame. + +"I suppose that was all right, too, but it made me bitter against what +seemed to me an unjust world. I went back to school, hating. I never +stopped hating as long as I was there. It was misunderstanding from +first to last. I never ceased rebelling against punishment for +rebellion. + +"It was a hopeless snarl, but it made me what I was when I entered +college, distant, sullen, and ferocious. My only joy was in my work, and +I spent all my spare time in the studio. Then the second summer I shot +off the gunpowder, and blindness came." + +Lawrence lay back silent, then began again. + +"After the accident it was a thousand times worse. I thought people +didn't like me because I was blind. They only pitied and misunderstood. +Misunderstood--that word might be my epitaph. It could certainly be +placed over my childhood's grave. + +"It was in college that I started thinking. Thought out my plan of +militant egoism. It seemed to succeed, but all the time I was afraid it +was only pity that sold my work. You know, Claire, as you said, I've got +to do it all over again. All of it, building a new platform, a new +work-bench. I've got to allow for things. I've got to understand." + +In her tension, Claire walked the floor. Would he never stop? That +glimpse into his life at the widow's--who was Pearly?--and what a tough +little gang he must have grown up with! Poor boy! + +He did not talk much for a long time, then he kept repeating: "I must +build a new work-bench, Claire. That's the thing to do." + +She felt at times that she must scream at him, then she would be all +motherly tenderness. "Lawrence," she would whisper, "do it, my man. You +can, my laddie." + +He tossed, and chided an unseen man or woman for having helped him +through charity under the garb of admiration. He was misunderstanding +again. He thought everything was charity, pity for his blindness, and he +raved. She began to see that this sudden bitterness which poured from +his lips was the outcome of years of sorrow, the product of a +deep-burning fire to see the beauty his soul craved. + +"Lawrence," she cried, "God knows if I could I would give you my eyes!" + +She knew that he was consumed with the pain of his struggle to +comprehend more beauty. Even exaggerating his hunger for sight, she wept +beside him. Her whole soul yearned to help him, to give him more of the +beauty which seemed the prime need of his nature. + +Sometimes he prayed for it, addressing Fate, Nature, Chance, anything, +everything but God. + +After a silence that was beginning to frighten Claire, he began again. +At first his words were indistinct, but as she leaned closer, they +cleared of guttural sounds. She listened spellbound. + +"You see, I hadn't done my thinking with allowance for the whole of +human character, Claire. That was what was wrong with me. I'm doing that +now. I'm finding myself again. It is back with the beginning of things I +must start. Back with the first squirm of life in the primordial mud. +It's no use trying further back than that. No use at all. Back of that +lies only conjecture. + +"There was existence, perhaps, inert unconscious existence waiting to +become suddenly aware of itself, aware of its parts and its difference +from other things. Well, existence struggling, dreaming of +self-knowledge, found in a wriggling, oozing spot of protoplasm--that's +the start of it all. Feeding without hunger, moving without knowledge to +food, reproducing mechanically by division, living without instinct, +without emotion, without death. For me, that must be the beginning. + +"Whether death came, or what it was--a long period without food, +perhaps--that started this stuff to changing, I do not know. Maybe it +was existence following the way of greatest pressure toward selfhood. +Anyway, it started and began its journey. Up and up, out of the mud and +ooze, into light and dry dirt. + +"The glory of light must have been a great thing then. Think of it, +coming into light, out of wet, dark mud. I know what it would be better +than you. Light, the first great discovery of life! It must have +hastened growth--warmth, sunrays, heat, cold at night and dark again. +The glory of it breaking at dawn over the squirming, groping blind +existence of things! + +"God said let there be light, and there was light. + +"Existence demanding the thing it craved. Was that it, or existence +finding light and learning to crave it? No matter--light, a thousand +miracles of warmth and wonder! Growth was inevitable, Claire. + +"Then the craving learned by experience broke into new form. I don't +know what it was; a two-celled bug, perhaps--only that it was craving +that did it. Hunger and thirst after light. + +"Pain came at the very start of things. Wants unsatisfied drove with the +scourge of hell, forcing eyes, ears, stomach, sex into being, and out of +the squalor of it all, still goaded by incessant want, there heaved the +gigantic scaly carcass of the dinosaur. Still unaware of things, but +driven to move, to grow, to expand. Existence demanding more expression +of its awareness of self. + +"The beast didn't know what it was. He only grew and grew and grew, till +he spread his ugly, yearning life over hundreds of feet of ground. Eye +and ear and touch and a peace of filled belly lay basking in the light, +glorying in what they found. Life was good, riotously good, finding +things, finding itself out. They fought, fed, killed, bred, all in the +effort of existence to know. + +"What a blood-drenched chaotic struggle for self it was, Claire! + +"And so, on and on and on. Touch didn't satisfy the incessant taste for +more knowledge, more life. Bodies rising like hills out of the marshes +couldn't give the keen joy that existence craved for itself. + +"New things again: changed, altered products of the old, bearing in +their frames the history, the memory of the old--it all came, and out of +it at last, hunger-driven for more keen life, sprang a biped, hairy, +tusked, savage, bloody, lustful, eager to live, live, live! + +"He was a glorious beast. In his flattened head that held the little +bloodshot eyes were memory, products of the past, things that harked +back for confirmation of present things. He had instincts--that's what +they are, instincts, memories of past sufferings--that whipped the +organism to go on into keener living. He was sexed, he was hungry, he +was vicious, he slept and ate, he bred consciously, carrying on the +eager shout within his being for more, more of life. More of existence +aware of itself! + +"If he killed, he gloried in the hot blood that drenched his hairless +nose, and he learned to laugh through the pleasure of a filled belly. He +learned to cry when he went hungry. Tears came, and emotions, a more +specialized instinct. + +"He was learning something else, too. But pain still whipped him on, +filled him with fear of non-life, and he grew cowardly. Nature had +created a new thing, a brain, a specialized mass of cells that can +comment, realize, criticise, warn, appreciate, choose better food, get +it easier, help to conquer and promote life; the biped used this new +thing to understand why he ran from the fingers that clutched at him in +the dark and he became afraid. If it brought him new pain, it also +brought him new pleasure. It was a great toy that could be used to enjoy +oneself with. + +"It can have the joy of bodily sensations and then recall them, study +them, comment on them, on its own instincts, its own memories. It can +dream of ways for procuring fuller life, and put the dreams into any +desired shape. Man struts from his jungle, laughing aloud, with lust for +life and joy at his fulness thereof. But all the while, pain, the +darkness, the still inert unconsciousness in existence that oppresses +and drags back into its own dead inertness, is laughing still more +heartily. + +"Everywhere it checks, but man in his egotism forgets that he is a +slave, bound and hampered, and boasts himself master. Death sweeps in, +lightning kills, thunder crashes over him, and filled with fear, with +something bigger than he can grasp, he falls upon his knees, and cries, +'God!' + +"Then begins the mess, the tangled, detestable, bloody, dirty, riotously +glorious, sublime mystery that is me. Me and you, Claire. Here we are." + +Claire leaned over him, her breath suspended in her eagerness. + +"Me, the man, specialized, sex-specialized, made to record, to enjoy, to +remember, to create, and to die at last from sheer wearing out myself +seeking life. + +"And you, you the woman, deeper, more vitally sexed, 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, passion, 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 lust 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 sex, 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 assurance 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 passed 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 shore 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 assail 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 pass 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 passing 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. + +"A woman's whim!" she said, and hated herself for saying it. + +"I don't understand women," he laughed softly. + +"Neither do I." It was Lawrence's voice. He had come in, just in time to +hear the last words. "Nor men, either--except in one thing." + +"What is the one thing?" asked Claire eagerly. + +"That, given a normal, healthy mind, they will sacrifice all their idols +for life. Life is the one eternally insistent thing." + +Philip chuckled. "You are yourself again, I see." + +"Yes, and stronger than ever in my faith," said Lawrence, sitting down. +"I know the price I would pay for life. It is the price every human +being would pay, if demanded." + +"What is that price?" Philip asked. + +"The whole of one's faith in God and man!" + +"Nonsense!" Philip spoke curtly. "I would die before forfeiting a dozen +ideals I hold dear!" + +"Would you?" Lawrence looked at him quizzically. "Would you sacrifice +your own life before you would the love of your sweetheart, for +instance, if you had one?" + +The conversation was similar to those which they had had months before, +but the fire was nearer the surface now. + +"Yes." Philip's answer came swiftly. + +"Then you are a sex-maddened mountaineer!" + +"And you are talking like the beast you are not. I know you do not +believe that." + +"I know I do. I would only die for a woman if she were my life." + +"But any real love finds her so." + +"Folly! I find my work, my future, my dream of a single immortal statue +more my life than any woman!" Lawrence exclaimed. + +"I wonder if you really do," Claire mused, half to herself. + +"Yes," Lawrence insisted, "although she might be necessary to that +statue. At least I believe she might--and I would feel sure of it if I +wanted her badly enough," he ended amusedly. + +"That merely means that you are still utterly selfish!" said Claire. + +"Yes, I am." Lawrence was thoughtful. "It is a paradox, I am so selfish +that, although I would sacrifice myself to the last degree for a person +I loved, yet I would all the time feel that I was a fool, that I was +doing an absurd thing when life was so good." + +"I see," Claire observed. "And I know I would do the same." + +"I would do it," Philip said, "but I would not feel a fool. It would +seem to me right." + +Claire looked straight into his eyes. "You would not, Philip," she +declared softly. "Your own happiness would come first--and you know it." + +The Spaniard's gaze shifted, and there was silence in the cabin. When he +looked up his eyes had changed their expression. + +"Yes," he agreed steadily, "I admit it. Hereafter I mean to have what I +want from life at any cost." + +"Yet you will go on talking ideals," Lawrence mocked. + +"Yes--and thinking them, too." + +"While Lawrence will make the sacrifice and go on talking his +selfishness," Claire added. + +Both men laughed constrainedly. + +"And I," Claire continued, "if it is necessary, will lie to preserve my +will, and, having it secure, will use it to obtain what I want." + +"We are at last three delightfully frank, insufferable, unpleasant, and +very natural, likable human beings!" Lawrence laughed. + +"And on that basis we will work out our fates," murmured Claire. + +"We will do just that," Lawrence answered gaily. + +"Be they good or bad, we will meet our futures with perfect +self-knowledge," contributed Philip. + +"Then most likely they will be bad," Claire added with conviction. + +They gave up talking, and each abandoned himself to his own reflections. +In the minds of the two men these thoughts assumed widely differing +words, though they were the same thoughts. + +Philip was garbing his impulses, desires, and determinations in clothes +that furnished his habitual mental wardrobe. With their marriage, he +thought, Claire would learn the real Philip. He would treat her with +such deference, such tender respect, and such devotion that she would +see the wisdom of her choice. He would prove to her that sex mattered +little, was altogether secondary. It was her great companionship, her +dear thoughtfulness, her charming personality that he loved. Respect, +first of all: happy married life depended on respect; then, common +interest, friendship between two human beings, and, last and least +important, that wonderful emotion springing out of the divine God-given +reproductive life of both. + +Lawrence was thinking very different words to the same end. He thought +of her as his mate, his comrade, and his equal. He admired her brain, +smiled at the thought of their hours of intellectual pleasure, dreamed +of her as the stimulus to creation which her mind should help shape into +master work. + +He loved her beauty and her measureless well of bubbling energy. What a +help she could be to him! She was the greatest of all women; he wanted +her, needed her. Could he realize his dream? That was the point. Well, +no matter, or, at least, no use in speculating. He would try. If she +were willing, what a life of joy and accomplishment lay before them! If +not, he had lived alone until this time, and he could continue to live +alone. Meantime, was Philip the barrier that would keep him from her? He +hoped not. He did not believe that she loved Philip. If she did, he +would be a good loser and wish her joy. His heart ached at the thought. +But, after all, one doesn't die over such things, and he would recover. + +"I'm going to get the supper," said Claire somewhat abruptly. She rose +and set to work. + +Here the thoughts of the two men flowed into an identical channel. It +was certainly good to sit and listen to her. That sound would be very +agreeable, indeed, at the end of a day, in one's own home. As for her +husband, he was out of the question. If Claire went back to him, she +might find him married or in love again, unwilling to receive her after +her long months with two men in the wilderness, suspicious of such a +thing being possible without more intimacies than he would care to +overlook. No, her husband did not matter. She would be justified and +safe in remarrying. Of course, not safe if she returned to America, but +that she would not do. + +At this point their thoughts diverged. Philip was seeing Claire as the +continued inmate of his cabin. Lawrence was painting a delightful mental +picture of Claire as the ever-present fairy of his studio in some South +American town, or perhaps in Paris. He preferred France; it was a land +of more brilliance, more freedom, and certainly much more appreciation +of the things in which they were interested. Besides, his work would +carry more prestige in the world if it came from Europe. + +He thanked the memory of old Roger Burton, of Cripple Creek, and he +rejoiced that he would be able to give Claire the home to which she was +entitled. He smiled as his thoughts went back to the mines and the dirty +little newsboy an old man had befriended. Burton's quarter to Red had +kept Lawrence, the boy, from becoming a coward, and Burton's slender +provision for the college graduate would now insure happiness for +Lawrence the man. Many times before he had laughed scornfully at the +untouched interest from the miner's bonds. He could make his own living. +But now there would be Claire. The old man would have been glad to see +his protégé happy in the love of such a woman. + +Meanwhile Claire was doing her work automatically. In her mind there was +pleasure at the thought that Lawrence was listening to her movements. +But she was filled with a dead weight that seemed likely to break her +down with its dreadful pressure. Vaguely she wished that she had never +seen Philip, even that she had never seen Lawrence, or that she had +perished with him in the mountains. + +How had she ever placed herself in the position she was now in? She had +come by the way of a terrible road and, looking ahead, she could see +nothing but sadness, anguish, and a life of dull discontent with +Philip--that or death! + +Lawrence had had time and opportunity since his recovery to declare +himself, and he had not done so. She had had time and opportunity to +tell him frankly of her own feeling, but she had not done so. She did +not know why. Now she could not. Philip had given her to understand his +desperate determination to marry her, and, after all she had said and +done, she had no right to refuse him. If she told him the truth he might +kill Lawrence or her, or both of them. These tragic idealists, she +exclaimed to herself, what a tangle they can make out of life! + +Oh, what a noose she had managed to fasten around her own neck! Would +the problem never be settled, one way or the other? + +What would she do if Philip tried to force her to marry him? Kill him? +Was she, then, so primitive, so savage, so much the slave of her own +desires that she would slay to gain her end? She remembered Lawrence's +talk when he was ill, "We killed those days, Claire, killed because we +wanted fuller life, fuller knowledge, fuller expansion of our own vital +existence; we were gropers after more light!" + +"Supper!" she said dully, and then sat down. + +They ate in silence save for the occasional necessary word, and +afterward went immediately to bed. + +Claire soon fell asleep, with the last thought in her mind--to live as +she wanted to live she would pay any price! + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE ROMANTIC REALIST. + + +It was the 1st of May when Lawrence at last found himself alone with +Claire and decided to speak. The instant he thought of declaring himself +he was surprised at his own mental state. A panic seized him, his heart +beat unsteadily, his mouth grew dry, and he could think of nothing to +say. + +They were out on the lake shore. Philip had left them on his last long +trip across the plateau before starting for civilization. The warm +spring wind blew around them, laden with scent of pine and flower. At +their feet the water rippled and cooed little melodies. Claire sat very +still, gazing wistfully at the man beside her. Her heart was a lead +weight, and her brain ached with the strain of her problem. + +It was late afternoon. All day she had wandered with Lawrence in +comparative silence, wishing that he would speak, and observing that +something troubled him. + +Finally she moved uneasily, took her hand from her cheek, and said +half-dreamily, "You aren't a bit talkative." + +He gulped, swallowed, and laughed. "I'm too busy trying to think of +something to say," he told her amusedly. + +"Oh!" She was provoked in the extreme. "Have I ceased to suggest +conversation? You are very tired of me, then." + +"Quite the contrary. So far from it, you paralyze my tongue." + +"How complimentary!" she said. "Then I suppose your excessive arguments +with Philip denote your weariness of him?" + +"They do." + +"I suppose, if you were really fond of a person, you would never talk at +all?" + +"Perhaps. I don't know but that you are right." + +She laughed gaily. "Lawrence," she said, "you are certainly amusing when +you attempt to be flattering!" + +He grew warm and uncomfortable. + +"I wasn't trying to flatter. Can't you see that?" He was almost wistful. + +"I don't see it. No, if you weren't trying to flatter you were surely +doing the unintended in a most intricately original manner." + +He shifted his position and did not answer. + +"Of course," she said, "although you aren't accustomed to flattering, +you've taken to doing it almost constantly." + +"Well, why shouldn't I?" he asked curiously. + +"Why not, if you care to?" Her reply was as gentle as if she were a +submissive object of his whims. + +He felt that now was the time to speak, but he could not bring himself +to the point. The thought of his blindness killed all confidence. + +"Hang it all," he broke out, quite as if it were a part of their +previous talk, "blindness certainly does rob one of his will!" + +She looked at him apprehensively. "I thought you had decided you were +the master of that." + +"I had, but it seems I was mistaken." + +Claire laid her hand on his arm tenderly. Her eyes were dazzling. + +"Lawrence, you must master that, you know." + +"Why?" he said thoughtfully. "If I shouldn't, it would mean only one +more human animal on the scrap heap!" + +"But you don't want to be there." + +"Of course not. No one does. I don't imagine any one chooses it." + +"If you go there it will be because you choose it." + +"I wish I saw things your way," he observed. "At times I feel as sure of +success as if it were inevitable, and then suddenly down sweeps the +black uncertainty, and I am afraid, timid, and unnerved." + +She looked at him sadly. + +"Don't you believe in your work, Lawrence?" + +"Yes, that is about all I do believe in." + +"Then what is the matter?" + +"It is that, after all, thousands of men have believed in their work to +no avail. One can never know whether he is a fad or a real artist. It +isn't only that, either. One's work, when it is his life, requires so +much besides to make it possible. It is that which gives me the blue +fear you see. I always imagine that the thing I want just then is +absolutely essential to my better work. Perhaps it is. I don't know. I +know only that I am persuaded that it is. Then I set about to get that +thing and I fail." + +"But do you always fail?" Claire was unconsciously pleading her own +cause. + +"Not always. Just often enough to scare me to death when the biggest +need of my life seems just out of reach." + +"Nonsense, Lawrence," she laughed. "When you were sick you talked as if +you could reach out and pull down the stars, if you needed them in an +endeavor to complete your life." + +"Sometimes I think I could, then the reality of life comes crashing +through the walls of my dream-palace, and, behold, I am standing +desolate and abandoned, grasping at lights which are even too far away +to be seen! I am clawing darkness for something I fancied I could reach, +while, as far as I am concerned, it is clear out of space and time." + +She sat pensively looking across the lake. + +"Yet you keep on reaching, don't you?" + +"Yes--and no. I always wish I could. There are times, Claire, when I +don't want to be a realist, don't want to face life as it is, when it +seems too tawdry to be valuable just as it is; then I reach out into the +night and cry, 'Let me be the maddest of dreamers, the wildest of +idealists, a knight of fancy seeking the illusive dream!'" + +Claire laughed aloud as she said, "And don't you know, dear man, that +that is just what you do become at times?" + +"I know it. That's the joke of it. All the while I mock myself for being +a romancing idiot!" + +"What a state of mind!" she exclaimed. + +"It isn't pleasant. Then, worse than that, when I attain my star, I +spoil it with too much scrutiny." + +She started. "What do you mean?" + +"Just that. I make a mess of it." + +"Still I don't understand." + +He thought for a moment, then said sadly: "Take the cherub I carved +there"--he nodded in the direction of the house--"I was wild with +creative fervor when I did that. I put into it a thousand little +thoughts that flashed with imaginative fire. I dreamed things, felt +things that should have made a masterpiece beyond all masterpieces, and +at last the thing was finished. Still under the heat of enthusiasm, I +felt of it, tested it, and found it good. Well, a week later, when the +imaginative flame was gone, I went back and looked at it again. It was +poor, cold, imperfect, not at all what it should have been. I dreamed a +star and made a block of poor wooden imagery." + +"But you underestimate your work. To me the cherub is still a star." + +He laughed. "It is what others see of good in my work that makes me hope +that sooner or later I will do the thing that will stand eternally a +star of the first magnitude." + +"And you will, Lawrence," she said earnestly. + +"Perhaps." He was pensive. "Perhaps not. That is where the rest of life +enters in. I want many things; they seem necessary if I am to attain my +eternal star. I am afraid I shall never get them!" + +"Have you tried?" + +"No, I haven't the courage. If they should be beyond my grasp, if +obtaining them, they should prove to be wrong and not the real things I +need, after all, what then?" + +"I don't know." She waited to watch a little colored cloud float by, and +then continued: "Isn't the real interest in life the game you play?" + +"I suppose it is, but it's hard on other people." + +"Why--and how?" + +"Suppose," Lawrence said slowly, "you were the one thing I thought I +needed." + +Claire leaned toward him, her lips apart, her heart beating wildly. + +"Suppose I were sure of it, and set about to make you part of my life, +well, if I succeeded and then"--he smiled sadly--"found that you were +not the necessity, not the answer to my need, what of you? It would be +an inferno for you, and none the less equally terrible for me! We +couldn't help it. Under such circumstances you would be right in saying +that I had been unfair. I don't know, certainly you would be right in +charging your possible unhappiness to me." + +"Under your supposition, Lawrence," she answered evenly, "if you +obtained my love, wouldn't it then be my game, my risk in the great +gamble for deeper life? Wouldn't it be my mistake for having thought you +were what I needed?" + +"What if you still thought you needed me after I was sure that I did not +need you?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. "I am too fond of life and too eager to know +its possibilities to let that hurt me long. Possibly I should weep, be +cynical, maybe even do something desperate, but at last I would come up +smiling, calm in the faith that my life was deeper, richer for the +experience, and that yours was, too. Or if it proved that yours was not, +I should be amused at the shallowness of the Claire that was, for having +been so simple a dunce as to imagine that you were worth while. I should +thank you for teaching the present Claire to forsake that shallow one, +and should find you a rung on my ladder of life!" + +He laughed merrily. "You are strong in your faith, Claire." + +"Yes. This winter and you have made me strong," she answered. + +"I have made you strong in it?" + +"Yes. Last summer, when you dragged me out of the surf, I was full of a +number of ideas I no longer possess." + +"But what have I done?" + +"You have lived stridently all your life." + +"Perhaps so. What of it?" + +"I see that is the thing most worth doing." + +"What will your husband say to such a doctrine?" + +"I don't know. I am not going back to him. We are not the same people we +were a year ago, and he would no more love the present Claire than I +should love the present Howard." + +The sky deepened from pink to crimson, but Claire's eyes were staring +blankly on the ground. + +"Claire, what do you think is essential to great work?" + +"I don't know. To keep at it most likely." She was digging with a little +stick in the grass. + +"Perhaps you're right," he agreed. "But sometimes I think it is a lot of +other things; romantic wandering over the earth, a deep and lasting +love, any number of such external factors." + +"You don't call love external, do you?" + +"I mean a permanent love," he laughed. + +"Oh, well, perhaps those are necessary, certainly they would be a help +to you, they would be to any one. But, after all, even a woman isn't +absolutely essential to a man in order that he create great art." + +"I think she is," Lawrence insisted. + +"Very well, perhaps she is, but"--Claire laughed skeptically--"I know +that she is not the all in all, the alpha and omega, the 'that without +which nothing,' that she is so often told she is by seeking males." + +"No," he agreed slowly, "in rare cases of great love that may be true, +but in most cases it isn't." + +"It is more likely that what you, the abstract male, really mean is that +you must have some woman as wife and housekeeper." + +"Perhaps that is so, although even that needs qualifying." + +"I know," she said, "but why not be frank about it both ways; that is +precisely her situation as well as his. There ought to be less +sentimental rubbish and more plain sense about all of it. Women would +suffer less from shattered illusions, they would grow accustomed to +reality, and be considerably less idiotic in their romantic caperings." + +"I admit it," Lawrence said, smiling; "and yet"--he paused--"I want to +be the maddest of romanticists, I want to say those things to the woman +I love, I want to think them about her, I want to feel them all, all +those dear, false romantic deceptions. I do, in fact, even though my +brain agrees with you." + +"So should I, and I would." Then she added softly under her breath, "I +do." + +Lawrence turned a little toward her, his fingers gripping the grass in +front of him. + +"Claire," he said slowly, "I--I want to say them, think them, believe +them about and with you." + +She did not move. Over her there swept a great joy, and her thinking +stopped. She was feeling all the dear things she had just condemned, and +she looked at her lover. He was blind. He could not see what was in her +face, and he was not sure that he interpreted her silence correctly. He +was waiting, anguishing, for her answer. She realized then what it was +he needed more than he himself knew. + +"Lawrence," she cried joyfully, slipping into his arms, "I know what you +need, beloved!" + +He laughed exultantly as he showered kisses upon her eagerly upturned +face. + +"I guess you do, sweetheart," he consented. "What is it?" + +She settled down with a sigh of content, her head against his shoulder, +and announced, very much like a child saying what it knows to be wisely +true: "You need a woman who is keen enough to think with you and be eyes +for you, natural and unspoiled by conventional sham enough to be your +heart's answer, self-willed enough to be herself and deny you and your +selfishness, and, above all, mother enough to care for you as she would +a child. I believe I am that woman, dearest boy!" + +He held her tight in his arms and smiled. + +"I not only think, I know you are." + +For a long time they sat in silence, dreaming, loving, enjoying, and +caring nothing for all the rest of the world. At last Claire raised her +head from his shoulder and whispered, "Lawrence, before I would be +separated from you, I am afraid I would kill!" + +He chuckled merrily. "Good!" he said. "That sounds proper. So would I. +We are alive because our ancestors killed to live, they fought to mate, +so shall we, if need be." + +She remembered Philip and shuddered slightly. + +"What is the matter, Claire?" Lawrence drew her closer. + +She did not answer. She was wondering how to tell him about Philip, and +afraid. + +"Are you filled with terror at the mere thought of murder!" he asked. + +She moved uneasily in his arms. "No, but I can't say I like to even +think of such a possibility." + +"Don't, then. It isn't very likely to happen," he comforted. + +She remained silent, but her pleasure was not untroubled. Her whole +impulse was to wait, but her brain kept demanding that she tell him now, +and she gathered herself for the effort. + +"Lawrence"--she hesitated--"I--I have something I must tell you." + +"All right. Go ahead; but confessions never do much good." + +She drew away from him tenderly. + +"Because my whole being wants to be in your arms, I will not--not while +I tell you," she said, sitting beside him. "I want you to hear and think +without my body in your arms as a determining factor in your answer." + +"Very well. Go ahead. I promise to be an emotionless judge." + +"Can you?" she asked quickly. + +"No," he said, "but I will." + +They both laughed, and she nerved herself to talk. + +"It's about Philip," she said timidly. + +He started. + +"Don't tell me about him, Claire," he said. "It can't do any good, and +it's hard for you, I see. Whatever you are or were to Philip doesn't +matter to me in the least. The Claire of this morning wasn't my mate. It +is only Claire from now on that counts, and she is not in any way bound +to Philip for whatever may have occurred in the past." + +"Oh, I wish that were true!" she moaned. + +"It is true," he asserted. + +"But you don't understand. Let me go on, please." + +"Surely," he answered. "Say as much or as little as you wish." + +She told him then, falteringly, sometimes wondering at his calm, +expressionless face as she talked. She was filled with dread, for he sat +as still as death, without a word, without a change of expression to +show her what he was thinking. She made many corrections to her +explanation, and supplied bits of comment in an effort to discover +herself how it all had happened. There was nothing of apology in her +attitude, however, and she finally concluded with an account of that +afternoon in her bedroom, and what she had said to Philip since that +day. + +"Now," she said at last, "you know all about it. You can do as you +please, of course. If you choose to go on, we will have to find some +solution together. Philip will not take it easily. Of that I am sure. He +is more than likely to become desperate." + +She waited. Lawrence did not move. His face was seriously thoughtful, +and she was filled with a growing fear that made it harder and harder to +wait for him to speak. + +When she could stand it no longer, she shook his arm. + +"Lawrence, why don't you say something?" she cried. + +He read the fear in her voice, and laughed caressingly, as he took her +in his arms. + +"I thought you knew it wouldn't alter our futures," he said. "I was only +trying to think out a just solution unpersuaded by your body in my +arms." + +"Oh!" She laughed comfortably. He was making fun of her, and she was not +averse to it. + +"It certainly looks as if Philip were up against a bad future," he went +on, amusedly. + +"Philip!" she cried, startled. "Are you pitying him all this time?" + +"Whom else?" Lawrence demanded. "We don't need pity, do we?" + +"Oh, you selfish lover!" she chided. "I have been needing and do need +it. Philip worries me." + +"I see," he mused. "Well, accept my condolences, and prepare to pass +them on to Philip. Poor devil! When you and I are back in our world, he +will indeed need pity." + +"Suppose he takes steps to see that I don't go back?" she chanced. + +"He can scarcely compel you to live with him." + +"He can, and he will. He isn't as civilized as he appears. If need be, +he would keep me locked up here and make me his by force, or kill me. +He told me so." + +Lawrence shrugged his shoulders. + +"Romantic raving for effect!" he exclaimed. "But if he should happen to +try that, well, I think my argument might be as effective as his." + +"But how do you propose to stop him? I tell you, he is in earnest." +Claire was insistent. + +"Why, in whatever way is necessary. If it is my life against his, I'll +give him the best I've got." + +She looked at Lawrence in wonder. He was as calm as if he had been +making small talk at a theater-party. + +"Can you plan it so--so carelessly, like that?" she asked. + +"Why not? I could hardly allow him to take you by force. I wouldn't +choose a fight as a diversion, but once in, I wouldn't stop short of his +life. And I wouldn't feel any compunction afterward, either." + +"Well," she said quickly, "it won't be necessary." + +"I think not." He smiled. "We need say nothing about our plans. Once we +get into town, all the world is ours, and we can quietly depart, leaving +Philip Ortez a very pleasant memory." + +They both laughed heartily. + +Neither of them allowed for that vast portion of human character which +lies beyond the knowledge of the most keen-visioned. Claire was more +familiar with the distinctly male phases of Philip than +Lawrence--perhaps a woman always is--but they were too happy to give the +matter any real consideration, and, after the fashion of all lovers, +they shut out the third person from their little self-bound universe. + +The whole world seemed a friendly sphere whose entire action was merely +to bring them together, and they were utterly oblivious to Philip and +his new attitude. It seemed so impossible that anything serious could +arise to separate them from each other. + +It was late when Philip returned, and he was instantly aware of the +change in his guests. The old, serious silence was gone from Lawrence; +he was not the speculative man to whom Philip was accustomed. His talk +was light, pleasantly humorous, and very genial. He was, in short, the +lover. Claire, too, shone with a new radiance. + +Doubt rearose in Philip's heart, and grew rapidly into suspicion. He +became less responsive to their chatter. His dark eyes grew somber with +misgiving, and love swelled into longing that made him feel sure that +Claire was necessary to his life. Without her there could be no living +for him. He wondered if she and Lawrence had found love. "If they have," +he argued, "there can be but one explanation. Claire is unreliable, +vicious, and dangerous." His aching desire to possess her did not +lessen, however. It became deeper, in fact, with each succeeding thought +of her as a wanton at heart, and he set his teeth over his will, +assuring himself that all would be well when Lawrence was gone. + +He took to avoiding absences, and to watching furtively for some +confirmation of his suspicion. Claire was instinctively cautious, and he +saw nothing that could actually be construed against her. He was of that +type of man whose love, burning into jealousy, does battle with ideals +which stand against his suspicions and demand actual physical proof +before retiring and allowing the beast to run riot. + +He knew no middle ground. Once he had seen that which would condemn +Claire, he would be utterly savage. His soul anguished to bitterness at +every thought against her purity and truth. He could not accept her as +she was. His suspicion painted her black with the sticky ink of a morbid +idealist, while his faith, rising from the same ideals, made her seem +almost ethereal. His longing for her was an acute physical pain, and he +never allowed his ideals to stop his romancing. He insisted that his +desire be stated in masking phrases and deceiving glories of chivalrous +prattle. He was so torn by his conflicting emotions and ideals that he +was fast arriving at a state where his action would be that of a wounded +beast at bay. He did not know and would not admit that his own distorted +view of Claire was back of his own condition. True to his type, he +carried this war in silence, and sought support for his fast-weakening +ideals in argument. He was wise. Defend your faith if you would keep it +glowing. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +THE LAST DISCUSSION. + + +The time of their departure was at hand. There had been two days of +intense packing of the food and clothing necessary for their +two-hundred-mile walk. Now that was behind them, and after a short trip +which Philip must take the following morning, they would be off for the +ten or fifteen miles they hoped to cover that day. + +When night came they were overjubilant, and they sat before the cabin +watching the lake as it shimmered in the moonlight. Claire was pensively +silent, though her heart sang. She was dreaming out her days, painting +them on the moonlit water, and she paid very little heed to the two men, +though unconsciously her whole personality leaned toward Lawrence. What +they were saying she did not at first know, but gradually her attention +was caught and she listened earnestly with an ever-growing fear in her +heart. + +She saw the deep fire that burned in Philip's eyes, and she realized +that Lawrence was unaware of how his provocative, half-humorous ironies +were stirring the volcano within the man who sat beside him. + +"No man has a right," Philip was saying, "to think of a woman in his +house unless he can think of her as altogether trustworthy, pure, and +beyond temptation. If he does think of her differently, he is a beast, +and wants a mistress, not a wife." + +Lawrence laughed carelessly. "The average man wants both in one," he +said. "Personally, so far as your talk about suspicion goes, who needs +to think either way? I'm sure I don't. I'm quite content to live with a +woman, giving and taking what we can enjoy together, and not asking that +she limit her time and devotion to me. She may have various outside +interests of her own. In fact, I would prefer that life should hold a +separate work for her." + +"Oh, you do not care. You are too selfish to feel any responsibility +for a woman's soul. I would feel depraved if I did not guard my wife's +soul by my very faith in her." + +"Why should you guard her soul? Isn't the average woman intelligent +enough to look out for herself? What she does, she does because she +wants to, and for Heaven's sake, man, let her have the right to freedom +of being." + +"But real freedom of being lies in her dependence on me as the head of +the house," Philip protested. + +"If you happen to be the head of the house," Lawrence added jestingly. + +"But I would be the head of the house. It is my right and my duty." + +"Poor Mrs. Ortez, if there ever is one," Lawrence continued, joking. +"She is to be guarded by a great, aggressive, possessing husband. What +if she happens to want something you don't approve of?" + +"She won't. A good woman doesn't." + +"But suppose your woman isn't good, and does?" + +"I should have to explain to her her mistake." + +"And then when she says, 'But I don't regard it as a mistake, I think it +was quite right,' what will you do?" + +"I wouldn't have a woman who would hold such views." + +"What is it you want for a wife, Philip? A brainless feminine body who +is content to be your slave?" + +"I should be ashamed to speak of any woman I cared for in those terms. +One doesn't marry a woman who can be thought of in terms of sex." + +"Perhaps 'one doesn't.' I would. I should want her to be very well aware +of her exact physical potentialities, and to think enough about them to +understand herself." + +"Then you would want an unwholesome wife, my friend." + +"Not at all. I want a natural one, that's all. Moreover," he added +joyously, "I shall have one." + +Philip glanced at him quickly. Into his mind flashed the memory of +Claire's words in the room that fatal afternoon. + +"I shall never marry such a woman," he declared, and added: "But I mean +to have one whose devotion is so pure that even her talk to me of such +things will be holy." + +Lawrence laughed heartily. + +"Philip," he said, still chuckling, "you seem to think we human beings +are half supernatural and half stinking dirt. Why, in Heaven's name, +don't you once see us as plain, healthy, intelligent animals?" + +"Because we're half gods, half beasts." + +"So I was once told by the son of an ancient mind whose farthest mental +frontier reached A.D. 1123." + +Philip rose and faced Lawrence, then looked shamefacedly at Claire, and +sat down again. + +"You think you are advanced because you are still unaware of anything +but beasthood!" + +Lawrence grinned complacently. + +"I am always amused at the way men speak of beasts as if they were +something base," he said. "'Beast' should not be a term of opprobrium. +The average dog or elephant, for example, is fairly wholesome and quite +naturally proper in his fulfilment of instincts. It is more than one can +say for men. Yes, I am a beast, if by that you you mean a physical +being; and if humanity ever does get anywhere in quest for a soul I +suspect it will have to start from that very admission." + +"Of course"--Philip hesitated a little--"we are animals in that sense. +But who can think of us as nothing more? Take Claire, for example. We +both know her better than any one else. I could scarcely think of her as +an animal, subject only to its instincts. Even allowing that she is a +very intelligent animal, it isn't all or even the better part of her, +any more than it is of any good woman." + +The speech was self-revealing, and Lawrence smiled. + +"Now, it is strange," he observed; "that is precisely the way I should +think of Claire if I wanted to see her in the best possible light, as +the most splendidly intelligent, healthy animal I ever knew." + +"You are more insulting than you intend. I am glad that you do not mean +to be," Philip growled. + +"Tra-la-la. I shouldn't insult her for a good deal." + +"Yet your attitude is debasing," Philip retorted. + +"Oh, well, perhaps. She has my apology if she thinks so." + +"But you can't actually mean what you say," Philip went on. "Your +attitude would lead you to make a cave of your home, and a mere lair of +your bed." + +"Which, by the way, very elaborately arranged, and embellished with +thousands of psychological phases, products of the most highly +specialized part of me, is exactly what my home would be." + +"Well, I certainly should deplore your household." + +"Go as far as you like. It ought to be a fairly comfortable home, with +its basis on frankness, oughtn't it, Claire?" + +Philip's eyes flashed. + +Claire hesitated, fearing lest she provoke him further, and said +cautiously: "Yes, it ought to be based on frankness." + +"But frankness doesn't mean an attitude of mind like that," Philip +protested. + +"What does it mean?" Lawrence asked. + +"It means an established order where love makes it possible for two +beings to speak their thoughts freely one to the other," Philip said, +with the air of defining infinity. + +"Does it? Well, if that is frankness by definition, I have known many +women with whom I was in love, but neither they nor I knew it until this +minute." + +Lawrence laughed. Philip flushed, shrugged his shoulders, and stood up. + +"I thank goodness I do not see things as you do," he said. + +"Even the parable of the Pharisee has its modern aspect," Lawrence +murmured chucklingly. + +Philip stood looking moodily across the lake, and fortunately did not +catch his words. + +"I think I shall walk a little," he said coldly. "I can't sleep until I +have walked some of your conversation out of my soul." + +"Go to it," Lawrence said with a smile. "I didn't mean to corrupt you." + +"You didn't. You simply make me angry. I'm sorry, but you do." + +"Yes? So am I. However, it won't last much longer, Philip." + +Both men smiled at the thoughts that came with those words. + +"I think I shall go in," Lawrence went on. "I shall want sleep for the +big start to-morrow." + +Philip looked hopefully at Claire. She rose with a sigh of weariness, +pretending not to see him. + +"So shall I," she said. "Good night, both of you." + +She was gone into the cabin, and Philip looked disappointed. He turned +down the lake shore, dreaming of the end of his journey, rebelling at +the necessity for Claire to listen to Lawrence's talk, and rejoicing at +how different his life with her would be. + +Inside the cabin, Lawrence closed the door and stepped into the room. +Claire stood waiting silently before him, and when he came to her, she +threw her arms happily around his neck. He laughed and caught her up. + +"So you lie in wait for me, do you?" he teased. + +"Why not? I want to capture my man," she said softly. + +"You have him, dearest. And, by the way"--he sat down and drew her on to +the arm of his chair--"permit me to extend you my sympathy for the +suffering you must have experienced at the thought of living with +Philip." + +She shuddered a little, and laughed. + +"Such frankness as his home would permit!" she said. "I'm afraid our +hearth would not radiate warmth." + +"Nothing could warm such a home into anything like the real thing," +Lawrence mused. "It was my privilege when in college to stay for a time +in a home where the people had really attained the ideal. It was the +only home that ever made me envious." + +"I shall make you such a home, dear," she whispered. + +"No, we will have a mere cave, a lair," he laughed. + +She shook her long hair down over his face playfully. + +"Will you be a savage old cave man?" she asked. + +"I shall. As savage as they ever made them in the golden age," he +answered, and drew her down against him. + +"I shall like that," she said, her eyes full of a warm, dreamy light. + +"You will be terribly abused by your beast husband," Lawrence said +gaily. + +"I think sometimes, Lawrence, that I could enjoy being hurt by your +hands--having them really cause me pain." + +He gripped her tightly against him and his hands tightened. + +"Claire," he said, "a man never knows what there is in his nature till a +woman like you whispers in his ear. You make me afraid at what I feel +within me." + +"I know," she said. "I'm afraid, too, of what there is in you, but just +the same I'm going to be the happiest woman in the world." + +"I hope so," he said. "But you will have to defend yourself against +selfishness." + +"I have to do that already," she laughed, "but I don't mind. I can, and +that is the main thing. Besides, when you really want anything very +much, you have a way of forcing me to want it, too, my master-lover!" + +He laughed joyously. "Claire," he said, "if we ever do go to smash, you +and I, there will have been a glorious day and a glorious house to smash +with. It won't be a petty breaking of toy dishes!" + +"No," she whispered, "it will be the breaking of life's foundations." + +She slipped from his arms and into her room. Philip was coming in. +Lawrence sat down in a chair and Philip threw himself on his bed in +silence. + +He was caught in the inevitable result of his beliefs. He had argued +with Lawrence because he was troubled. His whole being was filled with a +great fear. Remembering how Lawrence and Claire had acted lately, he had +been thrown into a fever of jealous rage. He was utterly beyond his +depth now, and he was silent because to speak would have meant to break +into accusation. His imagination had pictured Claire in Lawrence's arms +while he was gone; if he had actually known the truth it would have been +less agonizing than the picture. + +He lay there filled with his own thoughts and dreading the moment when +Lawrence would come and lie down beside him. Behind her curtain he heard +Claire moving about, humming a little song, and it added to his torture. +He turned restlessly on his bed and groaned. + +Lawrence raised his head. He, too, was dreaming of Claire, but his +imaginings, vividly alluring in their appeal, were filled with the +content of happiness. Claire was his. That was certain, and those sweet +dreams should be fulfilled again and again in his life, with a growing +depth that would make them the more beautiful. What a creature of wonder +she was--and she was his--his, to love, to enjoy, to master, and to work +for. Yes, and to work with. He would find her the needed impulse and +idea to form his great work. She would make him the creative artist, the +sculptor that he felt he had the power to be. + +Philip muttered something, and Lawrence turned toward him. + +"Feeling bad?" he asked genially. + +Philip did not answer. + +"You aren't ill, are you?" Lawrence's voice was full of real concern. He +was thinking that it would be bad if they had to stay here a while +longer. + +"No. Only in spirit. I will be all right to-morrow." + +Philip turned over, and Lawrence sat down again to dream. + +For a long time he remained there, meditating, and at last he arose to +go to bed. Philip was asleep and breathing heavily. Claire was moving a +little. Lawrence stopped to listen. The curtain parted, her arms slipped +around his neck, and silently there in the darkness she kissed him +passionately, eagerly. He held her tightly, her soft, warm figure +thrilling him with joy. + +Philip turned restlessly, and she hastily drew back, stealing a last +swift kiss. Lawrence walked toward his bed. He heard a low, stifling +little laugh, then all was still in the cabin. Claire had laughed for +very joy at her love. He smiled tenderly. Dear little woman, she was +indeed a wealth untold to him. What a life theirs would be after they +got away from Philip! + +Poor Philip, his would indeed be a sad fate, with his ideals here to +worry him after they were gone. Well, he wasn't the sort that one could +help. Let him work out his own destiny. Lawrence lay down comfortably, +and sending a thousand dear thoughts flying across the silent room, he +fell asleep while he smiled at his own romancing. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE LAW OF LIFE. + + +The last morning at the cabin was bright and sunny, with the warm +mystery of the day promising an infinity of strength for the future. All +three of them felt it and were carried along in dreams of anticipated +relief. Breakfast over, Philip helped Lawrence and Claire get their +packs ready. When everything was done, he said cheerily: "I will be gone +less than an hour in getting that farthest trap--I am going to make +quick speed--and then we will be off." + +They laughed with the joy that was filling their hearts. + +"Don't be longer than you can help, Philip," Claire admonished, and +Lawrence added: "Every minute that divides us from our life ahead seems +an eternity." + +Claire smiled at the dear thoughts his words provoked. + +"Good," said Philip in the doorway. "I'll hurry." And he was gone. + +Claire and Lawrence stood in the doorway while Philip went singing down +the lake shore. Her eyes filled with a warm light, and she slipped her +hand into Lawrence's. + +"At this moment, dear," she said, "I feel only pity for him. He is going +to be hurt." + +"Who wouldn't be, dearest, at losing you?" + +"Always flattering," she teased. They stood arm in arm, leaning against +the door-casing. + +"Claire," he said, "let's take a last walk around our estate. The place +where I first found the real, you will always be beautiful to me. I'm +less blind this morning than I've been in my life." + +"Of course you are," she said gaily. "You've acquired two good eyes." + +"And two dear hands and a very wonderful personality that makes me +doubly able," he said softly. + +They wandered out across the plateau in the direction from which they +had first entered it. Their conversation was broken and often +meaningless, but eminently pleasing to them both. + +"Dear heart," Claire mused softly, "you don't know what that poor, +freezing, underfed woman in your naked arms felt when she heard you +muttering that you needed her, as you stumbled down this ravine." + +"How did she feel?" + +Claire was dreaming back, and she wanted to tell him, but she found her +emotions too complex and too rapid for expression. + +"And then when you added that it was to use her as a subject for a stone +image," laughed Claire, "she was furious with you, and yet she was very +sure that she didn't want you to care about her in any other way." + +"Then perhaps I am making a mistake," he jested. + +"Perhaps, my dearest, but I am so glad of it that I don't care if you +are." + +He caught her in his arms. They were very near the great point in +lovers' lives when emotions always tend to break all restraint. She +clung to him passionately, her lips yielding and holding his in a +rapture of love. Together they swayed toward a great tree and sat down. + +When they returned to the cabin, they were surprised to find Philip +still gone. With the whimsicality of lovers, they dismissed him from +their thoughts and sat down in the armchair together, laughing and +talking of the past. Their conversation ran gradually into a clearly +defined discussion in which both minds were compelled to think quickly, +and they found new joy in their love. Even now, when their whole minds +were swayed by emotion, they were able to think, to talk, and to be +alive to everything in the world of intellect. + +Art, religion, and life, all in a grand mix-chaotic tangle. Lawrence +was talking for the joy of his thought to the woman who he knew would +enjoy it. + +"You see, Claire," he said after a long discussion, "in the religious +instinct we find very little besides a fear of the unknown. What else +there is in it is the more valuable part, and it is this lesser section +that we can develop and use to advantage." + +"What is this lesser section?" she asked. + +"The vital desire to create for our God's sake. If we could build that +into its real place, stimulated as it is by the overwhelming +appreciation of beauty in nature, we could establish something far more +worth while than a mere deceiving of men about their own kind, their +faults, and their relations." + +"You aren't quite fair, Lawrence," she protested. "In so far as the +church makes for a stronger socialization, it is a good." + +"But does it always promote that very effectively? Most of the +socialization could be better carried on where really educated people +were educators. The few of them there are in our schools now are +hampered as much as they are helped by the church." + +"I don't agree," she said. "The church does hamper education in higher +branches, undoubtedly, but in the kindergartens and grades it is a +good." + +"I don't know," he responded; "I never saw it." + +"Well," she cried suddenly, and laughed, "whatever we think of the +church, I agree that religion isn't always there, and when it is, +barring a few liberal exceptions, it is generally misdirected." + +"And here you and I sit in the Andes Mountains talking when we might be +making love," he laughed. + +"And here we are making love under the pretense of being intellectual," +she rejoined. "What would we do without the dear deceptions that make us +such pitiably delightful animals?" + +"We'd be a hopelessly unimaginative set of eaters." His answer was +quick. "I am convinced that it is our very power to deceive, plan grand +follies, though petty in deeds, that makes us artists, dreamers, +thinkers, and statesmen." + +"Perhaps," she agreed, and then slipped her arms around him suddenly. +"Is that what makes us able lovers, too?" + +He laughed. "By Jove, I believe it is!" he exclaimed. "Well, old +universal tangle, I do truly thank you for the power to be a foolish, +deceived, human being. Hurrah for the instinct that makes me call you my +divine necessity, Claire." + +She laughed happily and leaned against his shoulder. + +"For any instinct or deception that makes you more enjoyable, let us +give thanks," he repeated. + +"And for all the dear bodily claims that make me your adored one I do +give thanks, Lawrence," she whispered. + +Their lips met again. She drew back startled, and sprang to her feet +with a cry of terror. + +Philip stood in the doorway, looking at them with a face from which all +human sentiment was gone. He was a raging beast. + +"Lawrence," she screamed. "Philip!" + +Her lover sprang to his feet. Now he realized his blindness and its true +handicap. Philip was there, somewhere before him, thinking what he could +not know. He waited, every muscle strained with expectant fear and +anger. + +Claire was staring at Philip with abject terror in her face. Lawrence +could not know that, he only heard her breathing heavily, and +instinctively his arm went out to her. + +"Don't be afraid, dear," he said tenderly. + +The man in the door uttered an exclamation. "So"--and his words were +sharp as icicles--"that is your damned wanton way. You are the second +harlot I have loved." + +Lawrence started forward angrily. + +"Fool!" he ejaculated. + +Claire's warning scream gave him just time to brace his body. Philip had +sprung at him like a wild beast, and the impact of his weight sent +Lawrence staggering backward. In that moment the Spaniard's hand closed +on his throat. The blind man was paying the price of his defect in his +long-talked-of primitive battle for life. + +Even then he thought of the scene as it must be, and smiled bitterly, +while his hand went to his throat and tore at the wrist that was +steeling itself to rob him of breath. + +Had he been able to see, the fight would still have been unequal. Philip +was taller, wirier, and quicker on his feet. Lawrence's one advantage +lay in his keen, quick response to touch sensation, and that gave him +his sense of direction and ability to move rightly. + +With one hand he tore at Philip's wrist, while with the other he reached +steadily for Philip's face. + +They had knocked over the chairs and were staggering against the table. + +From the corner by the fireplace Claire watched them in an agony of +dread. It was indeed her time of test. + +She saw Lawrence's hand clutching at the flesh of Philip's cheek. They +were panting like two beasts. It was the primitive battle of males for +the female of their choice. + +Philip's hand was torn free from Lawrence's throat. The blind man +laughed as his lungs filled with air. She heard him mutter between +clenched teeth: "By God, I'll spoil your advantage." + +They were struggling again for throat holds. + +Lawrence was protecting his own, but the hand he had wrenched free +closed around his arm, bending it back slowly, irresistibly toward the +point where it must break. She screamed and covered her eyes for a +second at what her lover was doing--she saw him deliberately gouge at +Philip's eyes with his thumb held hard. + +She heard both men fall, and looked again in spite of herself. They were +on the floor writhing, their bodies against each other, clawing, +striking, digging, and biting like two wild gorillas. + +Now Lawrence was on top, now underneath, but she could not help but see +that Philip was slowly gaining. Though badly injured in one eye, he +still fought on unhesitatingly, forcing Lawrence nearer and nearer to +death. The artist was even now ceasing to resist, his struggle had +become spasmodic. Her lover was being choked to death. She sprang to her +feet. + +"Lawrence!" she screamed. "Lawrence!" + +He was being killed in a battle for the possession of her. Could she +stand still and see the man she loved murdered? Her hair fell about her +shoulders in a mass. She swept it back from her face, looked frantically +around her, then rushed to the wall-cupboard on the other side of the +cabin and drew out a long meat-knife. + +The touch of the steel in her hand carried her out beyond the last +barrier of civilized thought. For a moment she was the savage through +and through. With a scream like that of a wounded lioness whose cub is +in danger, she sprang toward them, the knife uplifted. + +Then she stopped. Something paralyzed her--generations of inherited +inhibition, conscience, what you will. "O God!" she moaned miserably, as +the weapon fell from her hand. + +It clattered on the wooden floor close beside the two men. Philip looked +up, and his white teeth gleamed in a grim smile. Claire realized what +she had done--she had placed the means of certain triumph within reach +of her lover's enemy. She stooped to regain the knife, but it was too +late. Philip released his grip on Lawrence's throat, leaned over, and +seized the blade. + +It was a mistake. Lawrence was far past consciousness of what he was +doing, but his body still instinctively obeyed his will. As the weight +from his chest was eased for a moment, he writhed his body into a freer +position and his arms struck out wildly. + +Philip saw his danger and raised the knife. The scene passed in a +second, but to Claire it was as if they were petrified for hours in that +position--she half-kneeling there, her arm outstretched, and Philip +astride Lawrence's body, holding the knife in midair. In that last +picture, carved upon Claire's agonized gaze, all the Spaniard's beauty +was gone forever--he was a monster, his face distorted, one eye closed, +his smile broadening into a hideous dog-like grin. + +Philip's arm came down. As it did so, it was struck from above by +Lawrence's, swinging aimlessly in a wide sweep. The blade, deflected +with double force, entered deep into Philip's breast. + +For just one instant an expression of angry and almost ludicrous +surprise leaped across the Spaniard's face as his teeth snapped shut. +Then his whole body twisted round violently, rolled over, and lay still +beside Lawrence's equally motionless form. + +Claire tottered back into a chair, and stared at them stupidly. Silence +reigned in the cabin where there had been chaos. Slowly from under +Philip's body a red line spread to a blotch on the floor. Lawrence was +lying there, his head almost touching it. + +Claire gazed and gazed, while she felt as if she must faint from the +dreadful illness which seized her. Suddenly Lawrence was sitting up, his +blackened face growing less terrible to look upon. He put his hands to +his throat, and then, as the pain in his lungs decreased, he rose +unsteadily. For a moment he balanced himself carefully, rubbing his +throat. + +Then he cried hoarsely: "Claire!" + +She moistened her lips with her tongue, but could not answer. + +He stooped and began to feel across the floor. She saw his hands, those +sensitive hands, move toward Philip's dead body. They would be in his +blood presently. + +She started forward. "Lawrence!" she screamed. + +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 grass. 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. + +"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." + +"I--sorrow--why?" She stared at him wonderingly. + +He looked surprised, then understood. Claire listened silently to his +brief, sincere sympathy as he told her how her husband had died during +the winter of pneumonia. + +"It has been nearly six months now," he finished, "and, of course, I am +very sorry for you. If I can do anything to help you, don't hesitate to +call on me, please." + +"Thank you. I--I won't." + +She heard her own voice change. Stifled, she fled up-stairs. + +Her grief was sincere, unshaded by any selfish thought that it made her +own course easier or more justifiable in the eyes of society. To her, +Howard Barkley's death changed nothing save that the man whom she had +once loved sincerely was now no more. + +But the living remained, and to the call of the living her life was +henceforth joyfully dedicated. + + +(The end.) + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the +original edition have been corrected.] + +In Chapter V, "tenements she had visted in her charity work" was changed +to "tenements she had visited in her charity work". + +In Chapter VII, a missing quotation mark was added after "What, indeed, +is moral law?" + +In Chapter IX, "disdiscover what she was" was changed to "discover what +she was". + +In Chapter X, "Disliking him as he did" was changed to "Disliking him as +she did". + +In Chapter XI, "as abnormal as her depondency had been before" was +changed to "as abnormal as her despondency had been before". + +In Chapter XVIII, "I promise to an emotionless judge" was changed to "I +promise to be an emotionless judge", and "harded and harder to wait" was +changed to "harder and harder to wait". + +In Chapter XX, "clearly defined discusion" was changed to "clearly +defined discussion", and "the overwelming appreciation of beauty in +nature" was changed to "the overwhelming appreciation of beauty in +nature". + + + +[Transcriber's Note: The following summary originally appeared at the +beginning of the serial's second installment.] + + +PRECEDING CHAPTERS BRIEFLY RETOLD + +When the City of Panama foundered off the coast of Chile, Lawrence +Gordon suddenly realized he had been left, in the frenzy of the +disaster, alone on the deck. + +Then, before he had fully recovered from the lash of the wind and the +violence of the waves, he was swept overboard and into the seething +maelstrom of an angry sea. + +As he came up from the depths he struck a heavy timber, and with the +strength of desperation he dragged his weight up on it and clung fast. + +"Land may be in sight," was his thought, "and I shall never know!" +Lawrence Gordon was blind. + +Hours had passed. The wind-lashed water beat him as he lay on the +timber. Fear and the cold drove him to rave at life and death alike. +Finally, over the roar of the wind, he caught the tumbling of breakers. +His plank was spun round, the swell lifted him from his position, and +the next breaker rolled him past the water-line. + +Once with the feel of the sand beneath his feet he ran until a rock +caught him above the knees and sent him headlong. + +When he regained consciousness he returned to the water to hunt for +clams. As he came ashore again he tripped over an object that on +investigation proved a woman. + +Claire Barkley answered to his ministrations, and recognized the blind +man she had observed on the boat. She could furnish the eyes for an +investigation of their situation inland, but her ankle had been sprained +in the wreck and she was unable to walk. + +When months after, just as they had reached the limit of human +endurance--what with hunger, the cold, and privation--they stumbled into +the cabin of Philip Ortez. The Spanish mountaineer declared it no less +than a miracle that a blind man should have carried a woman in his arms +half across the Andes--from the coast to the borders of Bolivia. + +Then they settled down to spend the winter in Philip's cabin. And now +the latent antagonism of the woman, who was so curiously stirred by the +apparent coldness of this blind sculptor to her charm, began to plan the +man's punishment. + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: The following summary originally appeared at the +beginning of the serial's third installment. The summary at the +beginning of the serial's fourth installment, if one was present, was +not available when preparing this electronic edition.] + + +PRECEDING CHAPTERS BRIEFLY RETOLD + +When Lawrence Gordon, numb with cold and hunger, after weeks of weary +wandering through the mountains in a desperate effort to find a +habitation, came in sight of the mountaineer's little cabin, he dropped +the woman from his breaking arms and fell, exhausted and unconscious, in +the snow. + +Flung into the sea when the ship foundered, he had eventually found his +way to the beach, and here he stumbled on the unconscious form of Claire +Barkley. + +Mrs. Barkley's ankle had been sprained in the wreck and she was unable +to walk. The man was strong, dominant, and unafraid; but he was blind. + +Carrying the woman in his arms the blind man had stumbled half across +the Andes, for the boat was wrecked off the coast of Chile, and Philip +Ortez, whose cabin they had reached, declared they were on the borders +of Bolivia, about two hundred miles from the nearest railroad station. + +This Spanish scholar, gentleman, and recluse readily welcomed two such +promising guests for the winter. A charming woman of twenty-six, with a +mind as well as emotions, and a man not much older, who was both a +philosopher and an artist, promised no end of diversion for the winter. + +And diversion, not to say, drama, came--the eternal triangle. + +Lawrence was slow in admitting his love for Claire, even to himself. And +Claire, who was affronted by the seeming cold and calculating +indifference of this big, blind god, suddenly realized his apparent +coldness held the very heart of passion itself. + +In the playful scramble of a snow-fight before the cabin, Lawrence had +taken her by the waist to wash her face with snow, and the contact of +her tightly held body betrayed the tensity of the man's feeling. Claire +broke from his grasp to look into the eyes of Philip, who had stood in +the doorway to watch the fun. In the eyes of the Spaniard she detected +the emotion she felt in the touch of the blind sculptor. + +The next day, to relieve the suppressed passion in her own as well as +Lawrence's soul, she proposed to go with Philip, as she sometimes did, +when he went out to spend the day with his traps. + +On the return journey, when the conversation was fast drifting into the +personal, Philip, carried off his feet by the nearness of the woman and +the madness in his blood, snatched Claire up in his arms and covered her +full lips with his kisses. + +The indignant woman brought him to an abject apology after his wild +confession of love, and entered into a compact of friendship with him. + +Reaching the cabin, the blind man, whose acute soul and senses had long +told him of Philip's passion, held out the finished carving he had been +at work on all these weeks--a winged cherub. + +In his eyes it was the symbol of his love for her. But her words of +acceptance made him think in her eyes it was rather a symbol of her love +for the mountaineer. + +To Philip it was a symbol of hope. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Claire, by Leslie Burton Blades + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLAIRE *** + +***** This file should be named 30261-8.txt or 30261-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/2/6/30261/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Claire + The Blind Love of a Blind Hero, By a Blind Author + +Author: Leslie Burton Blades + +Release Date: October 15, 2009 [EBook #30261] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLAIRE *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>Claire</h1> + +<h2><i>by</i><br />Leslie Burton Blades</h2> + +<h3>THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO<br /> +<i>BY A BLIND AUTHOR</i></h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>[Transcriber's Note: This novel was originally serialized in four +installments in All-Story Weekly magazine from October 5, 1918, to +October 26, 1918. The original breaks in the serial have been retained, +but summaries of previous events preceding the second and third +installments have been moved to the end of this e-book. The Table of +Contents which follows the introduction was created for this electronic +edition.]</p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>On the editorial page of last week's <span class="smcap">All-Story Weekly</span> we announced a new +serial by a new author. "Claire" is a story of such subtle insight, of +so compassionate an understanding of human nature, and of so honest an +attack on the eternal problem of love and living, that it can well +afford to take its chances on its own merits. But <i>Lawrence Gordon</i>, the +blind hero of the triangle tragedy, which runs its inevitable course in +the mountain cabin of <i>Philip Ortez</i>, takes on a new interest, when we +learn that his creator is himself a blind man.</p> + +<p>Born of mining people in Colorado, Blades lost two fingers and the sight +of both eyes when as a lad of nine years he refused to take the dare of +some playmates and set off a giant firecracker. While still a youth he +entered the Colorado State School for the Blind. Here he spent six +years. In the crash at Creede, when the bottom fell out of so many +mining fortunes, the Blades family lost their all. Then young Blades +took up the burden of his own keep. For two successful years he +maintained himself at the University of Colorado by teaching music. When +the family moved to Oregon, the indomitable Leslie followed. At Eugene +he entered the State University and continued to support himself by +music and lectures. After receiving his degrees of B.A. and M.A. he was +a substitute teacher in the English Department.</p> + +<p>For some time he has made his home at San Dimas, where his regular +contributions on a variety of themes to the magazine section of <i>The +Express</i> have brought him something more than local prestige. He is +deeply interested in the drama, and has several plays to his credit. +"When He Came Home," a play of his dealing with the return of a blind +soldier from the war, has become a favorite with one of the California +circuits.</p> + +<p>"Claire" is his first novel, and though he is still on the sunny side of +thirty, this arresting story is a promising portent of what we may +expect from the powerful pen of this blind man with an artist's +vision.—<span class="smcap">The Editor.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> + +<table border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="2" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr> +<td colspan="3" class="issuedate"><a href="#Part_I">October 5, 1918</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">I.</td> +<td class="chapname">DISASTER.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">256</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">II.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE WATER OF LIFE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">260</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">III.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">262</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">IV.</td> +<td class="chapname">MUTUAL DISLIKE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">266</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">V.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE FACE OF DEATH.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">269</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">VI.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE STONE THREAT.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">274</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3" class="issuedate"><a href="#Part_II">October 12, 1918</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">VII.</td> +<td class="chapname">PLAYING WITH FIRE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">498</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">VIII.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE TIGHTENING NET.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">501</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">IX.</td> +<td class="chapname">CLAIRE'S ABASEMENT.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">505</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">X.</td> +<td class="chapname">HOW SIMPLE THE SOLUTION!</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">509</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XI.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE MAKING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">513</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3" class="issuedate"><a href="#Part_III">October 19, 1918</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XII.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE UNHORSING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">697</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XIII.</td> +<td class="chapname">FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">702</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XIV.</td> +<td class="chapname">PHILIP TO THE RESCUE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">706</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XV.</td> +<td class="chapname">UTTER EXHAUSTION.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">711</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XVI.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE QUESTION ANSWERED.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">714</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3" class="issuedate"><a href="#Part_IV">October 26, 1918</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XVII.</td> +<td class="chapname">ANGLES OF A TRIANGLE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">151</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XVIII.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE ROMANTIC REALIST.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">155</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XIX.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE LAST DISCUSSION.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">160</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XX.</td> +<td class="chapname">THE LAW OF LIFE.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">164</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XXI.</td> +<td class="chapname">INTO THE SUNLIGHT.</td> +<td class="chappage"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">168</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><a name="Part_I" id="Part_I"></a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">DISASTER.</h3> + + +<p>In the confusion Lawrence stood still. Over the howling wind and +smashing sea, he heard thin voices shouting orders. Another mass of +water swept over the deck. Near him a woman screamed piteously. +Instinctively, the masculine desire to protect womanhood made him ache +to help her, but he bit his lip and clung to the rail. If he could only +see! Never before in his five years of blindness had he felt the full +horror of it. He had taught himself to forget his loss of sight. It is +useless to waste time in sentimental moping, he would say, but now—</p> + +<p>"God, when will it end?" he muttered savagely.</p> + +<p>The City of Panama lurched back and forth like a rocking-horse. +Somewhere forward they must be lowering the boats. He stumbled along the +deck, holding to the rail for support. The spray dashed in his face, and +he could feel the water from his hair trickling into his ears. He shook +his head and laughed grimly, but he could not hear his own laughter. The +terrific noise of the wind drowned everything else. It became +increasingly difficult to keep his hold on the rail. He was wet to the +waist. Each time the wave struck him higher, and he noticed that the +lurching grew heavier. He was strong, six feet of hard muscle,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> but the +water was stronger. His mouth was filled with it, and his ears seemed +bursting. His rugged features twisted into hard lines. As he struggled +forward, he raged at the blindness that kept him from seeing.</p> + +<p>"Not a chance, not a chance," he repeated over and over, as he strained +to hold the deck. There was a lull in the wind, and he marveled at the +absence of human sound. Suddenly he divined the cause. His mind became a +chaos of rage and fear.</p> + +<p>"They have left me," he cried; "left me without a thought." He shut his +teeth hard, then ducked as another heavy beating weight of water crashed +over him. It seemed it would never lift and leave him free to breathe. +His arms and feet no longer seemed a part of him. He wondered if the +vessel were under the surface, and nerved himself to let go. But he +could not. The rail was his only hope of life. Slowly the water began to +draw his fingers away from it. The next surge sent his body +out—somewhere. He struck forward with both hands and kicked his feet +mechanically. Was it the roar of the wind or the weight of the water +itself that beat into his ears? The sudden pain in his lungs, told him +that he had reached the surface. How good the air felt! Shaking the +water out of his ears, he listened. Nothing but the wind was audible.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that he had been swimming for hours in the icy waves. +Events on the ship, the shock of the boiler explosion, the rush for the +deck, all seemed to have happened long ago.</p> + +<p>"If I could only see," he thought, "I might find the ship again." It +occurred to him that he might be swimming in a circle, and he resolved +to keep in one direction, but how? He remembered that he had always +tended to swim to the left, so he increased his right-arm stroke. +Suddenly a heavy timber struck him. He gasped with pain, and sank under +the surface. When he came up, his hand struck the same piece of wood. +With a desperate effort, he dragged himself up on it, twisting his arms +and legs about it to maintain his hold.</p> + +<p>The water, swirled by the wind, lashed him as he lay on the timber. +"Land may be within sight," he thought, "and I shall never know." His +fear and the cold began to work upon his imagination. He had a clear +mental picture of a sandy beach backed with trees. He felt sure he was +being carried past it into the open sea.</p> + +<p>Hours passed. He began to rave at the water, at life, at everything. +Mixed, tangled masses of images heaped themselves in utter disorder in +his brain: passages of verse, bits of his trained laboratory jargon, +phrases from half-forgotten books, the delicate curves of the Water +Sprite at the exposition, and, above all, a fierce gnawing pain in his +side.</p> + +<p>Over the roar of the wind he heard something else. Was it the tumbling +of breakers? He listened, then concluded that it was his imagination. +But they came nearer, louder; he sat up on his plank, his nerves tense. +The board lurched sidewise, spurn around, and the swell it was riding +broke over him with a force that knocked him from his position. Over and +over he rolled, until, almost unconscious, he felt his body dragging +along the sand. The undertow was pulling at him. He fought furiously, +digging his hands into the sand, and clawing desperately up the steep +sloping beach. The next breaker caught him and rolled him past the +water-line. He scrambled to his feet, and ran shakily ahead, neither +knowing nor caring what was before him.</p> + +<p>Behind him he heard the water sweeping in. He was out of its reach, but +still he ran. A rock caught him above the knees and sent him headlong +into the sand. He became unconscious, and lay still, half doubled up.</p> + +<p>When he recovered consciousness and sat up, a fierce sun was beating +down upon him. His head ached, and he was hungry. "There may be people +within call," he thought. Rising unsteadily, the soreness of his muscles +coming home to him, he gave a prolonged "Hello-o." A faint echo was his +answer. He formed a trumpet of his hands and shouted louder. The echo +came back stronger. "Only cliffs," he concluded.</p> + +<p>The gnaw of hunger increased. "Clams<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> are my best chance," he reasoned, +and, turning, he groped his way to the water. When the incoming breakers +washed his knees, he stopped. The intense dread that his experience had +given him was crying retreat, but he stood his ground. Stooping over, he +began digging in the sand. His cut and bleeding hands burned with the +salt water, but he dug steadily, moving rapidly along the beach. At last +his fingers turned up a round, ridged object. Feeling the edge of it he +knew that he had found what he sought. He wanted to eat the clam at +once, but reluctantly dropped it into his pocket, and went on digging.</p> + +<p>When he had filled his pocket he straightened up and started toward the +shore. As he waded through the last shallow wash of the wave, his foot +caught in something soft, and he fell. He rose, and then on second +thought stooped to feel what had tripped him. His hand touched a mass of +wet, tangled hair. He jerked it back hurriedly and screamed. The strain +he had been under was telling. Nerving himself, he reached again, and +touched a face.</p> + +<p>"A woman! Another human being! Thank God!"</p> + +<p>Then he clutched his throat in desperation. She might be dead. He +stooped and dragged the body up on the sand. He was afraid to find out +if she were dead or alive, and sat beside her, timidly touching her +hair.</p> + +<p>"Fool!" he muttered at last. "If she is not dead, she soon will be." He +leaned over, listening for her breathing. At first there was only the +sound of the waves, then he heard her breathing come faintly. He took +off his coat, emptied out the clams, and dipped it in the ocean. Coming +back, he wrung it out over her face. He knelt beside her, and rubbed her +arms and throat.</p> + +<p>His hands were his trained observers. As he worked over her, they gave +him a detailed picture which sank deep into his memory. She was +splendidly made. His fingers caught the delicate curve of her throat and +shoulders. Her skin was satin to his touch. He knew that the fine hair, +the smooth skin, the curve and grace of her body belonged to a beautiful +woman.</p> + +<p>Taking her arms, he worked them vigorously. When he was beginning to +despair, she coughed, moaned a little, and turned over on her side.</p> + +<p>He wondered if she had her eyes open. He dared not feel to see, and sat +silent, anxious, waiting for her to speak.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that eternity passed before she murmured, "Oh, oh! +Where am I?"</p> + +<p>"I do thank God," he exclaimed earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Where am I?" she repeated as she sat up.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," he answered. "Presumably somewhere on the coast of +Chile." Her eyes opened very wide and gazed at him as she said, "Are we +the only ones?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell," he replied, smiling a little. "I am blind, you see."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," she said softly. "I saw you on shipboard."</p> + +<p>"The first consciousness I had of you," he continued, "was when I +stumbled over you while getting my breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Breakfast? Where is it?"</p> + +<p>He laid one hand on the pile of clams. She looked down at them, and +burst out laughing, uncontrollably.</p> + +<p>"It is not much," he said, "but we primitive people are simple in our +needs. I worked to get them, goodness knows."</p> + +<p>She was looking around her, twisting her long brown hair in her hands. +At last she shuddered. "It's desperately lonely. Nothing but sea and +mountains. I'm afraid I can't walk," she said.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he exclaimed. "Can't walk?"</p> + +<p>She turned toward him, smiling faintly. "I was struck when I washed +overboard, and my ankle, I think, is broken. I am sorry," she added.</p> + +<p>Her tone was slightly apologetic, and he laughed nervously. "Oh, that's +all right," he said, assuringly, then stammered, "I mean—" He +hesitated, and she laughed.</p> + +<p>"I mean that we can get along," he continued, stubbornly. "Heaven knows +I am sorry. But you can't realize what it means to have some one near +you who can see."</p> + +<p>She did not answer for a minute, then said quietly: "Shall we breakfast +before beginning anything else?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>He reached in his pocket for his penknife. It was gone. The blank +expression of disgust on his face made her ask: "What is it?"</p> + +<p>"My knife," he said. "It is gone."</p> + +<p>They sat opposite each other, the clams between them. Each followed a +different trend of ideas. He was raging at this last mishap, and +considering means of opening the clams. She was conjecturing over the +fate of the City of Panama and wondering what she could do, alone here +with this blind man. Her night-gown and a heavy skirt had been all she +had worn when she had rushed on deck in the night. She looked around her +at the rocks and thought how foolish she had been to leave her shoes.</p> + +<p>At last he rose and began to grope back along the beach.</p> + +<p>Noticing that his hands were torn and bleeding, she said, hastily: +"Don't do that. What are you looking for, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"Stones," he answered, stopping.</p> + +<p>"I will direct you," she to him. "Left—right—a little ahead now." +Guided by her, he moved until his hand touched a small stone. He found +two of them and came back to her side.</p> + +<p>She watched him while he tried to break a clam-shell between the two +rocks. "Let me," she said, taking hold of one of them. "Your hands are +too badly cut." He hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Please," she said. "I can at least do the woman's part and prepare the +meal. Especially when you bring it to me."</p> + +<p>He laughed and gave up the stones.</p> + +<p>"I am desperately thirsty," she said, breaking open the shells.</p> + +<p>"I feel as though my tongue were swelling fast," he admitted.</p> + +<p>They dug the tiny clams from the shells, and ate for a few minutes in +silence, then she said: "I can't go any more of them."</p> + +<p>He wondered if she were not hungry, but said nothing. After eating a few +more, he understood. Then he, too, stopped.</p> + +<p>"I've got to find water," he said. He waited for her to speak.</p> + +<p>At last she said: "I can see nothing that might indicate fresh water. +Where will you go?"</p> + +<p>"Up the beach, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"There are mountains up the beach, and back of us, too. You could never +find your way out." Her tone was despairing.</p> + +<p>"True," he admitted.</p> + +<p>There was a long pause. Then she said slowly: "It seems to be your only +hope, doesn't it? Well, I guess you had better go. God bless you!" she +concluded as though it were her last word.</p> + +<p>Suddenly it occurred to him that he had been thinking and talking of +himself alone. The idea of parting from this woman who could see, whom +it seemed to him he had found as his own means of salvation, immediately +became impossible.</p> + +<p>"I am going to take you with me," he stated quietly.</p> + +<p>"You forget," she said, "I cannot walk."</p> + +<p>He had forgotten it for the moment. Now it filled him with new terror. +He laid his hand on hers. "I can't help it," he said finally, "I can't +leave you. I will carry you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" Her protest was genuine.</p> + +<p>He felt her fear that she would hamper him. "Don't be foolish," he said +as though he had known her for years, "I am not being gallant. This is +not a time for gallantry. I am simply being sensible. You can't sit +here, can you?"</p> + +<p>"I can't help myself, can I? I can't walk."</p> + +<p>"I can help it," he retorted.</p> + +<p>"It would simply make your chance of escape impossible," she argued. "It +is preposterous. Why should you? Your life is worth to you as much as +mine is to me. I know what that means. I would not stay here if I could +help it. I would not sacrifice my life for yours. Neither shall you +sacrifice yours for mine."</p> + +<p>"See here," he demanded, "who are you and where did you get that +attitude toward life?"</p> + +<p>It was one he knew. It was the hard, relentless theory of the struggle +of animal survival which his thinking in college had led him to accept. +There was in it no touch of duty, no sense of obligation, and very +little pity. He had called himself a hard materialist, and had never +lived up to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> theory. Now here beside him in this outlandish +situation was a woman quietly arguing his own philosophy of life to him +against herself.</p> + +<p>She laughed. "It's my way of thinking, and I mean it," she said, +twisting her hair up on her head. "I got it out of four years of thought +and reading in a college, and I do not thank the college for it. I find +it very inconvenient, but it is my belief. I have tried to live by it."</p> + +<p>"So is it mine," he said, "and I mean to live by it."</p> + +<p>"Very well," she answered. "That aggressive tone against me is not +necessary. Go ahead and get through if you can. Good-by, my friend."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you do not understand," he answered her steadily. "I want to +live. To do it, you are necessary to me. I need your eyes. Very well, +whether you like it or not, you are going with me."</p> + +<p>He rose quickly, and stretched his muscles. His head ached, his whole +being cried for water. He knew he could not carry her far, but without +her he was powerless.</p> + +<p>"Suppose," she suggested, her eyes flashing from hazel to deep-brown, +"suppose you do take me. Have you any assurance that my eyes will serve +you rightly?"</p> + +<p>"Your own life, which is pleasant to you, will depend upon your eyes +serving me rightly," he said coldly, as he stooped over her.</p> + +<p>She laid a restraining hand on his arm. "And in the long days that we +may have to go on together, what will you do in return for my eyes?"</p> + +<p>"Carry you," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Very well, but there are two things you must know," she said quietly. +"First, that I am married; second, that I am quite as steadfast in my +belief as I said. If you make one single attempt to establish more than +a frank comradeship, based on mutual support in our unforeseen +partnership, my eyes will serve you falsely."</p> + +<p>He laughed a little as he picked her up. She gasped with pain.</p> + +<p>"I can't help hurting you," he said gently.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," she answered, putting her arm around his neck so that +he might the more easily bear her. "We are off on our great adventure. +The halt and the blind! Such a mad pair!"</p> + +<p>He smiled, and started slowly up the beach.</p> + +<p>"I shall have to develop a system of one word guides," she mused.</p> + +<p>"Left—right—slow—ahead—all right—and so on," he admitted.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she laughed out merrily. "My friend, a stranger pilgrimage the +world never knew. What is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," he said.</p> + +<p>"Mine," she answered, "is Claire. Go a little to the left."</p> + +<p>He turned slightly, and plodded through the sand.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE WATER OF LIFE.</h3> + + +<p>Still exhausted from his recent battle with the waves, Lawrence was not +in the best condition for this new struggle. Before he had gone far, he +was forced to rest. He lowered Claire to the ground carefully and +dropped beside her. His effort in carrying her had made him breathe +hard, the sun was beating down on them, and his throat was dry and +parched. Speaking was becoming difficult.</p> + +<p>"If we don't find water soon, we're ended," he managed to say.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid we are," she admitted. "Do you know, Lawrence, you shouldn't +try to carry me. I weigh over a hundred and thirty pounds. That is too +much for any man. Without me, you might make it, even though you +couldn't travel so steadily ahead."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," he agreed. "I've thought of that. But, you see, I would have +to feel my way. At best I'd get a lot of falls. I might walk off a +precipice. That doesn't appeal to me, now that I've set myself to +winning."</p> + +<p>"And yet you are almost certain to wear yourself out to no purpose if +you carry me," she repeated. "If you could do it and get me through, I'd +never stop you. I've a husband in America who loves me, and I want to +get back to him, but you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> aren't equal to it. I see no advantage in +dying a mile or ten miles inland. For one's grave, this is as good a +place as any."</p> + +<p>She spoke of dying in a matter-of-fact way that made him feel strange, +though he thought of it in exactly the same way himself. He believed +that he was a mere animal and that death was a mere cessation of energy. +"I wonder if she feels just as I do about it," he pondered. "Perhaps +not. But it can't matter anyway. Here we are, and death does seem fairly +certain."</p> + +<p>He was breathing more regularly now, though his throat burned and his +tongue stuck to his mouth disagreeably.</p> + +<p>"We'd better be moving," he said, rising with an effort.</p> + +<p>"As you please," she assented.</p> + +<p>Then, as he lifted her: "My ankle is swollen dreadfully. If we could +find water, I'd bathe it and put a stick splint on it."</p> + +<p>He did not answer. Silence fell between them while he plodded ahead. +They started up the mountainside, and the way became increasingly +difficult. There was a dense undergrowth through which he was compelled +to shove his feet. There were rocks which she could not see, down which +he was constantly slipping. Her directions barely kept him from bumping +into the trees that grew closer and closer together. Occasionally she +pushed a branch aside from before him, and laughed as he stooped to pass +under, throwing her forward so that she had to cling to his neck to keep +her position.</p> + +<p>On and on he forced his way, his teeth clenched, his breath broken by +the strain. She made herself as easy to carry as she could, but beyond +that she showed no sign of sympathy. Again and again he was obliged to +stop and put her down while he rested. His head was throbbing +frightfully. He gave up trying to talk.</p> + +<p>During one of their frequent rests she had asked him quietly, her eyes +filled with a soft, calculative haze: "How much are you good for, +Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>He had answered: "Till we find water." She had laughed a little at that, +and it had sounded unpleasant to him.</p> + +<p>Now she said again: "You don't face facts, do you?" He made no answer.</p> + +<p>She continued: "It's strange how we humans are always so overdetermined. +One ought to know by the time he is grown that he is a puppet in the +hands of circumstance. Now I go on hoping that you can carry me out to +life and my husband, and you plod determinedly on as if you were really +able to do it. Of course, you may, but it is entirely dependent upon +outside things."</p> + +<p>He was too tired to answer, even to think. Besides, that was exactly his +view of the situation.</p> + +<p>"You see," she went on, "here we are, two distinct groups of living +cells, each loving life and wanting it. Our pasts have been very +different, our futures would have been; but here we are. I am resentful, +because you are blind, because you are not stronger, because I cannot +walk. You are probably resenting the same things. Perhaps you resent my +saying what I do. You want me to reassure you and to promise success. If +I did, you would know in your real mind that I was lying to you for the +sake of getting you to do more. Yet both of us would feel happier if I +could do it. I can't."</p> + +<p>He stood up and took her in his arms without a word.</p> + +<p>"We are going a few yards farther," she laughed. "Well, if ever any +animal deserved life, you do."</p> + +<p>He bit his lip and climbed on up the hill. In his mind he was saying +over and over: "Just a mere intellect, nothing more. That's all she is." +Yet in his arms she felt very feminine. The sense of her body so close +to him seemed strangely out of keeping with her talk.</p> + +<p>He remembered a few other women of her type; he wondered what the end of +their daily association would be. Then gradually his thinking ceased to +be clear. His thirst more and more wove itself into his consciousness +until his mind was a blurred fantasmagoria, in which, repeating itself +over and over in the midst of strange ideas, would come the flashing +sound of unattainable water. He did not talk, he did not think. Through +the trees he wound his way with the grim determination of a beast +fighting against death.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>The sun passed its zenith and sank slowly. It grew cooler in the forest +through which he lurched, but he was hardly aware of it. Claire, too, +was rapidly losing control over herself. She had ceased to talk, save to +utter dull, monosyllabic commands to him. The pain from her ankle and +her own thirst were blending into a dizzying maze of torture.</p> + +<p>As darkness settled over the forest, she grew afraid. Ordinarily it +would have been a delight to her, here among the trees, but now the +shadowing night filled her with ideas of horror. She forgot her +theories, and clung to him so that he was the more hampered. She grew +afraid lest he should drop her, lest he should give up the fight, and +with that came an overwhelming desire to urge him on. She thought of +wild tales that she might tell to spur his faltering strength. At first +she resisted, then as her desire for life grew within her, she began to +lie to him. "It isn't far, just a little way to water," she whispered.</p> + +<p>He struggled unsteadily forward. They had passed the top of the ridge +and were descending the other side. He was scarcely aware of his own +motion. He did not hear her directions, and stumbled against the trees. +When her ankle struck a bough, she realized in a flash of pain that he +was not listening to her. Then she felt him sinking down.</p> + +<p>Gripping his shoulder, she shouted: "Go on! Water ahead!" He heard her, +his mouth opened, and he gathered himself up to stumble a few steps +farther through the darkness. They seemed to be deep in a wooded ravine. +He staggered again and fell.</p> + +<p>She was thrown violently forward, and flung out a hand to save herself. +As she lay there, half-dazed, suddenly she felt her fingers grow cold +and wet. Water! A small stream, no larger than that from a hydrant, was +trickling over the rock.</p> + +<p>Dragging herself to it, she drank greedily. She dipped her hands in it. +She laughed joyously and splashed. For a few minutes she played like a +child. Then she remembered Lawrence.</p> + +<p>Lifting her hands full of water, she threw it on his face. His mouth was +open, and a few drops fell upon his black tongue. She threw another +handful, then took her skirt and, wetting it, wrung it into his mouth. +He twisted over on his side and muttered: "Water."</p> + +<p>She gave him more, and as he sat up, she said eagerly: "Here, Lawrence, +here."</p> + +<p>Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the stream. He drank ravenously, +plunging his face and hands into the little line of water, making queer +noises over it.</p> + +<p>Claire began to grow cold, and her ankle pained her till she shook like +a fevered person. He turned and sat up.</p> + +<p>"You cold?" he managed to mutter.</p> + +<p>She wanted to say "No," but her will was worn out. "Yes," she answered, +"very cold."</p> + +<p>He laughed a little guttural laugh as he drew off his coat. "Take it," +he said, dropping it near her hand.</p> + +<p>She took the coat and drew it on. Lawrence was drinking again from the +stream. She listened to him for a time, as she lay there in the +darkness, then gradually her suffering and the strain under which she +had been, won the victory over her consciousness, and she heard no more.</p> + +<p>He lay where he was, half unconscious. At last he began to feel the +chill of the place and drew himself up toward Claire. She did not move. +"We've got to do the best we can," he thought, and moved close to her so +that their bodies might warm each other.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE.</h3> + + +<p>Claire was the first to wake. She sat up and gazed around her. The +morning sun was just breaking through a heavy fog that had drifted in +from the ocean. Her clothes were damp, and she was chilled through, +while her swollen and discolored ankle throbbed with steady pain. She +looked down at the sleeping man beside her, and her forehead gathered in +a little thoughtful frown. Then she looked around her again. Despite the +knowledge of their desperate situation, she could not help noticing the +beauty of the scene.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>Great trees grew in massive profusion all about them. Heavy tropical +moss hung from the branches and trailed its green mat over the stones. +Birds were beginning to sing, their notes breaking the silence of the +place in sharp thrills. Then she studied her companion. Finally, she +laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she said gaily.</p> + +<p>He turned and sat up, yawning drowsily. "What is it?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"We are certainly the primitive pair."</p> + +<p>"H-m, I suppose. Anyhow, I feel better for my sleep."</p> + +<p>"It's beastly cold," returned Claire, "and my ankle is playing fits and +jerks with me."</p> + +<p>"We'll have to do something about it," he said earnestly. She did not +answer.</p> + +<p>"We can bind it up, I presume," he went on. "But it's a frightful +inconvenience."</p> + +<p>"Admitted," she said quickly. "It can't be helped, however."</p> + +<p>"I'm very much for a fire," he suggested, as though he had not noticed +the hints of hardness in her voice.</p> + +<p>"Some twenty feet ahead is a flat rock. We might build one there. Have +you matches?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "We'll have to go it primeval."</p> + +<p>"But I don't see how," she began.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," he answered, with a malicious grin. "I do know some few +things."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you also know how to find food when there isn't any," she +retorted.</p> + +<p>He rose without replying.</p> + +<p>"Well," she continued, "I see plenty of roots and stuff. We may as well +prepare to eat them. It's unbelievable that I should be here, and with +you. It's a horrible nightmare, this being stranded and lame out here +somewhere with a blind man."</p> + +<p>He winced, but answered quietly: "I'm not especially charmed myself. I +could prefer other things."</p> + +<p>She looked at him and smiled. "Don't ever let me repeat those +sentiments," she said, simply. "I'm sorry. Of course you aren't to +blame, and I shouldn't have said that."</p> + +<p>He stepped forward timidly. "Will you suggest the best means of finding +dry wood?" he asked, as though the matter were forgotten.</p> + +<p>She pursed her lips and looked around her. "This moss seems to be feet +deep," she said at last. "You might dig up some that is dry, and with +that as a starter you can add twigs."</p> + +<p>He stopped and began to tear away the moss. His hands were stiff, but he +worked rapidly and before long he had a heap of the brown, dry stuff +from underneath.</p> + +<p>She watched him silently. When he stopped, she said: "Straight to your +left is the rock. Get the fire started. Then you can move the invalid."</p> + +<p>He took the moss and felt his way to the rock, which was eight or ten +feet square and practically flat, standing up almost a foot from the +ground.</p> + +<p>"Now, for a dry stick or two," he said, cheerily.</p> + +<p>She directed him, and at last he found what he thought would do. Then +began the age-old procedure of twisting a pointed stick between one's +hands, the point resting on another piece of wood, until friction +brought a flame. It was a long, hard experiment; several times he +stopped to rest; but the consciousness of the skeptical expression he +knew to be on her face sent him quickly back again to his task. At last +the moss began to burn. True, it smoked much and flamed little, but he +gathered twigs from the shrubs near by and in time had a good fire. Then +he carried Claire to the rock and set her down beside it. She leaned her +elbow on the edge and said, happily: "It's quite a success, Lawrence. I +really feel as though we were progressing."</p> + +<p>"Our woodcraft will doubtless improve with experience," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Next, I guess we had better bathe your ankle," he observed, as though +giving due care to the order of procedure.</p> + +<p>"Very well," she replied.</p> + +<p>At her suggestion he gathered moss and wet it in the tiny stream. She +wound it about her ankle and held it tightly.</p> + +<p>"Now the surgeon orders splints and bandages," she said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>He brought several sticks, and with a strip which she tore from the +lining of his coat, she bound them fast.</p> + +<p>"There," she said, sighing, for the pain was wearing. "That ought to +help. I wonder what our distant grandparents did in such cases."</p> + +<p>"Made the best of it," he said cheerfully. "Many of them died, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"And we are back again at their game. Whether we can outwit the master +strategist and survive, is at least interesting to try."</p> + +<p>"In any event, we'll have to eat to do it," he said shortly.</p> + +<p>She studied the greenery about her, meditatively. "It's probable that +most any of these things are edible, but are they nourishing?"</p> + +<p>"We'll try them. Which shall I get?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I hate to start in on roots or leaves. If we only had some berries!"</p> + +<p>He got up determinedly. "I'll go down the ravine and hunt. If I get +mixed in directions, I'll shout."</p> + +<p>She watched him go, and when he had disappeared through the trees she +felt strangely sadder and very much alone. She fell to wondering if he +were really so necessary to her. Sooner or later would come the +inevitable problem between them. Would he fall in love with her, and +would she, in the days that they might be alone together, find his +companionship growing into any really vital proportion in her life? That +she, Claire Barkley, rich and independent, whose life had been selfish +to a marked degree and who had never considered anything except from the +point of view of vigor, perfection, or beauty, should ever love a blind +man was incredible.</p> + +<p>"No," she thought, "not even the closest of daily relationships with him +could ever make me really care. He is not of my life." She wondered how +much she would sacrifice for him if it were necessary in their +pilgrimage toward civilization, and she answered herself, frankly: "No +more than I must to maintain a balance in our forced business +partnership." She knew that was all this meant to her.</p> + +<p>From down the ravine she heard him shouting lustily, and she answered, +her clear, rich voice waking pleasant echoes as she called. She waited +for some time before he came. In his arms he carried a bundle of +branches loaded with red berries, while in one hand was a clump of large +mushrooms.</p> + +<p>Claire watched him as he approached, and was surprised at the ease with +which he walked. There was less hesitation in his stride than she had +thought, and he came briskly through the trees, dodging as though by +instinct.</p> + +<p>When he reached the rock, it was characteristic of her that she said: +"You came through those trees remarkably well."</p> + +<p>He laughed. "I have an uncanny way of feeling things on my face before +they touch me. I experimented somewhat with it in the laboratory at +college. It's a sort of tropism, perhaps, such as bugs have, that +enables them to keep between two planks or that turns plant-roots toward +the sun. Anyway, I've brought some breakfast. These berries may be good, +and these other things may be toadstools. I brought them along."</p> + +<p>"How does one tell?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mushrooms are pink underneath and ribbed like a fan."</p> + +<p>She examined them and said they might be mushrooms, they looked it. He +sat down again, but not until he had replenished the fire.</p> + +<p>"They may be poison, both of them," he hazarded. "That's our sporting +chance. Will you try them?"</p> + +<p>Claire took some of the berries and ate them. "I don't feel anything +yet," she announced after a minute's solemn munching.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you probably won't for several hours anyway," he said lightly. Then +he continued: "If we could devise a way, we might heat water and cook +the mushrooms. Then, too, I've been thinking we might even catch a +bird."</p> + +<p>"Neither sounds very simple."</p> + +<p>"Nothing in life is simple," he replied. "At home, in America, where we +leave food-getting to the farmer, dress from a store, and go to heaven +by way of a minister, things are fairly well arranged, but here we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +aren't even sure of salvation unless we mind the business of thinking." +He continued after a pause. "Of course, I don't especially remember that +I counted on heaven. It always seemed a bit distant in the face of +living and working. Perhaps, however, you counted it as vital."</p> + +<p>"I was fairly occupied with more immediate things," she answered. +"However, that is a different world from this. What we did then can't +especially matter to us here. This is our place of business, so to +speak, and social life doesn't factor."</p> + +<p>"I see." He accepted the snub thoughtfully. "But this business of ours +will grow exceedingly irksome without talk. I doubt if we can find the +means of escape an all-sufficient topic."</p> + +<p>"We haven't boiled our water yet," she said. "And the bird is still free +to roam."</p> + +<p>He did not carry on his line of thought aloud. If she had known what was +going on in his mind, she might have been angered. He was wondering just +how much thinking she was capable of. Certain that she was beautiful, he +had scarcely allowed that to occupy him. His experience had led him to +estimate people almost wholly by their ability to be open-minded. In his +struggle against blindness, he had concluded that open minds were rare +indeed, and persons who limited his freedom of action or tended to baby +him he had grown to dismiss with a shrug. Claire did not belong to that +class. "She has shown remarkable willingness to let me go my own pace," +he thought, "but is this due to her mind or to mere indifference?" He +decided at last that the relationship would be tiresome for both of +them, and that she was not especially eager to prevent it from being so. +This conclusion led him to adopt a definite attitude toward her. She +could do as she pleased; he, for his part, would treat her simply as an +uninteresting person, a machine that furnished the eyes which he could +use in his travel to liberty.</p> + +<p>He recalled how, when he had been displeased with convention, he had +thought of life in the wild as the best possible means of liberty, and +he laughed.</p> + +<p>Claire looked up. "What is there amusing just now?"</p> + +<p>"Myself, and you."</p> + +<p>"Why, pray, am I amusing?" Then she was sorry she had said it.</p> + +<p>"Because you are you."</p> + +<p>"And are you other than yourself?" she asked scornfully.</p> + +<p>"Not at all, but my own particular interests seem infinitely more +important to me than there is any possibility of yours doing."</p> + +<p>"You mean to say that you are an egotist."</p> + +<p>"Frankly, I am," he agreed. "One is an egotist, I suppose, when he finds +himself and his needs and whims essentially worth while. I'll admit I +find mine so. Perhaps you feel the same about yours. One scarcely knows +where egotism and vanity meet or end in a woman." He smiled, for he +meant that to provoke, and it did.</p> + +<p>Claire's voice was edged when she replied. "A very penetrating remark. +With men generally, vanity seems to be a widely extended cloak to spread +over all things in a woman that they cannot dispose of in any other way. +If I find you dull, or if I am not struck with your ability, or if you +do not seem to me sufficiently fascinating, I am possessed of feminine +vanity."</p> + +<p>"Precisely. And why not? If I choose to regard myself as all those +things which you deny, why shouldn't I find the fault in you rather than +in myself?"</p> + +<p>"Because it may be in you," suggested Claire.</p> + +<p>"It may, but that doesn't alter the case. I quite agree that you are +right, but none the less you are at fault, because I, Lawrence, am the +most important of all things to me."</p> + +<p>She did not answer. The conversation seemed to her useless. She saw no +reason for arguing the matter, and she half suspected that he was simply +teasing her. Besides, she could not but feel that to sit here in his +coat and discuss egotism was a trifle ridiculous. He was merely trying +to establish a friendship in talk which she did not care to encourage. +That was her conclusion.</p> + +<p>As he rose to gather more sticks, he asked: "Do you happen to see a rock +that flattens to an edge?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>Told where he might find one, he brought it and struck it hard against +their boulder. It did not break. "It may do," he said thoughtfully, and +began to grind it against the side of the other rock. He worked steadily +and long, and the result was a fairly good edge, which was nicked and +toothed, but still an edge. He laid it down with a sigh of contentment.</p> + +<p>"My first tool," he commented.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">MUTUAL DISLIKE.</h3> + + +<p>All day Lawrence worked, and when night came he had hollowed out a piece +of log to a depth of some eighteen inches, leaving six inches of solid +wood in the bottom. Both were very well pleased with the result. With +the coming of darkness, he gathered more berries, and heated water in +his log kettle. They were able to cook the mushrooms and to bind her +ankle in moss soaked in hot water. The building of a shelter was +discussed, but both decided to resume their journey on the following +day, so they slept again in the heavy moss.</p> + +<p>In the morning, Claire was glad indeed of the hot water, for it warmed +her, and her ankle felt much better. They decided to follow the little +stream which would doubtless wind its way somehow around the present +ridge back to the ocean. Accordingly, they kept down the ravine, which +cut across the ridge in a southerly direction.</p> + +<p>For the whole of that day and the next they followed the stream, which +grew to a small creek. At noon of the third day they dropped suddenly +down a steep slope to find themselves at the juncture of their stream, +with a river which flowed through a deep gorge out to the ocean. They +determined to follow it up toward its head.</p> + +<p>"Somewhere inland must be a town," argued Claire. "At any rate, it's the +only way we can go."</p> + +<p>After living for four days on berries, they were beginning to feel +acutely the need of other food, but they discussed the problem at length +without arriving at any feasible solution. Two days later fortune +temporarily relieved their difficulty.</p> + +<p>They were following along the side of a steep ridge overlooking the +river, when Claire suddenly stopped him and gave a cry of delight. Near +them a small, furry animal, caught in a tangled mass of wirelike +creepers, was struggling to free itself. He killed the creature with his +stone-edged tool, and after barbecuing it on the end of a stick, they +ate it ravenously. Each of them would have disliked the whole scene at +any other time, but now neither thought anything of it until after they +were satisfied.</p> + +<p>Leaning back against a rock, Lawrence stroked his chin, rapidly becoming +invisible under a heavy beard. "I hadn't known I was so hungry for real +food," he laughed.</p> + +<p>Brown as a gipsy, her hair filled with tiny green leaves, Claire looked +at him, her eyes shining with the warm light of satisfied hunger. "We +ate like two beasts," she remarked languidly, and laughed. "It was +simply disgraceful."</p> + +<p>"I know," he began to muse, "it doesn't take long for the most polished +man—not that I ever was that—to become a savage."</p> + +<p>"You look the part," she laughed. "I suppose I do, too. My hair is +matted hopelessly; the curliness makes it worse. My face, too, is +rapidly hardening under this sun. If only I had a few more clothes—" +She stopped and looked at him. "I feel the need of them," she finished +lamely.</p> + +<p>Claire had worn his coat continuously from the first night, and his +undershirt was tearing from contact with bush and tree. He grinned +contentedly, however.</p> + +<p>"If you approach nakedness as rapidly as I," he chuckled, "I fear we +both will have to avoid civilization. Undisguised humanity isn't +tolerated there."</p> + +<p>She flushed warmly, then laughed.</p> + +<p>"I wonder why people are so afraid of being seen," Lawrence went on. "Of +course, there's the warmth and natural protection of clothing, but one +would feel so much freer without the encumbrance of shirt-stud and +feathered plume."</p> + +<p>"We need them to complete a personality," said Claire. "I know few +people who would inspire respect in their elemental state. Stripped of +advertising silk and diamond, they wouldn't be so suggestive of +wealth."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>"But why be so eager to impress others with your power?"</p> + +<p>She turned toward him with a faint smile. "If you didn't ask that as +mere conversation, I would think you childish. You know very well why. +It probably goes back to the days when the possession of a fish-hook, +more or less, meant surer life. It has come to mean, now, that the +decoration of an extra feather or white flannel trousers means +advantageous position, the place of more power, more pleasure; in short, +greater fulness of living."</p> + +<p>"But we are living fully, goodness knows," he interrupted. "This last +week we have had to exert our wits and bodies in more ways than we ever +did before in all our lives. True, I do miss my modeling somewhat." He +spoke the last with a soft mellowness in his voice and a wistfulness +that made her look at him quickly.</p> + +<p>"Modeling?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He nodded slowly.</p> + +<p>"What sort of modeling?" she insisted.</p> + +<p>"Oh, probably poor, for the most part. I did some work that was +beginning to make its way, though."</p> + +<p>"You mean sculpture?"</p> + +<p>He nodded again.</p> + +<p>She looked at him earnestly. Here was a new revelation. She had wondered +at this man's apparent keen sense of form, and his imaginative power +when he spoke of color or mentioned line, and she had been sure from his +occasional word that he was a wide student of literature.</p> + +<p>"What did you do at home?" she asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, played with living," he said indifferently.</p> + +<p>She felt irritated that he would not tell her more of his life, yet she +remembered that she had practically refused to discuss her own with him.</p> + +<p>"See here, Lawrence," she said suddenly, "we aren't quite fair with each +other, are we?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he answered quietly. "I carry you toward your old life, you +guide me toward mine. It's a fair business, with equal investment. I'm +not complaining."</p> + +<p>She was silent and watched him as he lay on his back, dreaming of days +at home with his work. As he lay there, she studied his hands. They +were practically healed, and she noticed they were well-shaped, the +fingers long and tapering, yet with an appearance of unusual strength. +She knew already that they were sensitive; when he had cut out a piece +of wood to heat water in, she had seen that. So they were sculptor's +hands. What a revelation, and what a pity that he was blind! She fell to +wondering if he really was good at his work, or whether he merely +fancied he was and hewed away without real artistry, deceived by his +blindness. She studied his face in repose. Then her mind came back to +his hands, and she felt a sudden sense of displeasure, a little chagrin, +and some wonder, accompanied by the feeling that she wished he had not +carried her. She did not quite know why, yet the dependence on him made +her restless. Suddenly she wondered poignantly what he thought of her. +The more she wondered, the more she wanted to know, and at last she +ventured, "Are you asleep?"</p> + +<p>"No, dreaming."</p> + +<p>"Lawrence."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" He sat up and waited.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of me?" She was surprised to find herself waiting +eagerly for his answer.</p> + +<p>He laughed outright, a gay, hearty laugh.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said merrily, "you embarrass me dreadfully. You see, I +haven't thought much about you. However, if you like, I'll study you for +a week and report."</p> + +<p>Hot anger surged up in her. "You needn't bother," she said dryly. "Our +lives are so utterly different in every phase that nothing could be +gained."</p> + +<p>He lay back carelessly. "So I had decided," he replied, and lapsed into +silence again.</p> + +<p>She could have cried with vexation. For the first time in her life +Claire was utterly humiliated, and there grew within her an aggressive +dislike for this man, a determination to make him feel her power and to +punish him for his indifference. She did not want him to love her, by +any means, but he had never even shown her the courteous deference, the +admiration or regard that she was accustomed to receive from men.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> Her +mind went back over the past week, and she grew more humiliated, more +angry. Tears of vexation came to her eyes, but she brushed them away +fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Shall we take the remains of our meat and move on toward the habitats +of men?" said Lawrence, sitting up.</p> + +<p>She controlled herself to answer, "As you please."</p> + +<p>He stooped to lift her into his arms. She flushed warm as his hands +slipped under her, and he straightened up. She hesitated, and wanted not +to do it, but realized the necessity, and put her arm around his neck.</p> + +<p>"I shall be grateful when I can walk," was her comment.</p> + +<p>"It will make our progress more rapid," he agreed, and she was angry +again. She knew that he thought only in terms of the most efficient +means of getting ahead. A longing possessed her to make him realize that +he was physically distasteful to her.</p> + +<p>"We are so vastly different," she said, "it is disagreeable to be +carried this way."</p> + +<p>Lawrence flushed, and she was pleased. At least he understood now.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he admitted calmly, "it isn't pleasant, but I suppose one +must make the best of a bad bargain."</p> + +<p>There was silence for a while, then he said suddenly, "I think I +realize, Claire, that a blind man is at best a poor companion for a +woman who is accustomed to being amused, and whose interests are those +of the society glow-worm."</p> + +<p>Claire resented the picture, but she kept her voice steady. "Surely at +home you had your own social group," she said pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Of a sort, yes. We were all workers, not going in much for form, +entertainment, and that sort of thing. We generally sat in the gallery +at the opera, and did mostly as we pleased everywhere. None of us were +rolling in wealth. We worked for the love of it, and looked to the +future for pay."</p> + +<p>"I see." She was thinking fast. "You were struggling young artists." Her +voice was sugar-coated.</p> + +<p>"We were struggling young artizans," he answered, seemingly indifferent +to her irony.</p> + +<p>As he made slower progress when he talked, she did not attempt to carry +on the conversation. The stops for rest were gradually lengthening out, +and he was getting hard and wiry so that his endurance was greater. He +was quicker at catching himself when he stumbled, and he did not puff so +hard between grades. Claire felt the easier swing of his body when he +walked, and noticed that he was growing surer of foot and more graceful +in movement, and she realized that except for his eyes he was a splendid +specimen of manhood. She now admitted all these things to herself, but +they only added to her feeling against him. She wondered if he had been +as indifferent to all women as he was to her, and was displeased that +she wondered.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Lawrence stopped and put her down by his side. Claire looked up +at him and saw his forehead gathering in a frown.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>"You are letting your thoughts obstruct your eyes," he said simply. "I +have walked into three boulders without your knowing it."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," she said earnestly. "It was silly of me."</p> + +<p>He laughed and sat down. "You see, as eyes you can't afford to think. At +other times perhaps I, too, should wander into abstractions, but at +present it won't work."</p> + +<p>"I know it," she admitted contritely. "I won't repeat it."</p> + +<p>"What," he asked, "is the subject of all this meditation?"</p> + +<p>She blushed, and her eyes darkened. She wondered whether she should tell +the truth, started to do so, then changed her mind. "I was asking myself +what my husband was probably doing and thinking."</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow!" Lawrence was sincerely thoughtful. "I can imagine what it +must be to him, supposing you lost at sea. Yes, he must be suffering +badly. I don't believe I would change places with him."</p> + +<p>Claire started at Lawrence. "Are you flattering me?" she asked coldly.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," he replied. "I am merely stating the truth. I have an +imagination, my dear lady. I can quite grasp your husband's position. +You would certainly be a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> loss to a man who loved you, and I shouldn't +care to be that man."</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't you?" she said instinctively, and bit her lip for saying it.</p> + +<p>"Not under the circumstances," answered Lawrence. "I never did fancy the +idea of death visiting my loved ones. I have never got over its having +done so."</p> + +<p>"Oh"—her voice softened—"then you have lost your—" She waited.</p> + +<p>"I am an orphan," he said bruskly.</p> + +<p>She was ashamed of her relief. How ridiculous it was to have imagined +him, even for an instant, as a married man! He was so cold, so +impersonal; of course, he had never married, and never would. Well, that +was best; a blind man had no right to marry. He owed it to himself and +to any woman not to place her in the position of caring for him, +handicapped as he was, and so unable to give her the companionship, the +comradeship a woman deserved. She could see how he would treat a wife: +feed her well, clothe her, care for her comfort, and talk to her if she +desired, but he would never be tender, loving, sympathetic, or +understanding. No, he could not be; he was too self-centered, too much +the artist. That last seemed to her a correct estimate of him, and she +settled her mind on it as being final.</p> + +<p>"So you are alone in the world?" Claire said, renewing the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Quite," answered Lawrence. "I am as free from family hindrances as a +young wolf that runs his first season's hunt alone."</p> + +<p>She thought how apt a comparison he had made. "So you regard the family +as a hindrance?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—no and yes. One can never do quite as he pleases while a family and +its wishes, aims, and loves are concerned. They always hold him down to +some extent. He is an equal hindrance to them. They love each other, and +as a result they have to sacrifice their individual wishes. But the +family keeps man more social, more gregarious, and less selfish. If we +were as free from family love as is the wolf I mentioned, we would be +able to live our lives more completely, and, on the other hand, we would +die in greater numbers. The love of man and woman for each other and +their children lifts humanity out of its serfdom, but it also places +limitations. You ought to know more about that than I, however," he +laughed. "I merely theorize."</p> + +<p>"So I noticed," Claire observed. "One can easily gather that you aren't +experienced."</p> + +<p>"No. My parents died when I was small. I had to work my way through +school. The accident made it somewhat harder, but I got along." He was +plainly matter of fact.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" She exclaimed at his words more forcefully than she had intended.</p> + +<p>He smiled a little, comprehendingly. "Yes, it explains a lot, doesn't +it?" He spoke carelessly. "You doubtless can now understand my lack of +social grace."</p> + +<p>She thought to deny it, but that seemed foolish. He was silent, and +there seemed little use in talking. Claire knew she understood him well +enough.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE FACE OF DEATH.</h3> + + +<p>In the days that followed they talked but little. Lawrence had fallen +into the habit of speaking only when she seemed to desire conversation, +and his mind was occupied with planning their escape. If he thought of +her in any other way than merely as his eyes, he never showed it. Though +watchful of her comfort, in every act and word, he was markedly +impersonal.</p> + +<p>Following the river, they had progressed steadily north and east over +increasingly higher and rougher ground. The tropical vegetation of +intertwining crimson was now changing to a faint gold. There were days +when they were forced to make long détours over broken ridges to get +around some deep gorge through which the gray-green stream dashed its +foamy way downward. They were well into the mountains, and above them +the higher Andes raised their snowy peaks in forbidding austerity. It +was daily growing colder, and their clothes were now only ragged strips. +Then came days when sharp, biting winds whipped through the cañon they +followed, or headed against them on some plateau, and they were forced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +to face new issues. Food was less plentiful, and winter was at hand. To +be sure they were in the tropics, but on the mountains the air was cold, +and warmer clothes became imperative.</p> + +<p>Claire's ankle was almost well. After weeks of pain, which she had borne +bravely, it was healing, and the time was near when she would be able to +walk. Shoes were absolutely essential for her. Furthermore, Lawrence's +own shoes were worn through, and his walking was becoming a continual +pain. In spite of Claire's increasingly careful guidance, he stepped on +small, sharp rocks that dug into his flesh. He did not complain, but +Claire knew that he was suffering. The times when he stepped out freely +became more and more seldom, and his face was usually taut.</p> + +<p>They were, indeed, a pitiable couple. Lawrence's thin face was shaggy +with hair. Claire's once soft skin was now brown and hard. Both were +thin and wiry, with the gaunt lines of the undernourished showing +plainly.</p> + +<p>One morning, to fight the frost that bit into them, they were forced to +build a fire long before dawn. As they sat huddled together over it, +Lawrence finally broached the subject that had been engrossing both +their minds for days.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said thoughtfully, "we can't make it through. We'll have to +find a place somewhere and prepare for winter. It's tough, but it's +inevitable. I hate to give up now, but it will be even worse for us if +we don't get meat, fur, and a house against the snow that will soon be +covering everything."</p> + +<p>"I know," she said sadly, her thin hands supporting her chin. "It seems +as though we had played our long farce to its end. Death is as +inexorable in its demands as life." The circles under her eyes were +great half-moons.</p> + +<p>"We have done well, though," he argued. "We've done better than well. +Who would have believed that a blind man and a crippled woman could have +come as far as this?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't believe it, Lawrence," she said, and her voice and eyes were +full of a warmth that had grown of late to be fairly constant. "I +didn't believe it, and I wouldn't believe it now if I were told the +story back home."</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure; I might have," Lawrence said proudly. "I know the blind +and their capabilities."</p> + +<p>"I'm learning to know them," she admitted, and lapsed into silence.</p> + +<p>"Shall we go into camp, then," he asked, as if they had not mentioned +anything else.</p> + +<p>Claire hesitated, then said slowly: "It's our only chance. Are you +willing to spend a winter with me?" Her eyes glanced amusedly at him.</p> + +<p>Catching the note in her voice, Lawrence laughed. "It seems inevitable," +he said, "and, anyway, I couldn't ask for a better companion. You don't +disturb me, and I don't irritate you—that is, not especially."</p> + +<p>She looked at him impatiently. "Don't you?" she said, meditatively. +"Well, I'm glad I don't bother you."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he assented seriously. "You've been mighty open-minded, Claire, +and you haven't hampered me with incredulities."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is what you mean."</p> + +<p>He moved uneasily, his muscles drawing a little. Claire saw and +wondered.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Lawrence said shortly. "When morning comes, we'll hunt for a +location."</p> + +<p>They ceased speaking, each occupied with his own thoughts.</p> + +<p>Claire was asking herself what the winter would mean to her, spent with +this silent man, and he was questioning how long she would continue to +regard him as a mere imperfect carrier, devoid of the stuff that men are +made of. Sometimes when her body was in his arms, he had wondered if she +was capable of love, but always he had remembered her husband, her +social life, her assumption of superior reserve, and had forced himself +into a habitual attitude of indifference. The strain was telling on his +will, however, and often he longed to make this woman see him as he was. +He thought of the old days in his studio when he had proved himself +master of blindness in his power to imagine and carry the sense of form +into the carved stone. He recalled the praise of his comrades, and over +all else there surged in him the swift, warm blood of the artist.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>"Lawrence," said Claire suddenly, "at what do you value human life?"</p> + +<p>"That depends," he answered, "on whose life it is."</p> + +<p>"Well, at what would you value mine?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"From varying points of view, at varying prices. From your husband's +point of view, it is invaluable. From your own, it is worth more than +anything else. From my point of view, it is worth as much as my own, +since without you mine ceases."</p> + +<p>"Then your care of me and all your trouble is merely because you value +your own life."</p> + +<p>"What else?" He moved uneasily.</p> + +<p>She ignored that question. "If you could get through without me, would +you do it?"</p> + +<p>"That depends on circumstances. If I could get through without you, and +do it quickly, and could not get through with you"—he paused—"I should +leave you behind."</p> + +<p>"And suppose, when I can walk, I do that myself?"</p> + +<p>He smiled. "As you please," he said quietly. "I advise you to make your +estimate well, however. My hands and strength are assets which you might +have trouble in doing without."</p> + +<p>"And do you estimate the whole of our relationship on a carefully +itemized basis of material gain and loss?"</p> + +<p>"Claire, isn't that your understanding, stated by yourself, of our +partnership?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but—well, it's hard to estimate human companionship."</p> + +<p>"I know it." He shifted nearer the fire. "I've tried to estimate yours."</p> + +<p>"Indeed?" Her voice was full of interest.</p> + +<p>"I've failed. You are worth a great deal, potentially."</p> + +<p>"Exactly what do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean just this"—he stood up suddenly and faced her, his shadow +covering her like an ominous cloud—"that as Mrs. Claire Barkley you are +worth nothing to me except eyes, and, therefore, your personality and +conversation are of value only as time-fillers."</p> + +<p>"Go on," she said steadily.</p> + +<p>"But as Claire, the almost starved, ragged human being who is living +with me through a prolonged war with death, you are worth everything to +me—everything that I value."</p> + +<p>"But isn't that what I have been from the beginning?" she flashed.</p> + +<p>He answered slowly. "Yes—in a way."</p> + +<p>Once more they lapsed into silence. In turn she tried to estimate his +worth to her, but failed. She began to recall the men she knew, and +concluded that she was without a standard of measurement. One by one she +pictured them and cast them aside, as somehow not the scale by which to +evaluate this man. At last, she began to think of her husband. It had +not occurred to her to think of him in comparison with Lawrence before, +and it made her wonder at her doing so now.</p> + +<p>She fell to dreaming of the man who had been her lover in girlhood, and +her husband and dear companion these past six years. He was surely at +home, aching, yearning for the little girl he had lost. She could see +him sitting before the fireplace in their big living-room, his head on +his hands, his tired face in repose, while he gazed into the flames and +longed and longed for her. The picture grew in clearness. She saw the +joy that would be his when they met again, and she felt around her those +dear arms, crushing her against him in a rapture of reunion. In sudden +contrast, she was again conscious of the cold, impersonal arms of the +man beside her. As she thought of the difference she hated Lawrence +wildly. At least, her husband knew her worth. He knew her golden +treasure-house of love; he knew her as she was.</p> + +<p>This blind man before her there, unkempt, hard, expressionless, what did +he know of her? What could he know, born of poor people, and working his +way among inferiors? She almost laughed aloud. Why, at home this man, +who had carried her in his arms, would have been one of her wards, an +object of her charities. But would he? Lawrence was an artist. She +considered that.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it light enough to get moving, Claire?" His rich, warm tones +broke in upon her thought like a shattering cataract. How musical and +vibrant his voice was!</p> + +<p>"I think so." She stood up unsteadily.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>"Good. We'd better go down nearer the river. We will want a sheltered +ravine for our winter camp."</p> + +<p>"Very well." She threw her arm over his shoulder. "It isn't far down, +and it's clear going. When we start again, I'll be able to walk. And +then I'll lead you, Mr. Lawrence." She spoke half in jest.</p> + +<p>"And if we are alive, I shall make it possible for you to do so +comfortably. I hope for something to make shoes of." He answered with a +frank, sincere joy at her being able to walk, and she was ashamed of her +anger. He was not to blame for being anxious to have her well, to have +felt otherwise would certainly have been to be a fool indeed. She should +rejoice with him, for then they could get home that much sooner, home to +her husband and her old life. She warmed at the idea, and felt a sense +of gratitude toward Lawrence that was good and wholesome. "I have been +silly," she thought. "He is really not to be expected to fall and adore +me, and certainly I ought not to blame him for being blind. He couldn't +help that, either."</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she said aloud, "I am a beastly unjust wretch."</p> + +<p>"I don't see it," he protested.</p> + +<p>"But you ought to see it. I don't play fair with you."</p> + +<p>"You said that once before, I believe. I don't agree any more now that I +did then."</p> + +<p>"But I think all sorts of beastly things." She could not understand her +frankness.</p> + +<p>"Oh"—he paused. "So do I. But as I am not a Puritan, I scarcely hold +myself responsible to you for my thoughts. One's thoughts are his own, +and, as long as he keeps them to himself, he is entitled to as many as +he pleases, of whatever variety he prefers."</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, and so do you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did—but it seemed to me," she faltered, "that in the present +case—oh, well, let it go." She laughed nervously, and said no more.</p> + +<p>Lawrence wondered at her silence, and wanted to know very much what she +thought, but he told himself that after all it was none of his +business.</p> + +<p>They had reached the river. The water rushed from the mouth of a gorge +in rapids that sent its every drop sparkling and flashing over a great +rock into a mass of white foam below.</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Claire, "it's beautiful, beautiful!"</p> + +<p>He put her down and laughed. "It sounds as if it were leaping from +points of light into cloud-banked foam."</p> + +<p>She stared at him in amazement. "It is," she said in a subdued tone. +"How did you know?"</p> + +<p>"One learns," he said carelessly. "And how about a camp?"</p> + +<p>Her admiration of him vanished into the commonplace.</p> + +<p>"We can't find it here," she said, hiding her appreciation of the scene +under her professional-guide tone.</p> + +<p>He frowned. "Nowhere close?"</p> + +<p>"No. And what is worse, we'll have to go over a mountain. The stream +here is rushing right out from between cliff walls."</p> + +<p>Lawrence's spirit sank, but he did not show it. "We'd better eat what +little we have left and then be off," he suggested simply.</p> + +<p>That morning was the beginning of their hardest experience since they +first left the beach. Scarcely had they started to climb over the great +ridge, which broke into sheer precipice at the river, when a sharp wind +rose and cut through their unprotected bodies. Claire drew in against +him as close as she could, while he tried to give her more protection +with his arms. The slope was steep and filled with loose rocks so that +he lost ground at every step. They were forced to stop often, and by +noon he was worn out, and they were both bitterly cold. Claire thought +they were near the top, so Lawrence nerved himself to press on.</p> + +<p>Night found them standing on the crest of the ridge, in the face of a +bitter wind; before them, across a small plateau, rose a still higher +mountain around the northern side of which a ravine cut its jagged gash +away from the river. Claire stared at the scene until her courage broke +down.</p> + +<p>"We can never do it, Lawrence," she moaned, and her head sank wearily +against his shoulder. Her cry was the aching moan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> of a heart-broken +child. The proud, self-contained Claire was gone. It stirred Lawrence +strangely, and for the first time a warm tenderness for her came over +him. He drew her to him, and tried to comfort her. Her poor +undernourished body shook with the sobs that despair and the cold wrung +from her, and, though his own hands and body were blue, he tried to warm +her. Had he seen the ground ahead of them, he, too, might have given up, +but blindness was the barring wall of black which shut out even defeat. +He clenched his teeth firmly, and lifted Claire in his arms again +resolutely.</p> + +<p>"We've got to do it, Claire," he said, "and we will."</p> + +<p>She attempted to paint the scene before him in graphic detail, her words +broken by sobs. When she finished he started forward.</p> + +<p>"We'll follow the gulf," he stated. "We must keep going, Claire. We +don't dare to stop."</p> + +<p>"We can't. It's dark, and will be black soon," she answered.</p> + +<p>"We've got to do it," Lawrence repeated. "It isn't the first night of my +life I've struggled against a black so dense its nothingness seemed +overpowering."</p> + +<p>She strained her eyes through the gathering night to turn him into the +smoothest way, lapsing into jerky, habitual words of guidance.</p> + +<p>In the darkness they entered the ravine and staggered down to its broken +bottom. The time soon came when she could see hardly anything until they +were almost upon it, and the white face of a boulder spotting the +endless black before her filled her with a vague dread. Often they +paused to rest, but the cold drove them on again. Claire almost ceased +to direct him, and Lawrence gritted his teeth till they hurt him and +forged ahead.</p> + +<p>Once he slipped and fell, but got to his feet again and went on. Claire +was not injured beyond a few bruises, but she noticed that he limped +more than before and her fear increased.</p> + +<p>How they ever fought that night through neither knew, but morning came +at last and found them still staggering down the ravine. They were +almost out of it now and were entering a rather heavy pine forest. +Fortunately the gulf they followed had turned around the mountain in the +direction of the river, and their desire for water drove them to keep +on. To their blue and shaking bodies all feeling had grown vague, +tingling, and uncertain. When Claire looked at Lawrence she could have +screamed. His lips were drawn back, and his hairy cheeks and sightless +eyes flashed before her the image of a dehumanized death mask. Her own +face must look like that, she thought, and buried her head on his +shoulder. Through that morning he struggled on, faltering, lurching, +resting a little, girding himself against the death now so surely at +hand. In his mind thought had ceased to be coherent; his starved body, +whipped by the cold, was beginning to play with the imagery.</p> + +<p>He gurgled a grim little laugh, and all clear thought was at an end. +Claire heard and looked at him wonderingly. She knew that she was +freezing, and she had resigned herself, but this man, what was he doing? +He still lunged through the trees, where, at all events it seemed a +little warmer. She heard him muttering incoherent jargon that gradually +cleared to speech. "We'll go on, Claire. We'll go on to the end. I've +got to do it. I need my life. I need you!"</p> + +<p>She started and listened, though even in her present state she grew +resentful. "So that was it," she thought; "he's waiting to get me out +before he breaks into his love. He wants his rescue as an argument." +Then her thinking was broken into detached images. She saw her husband +and cried aloud to him. She had pictures flashing in her mind of him, of +old scenes, parties, places they had been together, tenements she had +visited in her charity work, the beach that morning when Lawrence had +found her, and in and through it all she heard words falling from his +lips that recalled later, stung her to wrath.</p> + +<p>"I need you, Claire," she heard him again, and then, "I shall use you, +Claire. You will be my masterpiece. It is you, proud, superior, human, +social, intellectual, sexed, vital, you, carrying in your being the +whole tumultuous riot of the ages gone, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> hiding it under a guarded +social exterior, not knowing when in a sentence it breaks through, you, +you, Claire, you, the woman!"</p> + +<p>He stumbled, regained his balance, and plunged through a fringe of +pines, staggered against one, then another, cursed, and went again +forward and out into a clearing. She saw it vaguely before them. At +first she doubted, then, as he let his hold on her slip, she gripped his +neck with arms that scarcely felt the body they closed around.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she screamed in a voice that was shrill—"Lawrence, a cabin, +a cabin!"</p> + +<p>He sank down with her clinging to him still. "I know," he muttered, +"I've got to find one." Then he lay quiet.</p> + +<p>She freed herself and crept toward the house. She was at the back of it, +and she was obliged to crawl slowly on hands and knees around to the +front. There was a door, she pushed on it, but it did not open. She grew +angry at it, and beat against it with her fists, abusing it for its +obstinacy. When at last it opened she laughed wildly.</p> + +<p>Before her, his tall body, clad in warm, heavy clothes, stood a man +whose dark eyes grew wet with tears of pity the instant they saw her. He +lifted her in his arms like a child and carried her inside. She had a +fleeting sense of being at home, she thought he was her husband and +threw her arms around him passionately, then, remembering Lawrence, she +murmured as he laid her down, "Out there—behind the cabin!" and was +unconscious.</p> + +<p>The man turned and hurried out. In a few minutes he came back, carrying +Lawrence, and his face was lined with pity at the state of these two +human beings.</p> + +<p>He laid them together on a wide berth at the side of the cabin and began +to work over them alternately. Swiftly and deftly he heated blankets and +prepared food. He wound them in the hot cloth, chafed their hands and +arms, and forced brandy down their throats.</p> + +<p>Lawrence's eyelids drew back.</p> + +<p>"The man is blind," muttered the stranger in Spanish.</p> + +<p>Claire was looking at him dazedly and reaching greedily toward the +kettle that simmered over a great open fireplace.</p> + +<p>He brought a bowl of hot savory soup and started feeding them. Lawrence +swallowed mechanically, but he could hardly get the spoon out of +Claire's mouth.</p> + +<p>"Not too much, <i>señora</i>," he said, turning away.</p> + +<p>When he looked again toward them they were both asleep. The utter +exhaustion of their long night claimed rest. He walked over to Claire +and stood looking down at her.</p> + +<p>"She was beautiful," he thought. "And he is blind. Ah, well, for her, +beauty is again possible, but for him"—he shrugged his shoulders—"it +is bad, bad!" he said softly, and, turning to a shelf of books that +stood against the wall, he drew out a volume and sat down before the +fire to read.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE STONE THREAT.</h3> + + +<p>When Claire awoke she stared around her for a few minutes before the +events of their frantic struggle came back to her. Her eyes strayed to +the figure before the fireplace. Idly she noted the lustrous, wavy black +hair and deep brown eyes protected by unusually heavy lashes. It was +clearly the face of a thinker, a dreamer, yet there was something +sensual about the mouth, potentially voluptuous, abandoned, and +suggestive of tremendous passion that slumbered close beneath the brain +that was so actively awake. Claire ached, and her body tingled with the +unaccustomed warmth. She lay quiet, looking at the fire, her mind still +uncertain in its action, weaving sharp, dynamic images about this new +personality. While his appearance gripped and awed her strangely, at the +same time she felt drawn to him. She turned and threw out her hand. Her +host closed his book and looked up, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Ah, <i>la señora se siente mejor</i>?" His deep, rich voice, although +lighter than Lawrence's, was full of music, but she did not understand +his words. Her blank expression told him, and he smiled again.</p> + +<p>"I remember, you spoke English," he said with only the slightest accent. +"Are you better, <i>madame</i>?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>She answered his warm smile and said weakly: "Much better, thank you!"</p> + +<p>"And your husband?" Claire saw that he was looking beyond her, and she +turned to find Lawrence at her side. Instinctively she resented his +being there. The warm blood rushed to her face.</p> + +<p>"He—oh—he will be all right, I trust!" she stammered falteringly, and +her host looked puzzled. Her impulse was to tell him that Lawrence was +not her husband, but she thought better of it and said nothing about the +relationship.</p> + +<p>"He had a long, desperate struggle to bring me here," she said instead. +"You see, I broke my ankle and he had to carry me."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" The man rose, his face filled with respect as he looked at +Lawrence asleep beside her.</p> + +<p>"From where did he carry you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"From the coast," she shuddered. "It has been terrible!"</p> + +<p>His face expressed utter amazement as he repeated: "From the coast? It +is a miracle!"</p> + +<p>She made no reply, for Lawrence stirred and tried to sit up.</p> + +<p>"You'd better lie still," the stranger said kindly. "You deserve rest, +my friend." Then, as to himself, he added: "It is the first miracle in +which I can believe."</p> + +<p>Claire stared at him, and he laughed softly. "Pardon, <i>madame</i>! I am an +unhappy seeker after truth," he apologized, throwing a log on the fire.</p> + +<p>For Lawrence and Claire the days that followed were uneventful days of +recovery from their hardship. Slowly both of them grew stronger and +resumed their normal habits of thought and speech. Their host was a +gentle nurse, kindly and considerate. Claire assumed her wonted attitude +of the cultured woman, a guest in the house of a friend, and the +Spaniard met her with the polished courtesy of a cosmopolitan. Lawrence, +too, became the usual man that he was, careless of little niceties, +indifferent to form, but a charming companion and a delightful guest.</p> + +<p>From the first he and Philip became intensely interested in each other. +They discovered early that each was a thinker and a searcher in his own +way for the one great solution of life.</p> + +<p>During the first half-hour Claire had demanded of their rescuer where +they were and how soon they could get back to civilization. Philip had +laughed gently.</p> + +<p>"You are on the borders of Bolivia," he told her, "and the nearest +railroad is two hundred miles away. It is impossible to get out until +spring. Long ere this snow will have barred the way through the one pass +that leads out and we are prisoners—the three of us. You will have to +accept the hospitality of Philip Ortez until the spring."</p> + +<p>Lawrence had accepted the verdict with calm indifference.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," he said, "it's hard on you, but as far as I'm concerned, one +place is as good as another."</p> + +<p>"I shall enjoy your company," their host laughed.</p> + +<p>After voicing polite thanks, Claire, in her own thought, had rebelled +against the situation vehemently. She wanted to get home, she wanted to +get away from everything that suggested her last weeks of suffering, she +wanted to get away from these men. Her heart leaped to the +ever-recurring dream of the husband, whose arms should take her up and +hold her warmly against the memory of their separation.</p> + +<p>"Then there is no way out?" she asked again.</p> + +<p>"None, <i>madame</i>," and Philip Ortez bowed. "You will have to be the guest +of a humble mountaineer."</p> + +<p>"I shall enjoy it, I am sure," she answered. "It is simply a woman's +natural desire for home which leads me to ask again."</p> + +<p>His eyes clouded. Claire somehow found herself fancying a tragic mystery +in the life of this man, and then rebuked herself for romancing. +Certainly, such fancies were not her habit, and she wondered why they +were occurring to her.</p> + +<p>The cabin stood on the very edge of the forest through which Lawrence +had carried Claire the last morning of their long march. Protected by +its pines, the little house fronted on a small lake, a place where the +river which they had followed widened to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> half-mile, and stayed thus +with scarcely any current save directly through the center. All around +the lake the forest stretched its massed green, and here Philip trapped. +The lake, in its turn, provided him with fish.</p> + +<p>The week after their arrival snow had heaped itself into the ravine and +piled up high around the cabin. Ice was beginning to form on the edge of +the lake, and their host was preparing for his winter's work. They were +too weak to go with him, and he left them in possession of the cabin.</p> + +<p>At first there had been an unaccountable awkwardness between Lawrence +and Claire, and it had left a reserve which was difficult to overcome. +Lawrence had explained their situation to Philip; the Spaniard had been +apologetically gracious, but there was something in Claire's nature that +made her wish that Lawrence had never been thought of as her husband. +Dressed in Philip's clothes, and in the presence of a roof and fire, she +felt a desire to be free from the memory of the days when she had clung +about Lawrence's neck, and, above all, she felt that she was not able to +meet him with understanding. His blindness in these surroundings seemed +to set a sudden and impassable barrier between them, and made her ill at +ease when she was alone with him.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was irritated that she should so immediately react into what he +called the old conventional habit toward blind people, and keep it +standing like a stupid but solid wall between all their talk. Now that +she was no longer dependent on him, she appeared to him more attractive. +He thought of her husband, and wondered if Claire's attitude toward +himself was tempered with the thought of the man at home. "Surely," he +told himself, "she can't be allowing that to come between us, for it is +so obviously quite unnecessary." Then he began to wonder how much of her +life was centered about her husband. What sort of man was he, and did +she love him devotedly? As he thought, there crept into his feeling a +sense of irritation against the unknown man who was obstructing his +friendship with the woman he had carried half through the Andes +Mountains.</p> + +<p>Then the longing for his work came over him, and there were times when +he felt he must do something. He spoke needlessly sharp words to +Claire. Though she concealed her anger, there grew between them a +continuous straining born out of mutual misunderstanding and a great +submerged tangle of emotions.</p> + +<p>One morning when Ortez in snow-shoes and fur had gone for the day to +look after his traps, Claire washed up the tin dishes they used, and sat +down before the fire opposite Lawrence. His head was in his hands and +his face was somber.</p> + +<p>"You look sad this morning," she said casually.</p> + +<p>"Do I?" he answered. "I'm not—especially. I was just planning a piece +of work, dreaming it out in outline."</p> + +<p>She looked at him thoughtfully. His forehead was high and broad, she +thought, and his hands— Their days in the wilderness rushed back over +her. She was angry at the memories they brought her, and doubly angry at +Lawrence, as if he only were responsible.</p> + +<p>"It's inconceivable," she said calmly, "that you, without seeing, can +really carve anything true to form and line." In her voice was +incredulity and unbelief.</p> + +<p>He rose suddenly, his face white, and said, with an intensity that +startled her: "That sentiment is as familiar to me as my name. I have +heard it from sight-bigoted people from the days when I made my first +attempt to go back to my school work. I am rather weary of it."</p> + +<p>She sat staring at him for a moment, then she laughed. She could not +have told why she did it, and she was instantly sorry. The blood rushed +to his face.</p> + +<p>"I shall create that which will forever assure you that I can carve true +to the most familiar form and line you know," he said fiercely.</p> + +<p>Her face was as crimson as his now, though she felt ice cold.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice unsteady.</p> + +<p>He laughed bitterly. In his own heart a fierce volcanic surge was raging +which he did not attempt to control.</p> + +<p>"Do you think that I, trained as I am to gather fact from touch, could +carry you through weeks of hell in my arms, against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> my breast, and not +know you, you as you are, Claire Barkley? I shall carve you, you with +your cold reserve suppressing the emotional chaos within you, and you +will not fail to recognize yourself."</p> + +<p>Claire gripped the chair arms. Anger, fear, doubt, then the knowledge +that he could do as he said, swept over her in rapidly succeeding waves, +and gathered at last into a steel hate that she felt must last through +eternity.</p> + +<p>"You, you would do that, after I guided you here! You would take +advantage of what I could not help, and—and—" she choked, and then +said swiftly—"so, under your indifferent exterior you used your touch +that way these days! Oh, you—you beast!"</p> + +<p>Lawrence laughed coolly. "I could no more help it than I can avoid being +here."</p> + +<p>"Lies!" she exclaimed. "A gentleman could help it!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, but not an artist."</p> + +<p>"And what of beauty, of your boasted purity of art, is there in that?"</p> + +<p>"All," he said calmly. "If you knew, oh, if I could make you see what +every artist knows"—he was talking passionately now, his face illumined +in spite of his blind eyes—"you would realize, that I could not help +it, that I glory in it, and that it was and is the way of art."</p> + +<p>He rose and walked the floor, pouring out his creed in a stream of +burning words. "I am a machine, a sensitive thing that registers what it +feels and knows, that is all. You touch me, my brain registers that +touch, and something in me, the will to live, the desire to create, the +insistent shout for expression says, 'Take that and carve it in stone.' +If I could see, if I were not blind, I would have been a painter. I +would have painted you, almost naked as you were, your eyes filled with +the hunger for life, your face tense with racing thoughts, I would have +painted you fully, all of you, as you were in night-gown and skirt there +in that forest, and you would have shouted to all the world from my +canvas, 'Look at me, I am the primitive, the wild, the passionate, the +tender, the selfish and unselfish living woman. See me as I am, +cultured, refined, educated, elemental withal, and the emblem of +humanity as it is, still stained with the traditional mud of +superstition and blood that marks its origin. Oh, I would have painted +you so, and now I shall carve you so!"</p> + +<p>He stopped, and Claire looked at him wildly, her eyes aflame with hate +and admiration.</p> + +<p>"You would use another human being that way?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"I would use any one, I would, I will, at any cost to them, to me, if +the outcome be a piece of art, a work that in its truth, its immortal +beauty, shall stand a lasting testimony that I, Lawrence Gordon, have +mastered blindness and registered life correctly."</p> + +<p>A great light swept over her mind; that was the key to him. He would +sacrifice himself to conquer blindness—but would he, she wondered, and +instantly her thought found expression.</p> + +<p>"Would you crush yourself to create that mastery of blindness?"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "I have, I am doing it," he said. "I would go through all +the torment of the world if I might create something lasting, true, and +beautiful."</p> + +<p>Claire leaned forward, her lips apart, her eyes bright. That she hated +this man she was sure, yet all her woman's soul was awed by what she now +saw behind his mask of blindness. Then a new thought came to her.</p> + +<p>"Might it not be," she asked subtly, "if you hold suffering to be the +key to beauty that you would profit more at last by denying the impulse +to create the thing you are planning?"</p> + +<p>He laughed again. "I hold that pain is only the spur to progress. I care +nothing for the sentimentalism you are talking now. I carried you +through the wilderness, I suffered and bore it, I staggered through +nights and days with your warm body against mine that I might live, and +now—now I know the value of life, I understand as never before the pain +our fathers paid. I know the bitter animal war against environment, +evolution whipped into action by pain, hunger, fear of death, and I +shall carve that, all that, into the statue of one woman."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>"And what of me, me and you as such, Claire and Lawrence, who were there +through that struggle in the wilderness?" The speech leaped from +somewhere in her being before she knew it, and with it came knowledge +that stung her into tearful self-hate.</p> + +<p>"We shall go back to our old lives, I suppose, and live them out."</p> + +<p>It was what she had expected him to say, yet the calm matter-of-fact +statement hurt her as nothing he had ever said before.</p> + +<p>Lawrence dropped into the arm-chair again, and rested his head on his +hand. He was calmer now, and, reviewing in his mind what he had said, he +was beginning to ask himself why had he given way to this sudden +resentment against Claire. If she doubted him because he was blind, was +that any more than others had done? He had never burst out against them. +What was the matter with him? He surveyed the whole trend of his life up +to this minute: how he had broken at late adolescence from a glowing +idealist to a wanderer through varying paths of thought; always stirred, +stimulated, and swept on by contact with other people, books he had +read, women for whom he had occasional fancies of love, until gradually +he settled into his assured manner. It was exercise he needed, that and +work.</p> + +<p>He asked himself if he seriously loved Claire, and answered +unequivocally that he did not. He wanted her friendship very much, +indeed, but love, not at all. If she had been single, perhaps—but no, +he did not care about her that way, that was all. He had been too long +shut up here in the cabin with her and without work. He must get some +wood and amuse himself carving things with Ortez's knife; it would be +good practise, and, at the same time, relieve his nerves. He was sorry +he had let himself go; Claire must not be hurt.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said quietly, "if I wounded you, if I said things I ought +not, pardon me! I am getting nervous doing nothing, and I am not myself +these days."</p> + +<p>She laughed calmly. "Oh, very well!" she said. "I wonder that we don't +come to blows, cooped up here as we are. I think next time Philip makes +his rounds I'll go with him."</p> + +<p>"It would be a good thing," answered Lawrence. "I'd like it myself."</p> + +<p>Claire did not keep up the talk. She, too, was thinking fast, and facing +new problems that demanded her attention. She was surprised to find that +her resentment toward Lawrence was completely gone. What would her +husband think of him? What would he do when she returned, when she told +him of her journey with this blind man through weeks and weeks of +wilderness when they were almost naked. She stopped, that was what +Lawrence had said, 'almost naked.' Her flesh tingled as she saw the +picture which he said he would like to paint of her.</p> + +<p>What would she, Claire Barkley, do if such a picture were painted? She +buried her face deep in her hands, but in her heart she knew that she +would respect the man who painted it. And if Lawrence carved her so in +stone, and did it as he thought he could—she pondered over that for +some time.</p> + +<p>"I think," she said aloud, and Lawrence raised his head, "that if I were +to stay shut up here alone as Philip does, I should go crazy before +spring."</p> + +<p>"It all depends on how your mind is occupied," he laughed.</p> + +<p>She blushed guiltily, and was glad he could not see her face.</p> + +<p class="continue" style="margin-top: 1.25em;"><b>TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.</b> Don't forget this magazine +is issued weekly, and that you will get the +continuation of this story without waiting a month.</p> + +<p class="continue" style="margin-top: 1.75em; font-weight: bold; font-size: 120%;">WHAT LIBERTY BONDS MEAN</p> + +<p class="continue" style="font-weight: bold;">PATRIOTISM, VICTORY, THE SOUNDEST INVESTMENT IN THE +WORLD, A PERFECT MEANS OF SAVING</p> + +<p class="continue" style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 120%;">BUY ALL YOU CAN</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1><a name="Part_II" id="Part_II"></a>Claire</h1> + +<h2><i>by</i><br />Leslie Burton Blades</h2> + +<h3>THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO<br /> +<i>BY A BLIND AUTHOR</i></h3> + + +<p class="center">This story began in the All-Story Weekly for October 5.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498">[Pg 498]</a></span></p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">PLAYING WITH FIRE.</h3> + + +<p>In the late afternoon, Philip returned to find Lawrence still sitting +before the fire, his mind centered on ideas for his future work. Claire +had disappeared behind the canvas curtain which was stretched before her +bed.</p> + +<p>"It is almost Christmas," announced Philip, as he entered.</p> + +<p>Lawrence straightened up. "Back again?" he said, carelessly. "It's been +a beastly day."</p> + +<p>Claire came out from her partition, laughing. "If you don't take one of +us with you next time," she said, "I won't answer for the tragedy that +may follow."</p> + +<p>Philip laughed, and shook the snow from his big coat.</p> + +<p>"Too much of your own continuous company?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes"—her tone was light, but he saw that she was in earnest—"we are +so accustomed to each other that we both need a rest." She drew up a +chair for Philip before the fire.</p> + +<p>His dark eyes looked searchingly at her.</p> + +<p>"If you knew the path to peace," he said, "you would be happier. I see +that I must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[Pg 499]</a></span> take you out with me and teach you the hidden entrance to +that mystic roadway."</p> + +<p>"You know one, then?" Lawrence's voice was amusedly skeptical.</p> + +<p>"It lies through the heart of man into the heart of"—Philip +paused—"shall I say God?"</p> + +<p>"You may as well, though it isn't especially clear." Lawrence smiled. +"God is a big, but vague, term."</p> + +<p>"I find it so," Philip answered, seriously. "There are days, however, +and this was one of them, when I am sure of the meaning of that term. +Claire must go forth with me and see."</p> + +<p>"Yes, do let me go," she said, eagerly. Then, with a little laugh: "If +your mystery out there is as discomforting as the Lawrence mystery in +here, I sha'n't worship him, however."</p> + +<p>"He isn't." Philip arose and crossed to his books. "He is the mighty God +who speaks in solitude." He drew down a volume, and returned to his +chair.</p> + +<p>"I find here in these mountains the medicine that <i>Hamlet</i> should have +had. He would have been no <i>Hamlet</i> had he ranged this plateau for a day +in winter."</p> + +<p>"And the world would be the loser," Lawrence interposed.</p> + +<p>Claire rose and started to prepare their evening meal. She had taken +over the duties of housekeeping from the time her ankle had allowed her +to walk.</p> + +<p>"If you two are going to plunge the house into an argument such as that +one promises to be," she said gaily, "I am going to reenforce the inner +man so that at least you won't suffer from physical exhaustion."</p> + +<p>Both men laughed, and one of them listened to her thoughtfully as she +moved about, while the other watched her, his dark eyes full of a keen +appreciation of her grace and her concise, accurate movements.</p> + +<p>"How good it is to have her here," thought Philip. Aloud, he said, +seriously: "I do not think the world gains enough from <i>Hamlet</i> to make +it worth the price he paid."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" Lawrence was quick to respond. "Whatever his agony, whatever +his failures and his death, he left the world a picture of man's heroic +struggles to solve the riddle of the universe, his wisdom, his +strength—and his weakness."</p> + +<p>"But that is just what we don't want—the picture of man's weakness. It +is made all the worse when it is presented with the power of a sublime +work."</p> + +<p>Claire turned from the stove, and looked at Philip. His eyes were +burning with a deep, earnest fire that held her fascinated. She thought +him the most beautiful of all the men she knew. It was not his face, not +his appearance generally, but his eyes. Oh, the loss of such eyes! she +thought—yes, they are what makes him a finer man than Lawrence. Why +hasn't Lawrence such eyes?</p> + +<p>"Believe me, friend," Philip was speaking again, "if I could erase from +my knowledge the weakness of man, I would not need to trail my feet +through these snow-buried forests to find an hour's rest from life."</p> + +<p>Claire saw his fingers move nervously on the arms of his chair, and +thought: "That is it, then; I was right; he has his tragedy." She looked +at him again, and as she met his eyes she felt that she was sorrier for +him than she had ever been for Lawrence. Yes, she was sorrier for this +man whose soul burned out of his eyes than for that other whose soul was +always curtained by the expressionless mask that hid him.</p> + +<p>"I can't quite agree with you," Lawrence was saying; "I, too, know the +weakness of man, but there is, nevertheless, the glory of sublime beauty +which alone stands, immortal. I should indeed mourn for man if he were +unable to be truly immortal even in his created work. That, it seems to +me, saves him."</p> + +<p>"Or loses him," Philip added. "One golden life of unbroken sunshine, +dead at last and laid away in the memory of friends is worth more than +your greatest poem."</p> + +<p>"I should call that sentimentality," Lawrence laughed.</p> + +<p>"So it is," Philip flashed, "and why not? Must we kill sentiment and go +about with hearts of ice because our world is hard?"</p> + +<p>"Is there no way to keep ourselves warm without poultices?" retorted +Lawrence.</p> + +<p>Claire sat down at the table. "Come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[Pg 500]</a></span> on and enjoy your venison, you two, +and have done with the ills of the universe."</p> + +<p>The two men joined her. It was a strange trio: Claire, a dashing boy in +Philip's made-over corduroys; Lawrence wearing his host's summer serge +as though it were his own, and Philip looking at them, amusedly.</p> + +<p>"I never quite recover from the charm of you in male attire," Ortez +remarked, looking into her face.</p> + +<p>"I've tried at times since our fortunate misfortune to imagine her in +evening gowns and furs," said Lawrence; "but I always fail and end by +getting her into some sort of barbaric costume belonging to the distant +past."</p> + +<p>"You are both flattering and both foolish," she told them. "It's my +business to look well in clothes, you know, and it's masculine to admit +my efficiency in a particularly feminine line."</p> + +<p>"You were scarcely fascinatingly efficient in the garb in which you +first appeared to me." Philip laughed at the recollection.</p> + +<p>"That isn't fair. I would have been if I had had enough to eat."</p> + +<p>She looked at him, and her eyes sparkled gaily.</p> + +<p>"I surrender," he said. "You would have been. Too fascinating!"</p> + +<p>"That also depends on circumstances," said Lawrence. "She wouldn't be +fascinatingly efficient in that back-to-nature garb if she were doing +charity work at home or if she were taking a trip in an airplane."</p> + +<p>"You carry your point," she agreed. "I shouldn't care to try."</p> + +<p>"Which leads me," Lawrence went on, "to observe that our friend, +Shakespeare, was, after all, right in bequeathing <i>Hamlet</i> to us. He +might not look well in our own castle, but as a portrait viewed in our +neighbor's house, or in a house unspecified, he is the high point of +subjective tragedy."</p> + +<p>Ortez did not answer for a moment, then he said, quietly: "I had rather +lose my winter's work than lost <i>Hamlet</i> from my memory, yet when I +think of what there is in life for a man, did he not have <i>Hamlet's</i> +doubt to face, I think perhaps we would all be better off for no +knowledge of that subjective war. Man has too much to do to lift himself +out of the still clinging primordial slough to dally with +subjectiveness. We should be acting, aggressive, strident in the +strength of the war we wage toward freedom."</p> + +<p>"Of course," agreed Lawrence, "but that requires only one thing, the +master passion to do, because for us, doing is life. I cannot regret +<i>Hamlet's</i> hesitating failure. It was his life. To every man there is +but one way, his way, and whether it be failure or success does not +depend upon an avenged wrong, a successful marriage, or even a great +work done for humanity. The test is, is his life worth the price he pays +to live it? I imagine <i>Hamlet's</i> was."</p> + +<p>"Fallacies!" interrupted Claire. "Why, then, the tragedy?"</p> + +<p>"Because <i>Hamlet</i> did not know that the governing laws to which he +strove to hold himself were not laws, not true, not necessary."</p> + +<p>"You mean," Ortez inquired, "that he was not bound to avenge his father +and punish his mother?"</p> + +<p>"I mean just that. Why should he? She was satisfied, his father was +dead, and <i>Hamlet</i> gained nothing by his moral strutting and raving +against his own hesitating hand."</p> + +<p>"But you have swept aside all moral law," protested Philip.</p> + +<p>"What moral law is there that is external to me? What, indeed, is moral +law?"</p> + +<p>"That which makes for life, perhaps, as some one has said," offered +Claire.</p> + +<p>"For my life, yes. That which to me means life, is good. That which to +me means less life, is bad."</p> + +<p>"Yet you carried Claire through the mountains," Philip's voice was hard.</p> + +<p>"Because I needed her, because she was essential to my life."</p> + +<p>"Then you would have left her, had she been a hindrance?"</p> + +<p>"That depends," answered Lawrence slowly. "Had she made my life +uncertain when otherwise I might have lived, I think I would. Of course, +if her being there merely increased my trouble, I should have brought +her."</p> + +<p>Claire was watching Philip's face. It was a study. On it there was +something that made her heart beat faster, she found her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[Pg 501]</a></span>self unable to +tell why. She glanced at Lawrence. There he sat, his strong, stern face, +calm and soulless. She wondered why blindness robbed this man of his +rightful appearance. He had a soul, and it was a wild, beauty-loving +soul, she knew, but blindness quite mantled it. On the other hand, +Philip's was a mighty fire within, which shone in beauty through his +eyes. Lawrence had quietly spoken of how he would have left her under +other circumstances. Philip would have died at her side, she knew it. +What a difference between them!</p> + +<p>"But if you feel as you declare, why take that extra trouble to save +her?" Philip asked.</p> + +<p>"Because I have a certain dislike of death and don't care to cause it +myself if I can help it."</p> + +<p>Claire laughed. "But death, you said once, is a mere stopping of animal +action. Why dread that?"</p> + +<p>"Because I myself do not care to die, I would not care to cause your +death."</p> + +<p>Philip rose and went to the fire. "I do not believe you could live by +your theory," he asserted.</p> + +<p>"I do live by it. There is but one thing I dread worse than death. I +would die rather than give up my creative impulse."</p> + +<p>"And he would sacrifice your life or mine for art's sake," merrily added +Claire. "It's a good thing he doesn't think we are hindrances to art."</p> + +<p>Philip also laughed. "Well," he said, "there might come a time when I, +too, would want a thing enough to kill in order to obtain it."</p> + +<p>"What, for example?" asked Lawrence. "That is the best way to determine +your value of life."</p> + +<p>Philip did not answer for a few minutes, then his voice vibrated.</p> + +<p>"The things that mean more than life to me. I know that one holds his +own life dear, but there are things, love, courage, honor, for example, +that he holds even above life."</p> + +<p>"Would you kill me, for instance," asked Lawrence pleasantly, "if I +stood between you and Claire?"</p> + +<p>"That is scarcely answerable," nervously interposed Claire. "You see, +you don't and the man who does—though it's all absurd, since we none of +us here are the least in love—is my husband."</p> + +<p>"I had almost forgotten him," said Lawrence, his voice lingering softly +on the word "almost."</p> + +<p>Philip laughed. "Why, yes, in the abstract, I should say that if +anything would make me kill you, it would be your standing between me +and the woman I loved. Of course, the case is fair, but scarcely +probable enough to make any of us worry."</p> + +<p>"True"—Lawrence joined him at the fire—"and by the way, while I think +of it, I want a knife and a block of soft wood. I'm going to entertain +myself these days."</p> + +<p>Quickly Claire looked up.</p> + +<p>"And you shall entertain me, Philip," she said gaily.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE TIGHTENING NET.</h3> + + +<p>Christmas was upon them. They gathered before the big fireplace in +silent meditation, while outside the wind whipped sheeted snow against +the walls and wailed dismally its endless journeying. They could not +help but feel the something melancholy in the air. The little cabin, +standing so far away from civilization and all the things they were +accustomed to know seemed somehow to set them apart from the rest of the +world and leave them stranded as it were, upon a barren stretch of +thought.</p> + +<p>In keeping with the setting, solemn questions of destiny, death, and the +meaning of things took the place of the usual Christmas festival and +glitter.</p> + +<p>In Lawrence's mind, Claire was growing more and more predominant. He +found her constant association weaving itself into his life until, when +he looked ahead toward the day when they must part, he discovered +himself asking what he could find that would take her place. Her voice, +her little habits of speech, the unexpected question that showed her +deep interest in him, in his work, and in his attitude toward her, these +had gradually stirred in him the desire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">[Pg 502]</a></span> to establish in his own mind a +definite relation toward her which he could maintain.</p> + +<p>When Claire went out for a while with Philip, Lawrence spent the interim +in trying to reason out his problem. He told himself that he would feel +differently in his old environment with friends and work, but the answer +was not satisfactory. He knew that even there, he would miss the quick +sound of movement, the quick phrase that was Claire.</p> + +<p>Did he love her then? He asked himself that, and could not answer. What +was love to him, anyway? He sought to think out a scheme of love that +would fit into his system of utter selfishness, and failed. The memory +of her in his arms came to him now with a warm, emotional coloring that +had been absent during the days of their journey.</p> + +<p>Had he been so impersonal then at first? He remembered his first wild +joy at finding her there in the surf, and he admitted that even then +there had been a subtle heightening of his pleasure, because it was a +woman. Since his blindness he had been separated from the other sex even +more than from his own, and now he was to live with one daily, having +her alone to talk to, to watch, to be interested in, and to know—yes, +that had been a part of his feeling that morning. He remembered that he +had been slightly irritated at her when he had first decided that she +was cold and intellectual. He had wanted her to be warm, colorful, +vivid, and feminine. He had found later that she was all these things, +but not toward him. It was a man whom he had never known, her husband, +Howard Barkley, for whom she was wholly woman. Always when she spoke of +him her voice had warmed, grown softer, subtly shaded with color.</p> + +<p>Claire opened the cabin door.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Mr. Dreamer! Still in the land of to-morrow?" she called, taking +off her heavy wraps.</p> + +<p>"Where's Philip?" Lawrence demanded gruffly, without moving.</p> + +<p>"Working over a trap in the ravine. I was a little tired, so I didn't +wait."</p> + +<p>Lawrence could hear her brushing her hair. He was glad she had returned +without Philip. Now at least they would have a few minutes alone.</p> + +<p>"Snow bad?" he asked. If he could only have run his hands through that +curly mass! The memory of her hair brushing against his face made his +temples throb dully.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my hair is filled with it. I caught my cap on a branch, and the +whole load of snow came down on top of me."</p> + +<p>"How old are you, Claire?" he demanded suddenly.</p> + +<p>She laughed. "Guess! Don't you know it isn't good form to ask a lady her +age?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes you are quite thirty, and other times—"</p> + +<p>"Well, go on." Claire was standing at the opposite side of the fireplace +with her back to the flame.</p> + +<p>"Other times, you are two," Lawrence continued calmly.</p> + +<p>"I thought that was coming. Well, just to prove what a really nice +person I am, I'll tell you. I'm twenty-six."</p> + +<p>"When were you married, Claire?" Her breath tightened at his question.</p> + +<p>"Curiosity is a wonderful thing, and the impudence of man passeth all +understanding. I have been married exactly six years, three months, and +twenty-four days." The last sentence brought the catch into her voice +that Lawrence had expected.</p> + +<p>"I know you miss your husband," he forced himself to say formally.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you see"—Claire hesitated—"ours wasn't like some marriages one +hears about. Howard and I were both very much in love." She realized too +late the past tense. Had Lawrence noticed it? "I miss him dreadfully," +she added desperately.</p> + +<p>Lawrence said nothing. He had noticed Claire's slip, and the verb had +sent him into a thousand realized dreams. The next instant he was +cursing himself for a fool. "Fools, all of us," he thought. "Philip, +too, warming himself with dreams of Claire." Before the nearness of the +Spaniard's personality, Howard Barkley faded into the background. +Lawrence reviewed his own position moodily.</p> + +<p>Blind, unable to do the work that Philip did, certainly unable to use +the million little ways of courtesy-building as Philip did, his chances +were unequal.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[Pg 503]</a></span>Did he want Claire for Claire, or was it only the fighting instinct, the +desire to overcome men not handicapped as he was? Would he still want +Claire after he had won her? After the intimacies of home life had made +her familiar as nothing else could, and had dispelled all romance, all +the alluring appeal that sprang from the deepest sex-prompted desire yet +unattained, would he still want her? That was the question, and he could +not say. The experience alone could tell him—and would that experience +ever come?</p> + +<p>Claire watched Lawrence's face, the while her own thoughts raced on. It +had been love she felt for her husband. She was sure of that. Of course, +in the years of their life together, the old, wild passion had gradually +retired into its normal proportion, leaving them free to go about calmly +and untroubled. But it was there, as she well knew in the hours when +they became lovers again. Certainly those hours had been joyous, happy +ones, unclouded by any suspicion of mere gratification of impulse or +desire. Yes, they had been hours of love claiming its rightful +expression over the more constant hours of daily living.</p> + +<p>Then she recalled her experience of the night before. She had been +dreaming of her husband, but he possessed Lawrence's features, illumined +with the glow of Philip's eyes, and she had started into full +wakefulness with a sudden sense of her position. Now she sat before the +fire, and resolved grimly that no matter what happened she would be +faithful to Howard. Of course, she would go with Philip to look after +his traps, the exercise was the best antidote to such morbid thoughts, +and he would never make advances to her, of that she was sure. As for +the days that she might spend alone with Lawrence, he was too +self-centered, too much wrapped up in his wood-carving, to think of a +woman—and she disregarded the little pang of discontent that +accompanied her thought.</p> + +<p>Philip was hanging the skins over the door. Claire realized that she had +been too engrossed to notice his entrance.</p> + +<p>"I break a six weeks' fast to-day"—and he turned toward Lawrence. "Do +you smoke?"</p> + +<p>"Man!" said Lawrence, springing up, "if I'd known you had tobacco in +store I'd have murdered you long ago to get it. I would be a more +agreeable companion if I could taste tobacco now and then."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me for not thinking to ask you. I was declaring a six months' +course in self-discipline for the good of my soul."</p> + +<p>"Bring forth the smoke," said Lawrence joyously.</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately"—Philip turned to Claire—"a bachelor's storehouse +contains no treat for a lady. Your visit was unexpected."</p> + +<p>"I shall gain my pleasure through watching you two sink back into a +beloved vice," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Horrible!" Lawrence sat down, and took the cigarette which Philip +produced. "To enjoy seeing one succumb to vice."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it characteristic of scandal-loving humanity?" she rejoined.</p> + +<p>"And on Christmas Day!" Philip chided her lightly. Then he went on, +seriously: "But one should really be above all things save love and +gratitude to God on this day."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," said Lawrence, "but it's difficult to determine just +where this object of gratitude abides and what He is."</p> + +<p>"Is it necessary to locate Him?" asked Claire.</p> + +<p>Lawrence breathed deeply with the satisfaction in his cigarette. "I +should hate to direct my gratitude toward some one who missed it, and +thus have it lost in desert space," he answered.</p> + +<p>"It isn't that we need God so much as it is simply the good we gain +ourselves," said Philip slowly. "I still follow the old trail for my own +heart's sake."</p> + +<p>"And does it get you anywhere?" Lawrence's question was characteristic.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so. I find myself nearer to the source of that which is +worth while."</p> + +<p>"What is worth while?" Claire asked.</p> + +<p>The answers she obtained were the two men revealed.</p> + +<p>"The fullest life possible for me," said Lawrence.</p> + +<p>"The fullest heart possible for me," followed Philip.</p> + +<p>"But you both mean the same thing, don't you?" asked Claire.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">[Pg 504]</a></span>"I mean the fullest number of my own desires gratified," Lawrence +avowed.</p> + +<p>Philip leaned back in his chair and looked at Claire, meditatively.</p> + +<p>"If he did as he says, we should have to lock him up," he observed.</p> + +<p>They all laughed.</p> + +<p>"Not at all." Lawrence was amiably argumentative. "To be sure, if my +desires were gratified at your expense, as this smoke, for example"—he +laughed—"and on an all-inclusive scale, you might have to resort to +personal violence. But, in fact, many of my desires would bring you joy +in their gratification, you know."</p> + +<p>"I do know," said Philip cordially, "but the danger in your point of +view is that it allows for no check. You would sacrifice both of us if +it were necessary to gratify your desires—that is, if you lived true to +your assertion."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I would. I don't know. There is the weak point in my whole +scheme. I evade it by failing to sacrifice you, but I support my theory +by saying there is no occasion to do so."</p> + +<p>"I don't like your principles," Philip rejoined, "though I admit that my +own fail me more often than not."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. We humans do fail, and the conclusion to which it brings me +is, why hold principles that you find unworkable? I prefer a standard to +which I can at least be true, in the main, and avoid self-condemnation, +pricks of conscience, and other little inconveniences."</p> + +<p>"Such as a sense of duty?" interrupted Claire.</p> + +<p>"That above all, Claire," he laughed.</p> + +<p>"And obligation?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that too, if you mean a sense of being bound to one because of +something he has done in the past. For instance, I am obliged to Philip +for his food, his house, my life, and this cigarette, but I scarcely +feel that that would imply that I must sacrifice my greatest desire in +life as payment if necessary. Of course, it isn't necessary, but if it +were, I should refuse."</p> + +<p>"I think you would not," asserted Philip.</p> + +<p>"I know I would. I rather believe you would also, though it might be +that you would not."</p> + +<p>"I would sacrifice anything to pay a debt of gratitude." Philip spoke +warmly.</p> + +<p>"You would—perhaps—but in so doing would you not feel that gratitude +was the thing of supreme worth to yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Not necessarily. I might even suffer all my life for having done so."</p> + +<p>"Impossible. You would either redeem your sense of life's value by a new +belief, or you would die."</p> + +<p>"Then you think a man can do as he pleases and maintain his +self-respect, his personal integrity?"</p> + +<p>"He will find some way to make himself feel worth while, or he will +cease to be."</p> + +<p>"You think that a criminal, or perhaps better, a person abandoned to +vice, feels justified?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He creates a belief by which his abandonment is not destructive to +himself, or he is converted, which is simply a convulsion of nature for +the same end, to preserve his life and make it seem valuable to him."</p> + +<p>"Could you, for instance, murder a man, and do it believing that +afterward you would somehow make it seem right, or at least so necessary +that you would feel as self-respecting and sin-free as before?" Philip +was speaking earnestly.</p> + +<p>"I should not do so unless I were forced to it, but if I were, I know +that I would somehow reconstruct my mental life so that I would still +feel existence worth the price."</p> + +<p>Claire leaned forward. "Lawrence," she said jestingly, "you have swept +away the bulwark of the home, made infidelity easy, and numberless +separated families inevitable with your bold, bad talk. Aren't you sorry +for all those tragedies?"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "Very," he said, "though it was watching such proceedings +take place so frequently that led me to accept my theory. Think of the +men and women who are unfaithful, who leave their wedded partner for +another, and still find life worth while."</p> + +<p>"But that is their failure to live true to their principles," said +Philip. "It is commonly called sin, my friend."</p> + +<p>"It may be, according to their light, but they generally get a new light +afterward. You see, I do not believe that God joins<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[Pg 505]</a></span> men and women. I am +persuaded that a very natural physical desire does so, and it doesn't +follow that the first is the only or best union."</p> + +<p>"My husband would simply dread me if I held your view, and I should feel +very wary if I were your wife, Lawrence," remarked Claire.</p> + +<p>That was the central point in the whole discussion, though none of them +were aware of it. Vaguely they felt that they were groping their way +toward the future, but they did not allow the feeling to reach a +conscious state, and Philip laughingly broke up the talk.</p> + +<p>"Here we are," he said, yawning, "the fire is making us all sleepy, +we're talking foolishness, and we need exercise. Why not get it? I think +we might all of us go out and face the wind for a quarter of an hour, +then let it blow us back to camp like three children. I have the skis +for us all."</p> + +<p>"Great!" Claire clapped her hands in applause.</p> + +<p>"It's a splendid idea," agreed Lawrence, and they set forth.</p> + +<p>It was hard going against the wind; Philip was the only one who managed +his skis very satisfactorily, and Lawrence, of course, had to be +assisted, but the crust was smooth and clear, and they made great sport +of it. The two men placed Claire between them and crossed hands in front +of her, like skaters. The fresh snow-filled air blew into their lungs, +and they laughed like boys on a holiday. Claire glanced at the two and +thought: "What a pair to be between!" Then laughed again. All the +morbidity was gone, she was not thinking follies now, and neither of +them was more than a good friend. Philip was thinking that Claire was +good to see as she moved along between them, her graceful stroke +carrying her over the snow, her cheeks stung red in the wind. Lawrence +was not thinking at all. He was simply moving, deeply enjoying the wind +and the exercise and the soft, strong little hand upon his own, helping +to guide him through his darkness.</p> + +<p>When they turned and stood close together, the wind caught them like a +sail and sent them skimming before it. The sense of tobogganing was +keenly exhilarating. Home, problems, worries, the future, all seemed +very simply, very easy, and not at all a matter for long conversations +before a hot fire.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">CLAIRE'S ABASEMENT.</h3> + + +<p>The following days and even weeks passed quickly, carried on the wave of +light-hearted play which Philip had so wisely started that Christmas +night. February came with clear sun that set the snow glittering like a +field of crystal under the dark pines, and they laughed with exuberance +of spirit as they swept over it on their skis. Even Lawrence became an +adept as long as he had one of their guiding hands to hold. All +speculation was gone for the time being. Lawrence and Claire gave +themselves up to a frank comradeship, in which Philip formed a splendid +third, so that they seemed a trio of happy, healthy animals whose lives +flowed without a break in the mere pleasure of living.</p> + +<p>But one morning early in the month, Philip said after breakfast, over +his coffee and cigarette, "I'm going for the day to my farthest traps +across the river. Claire, would you care to go? We'll get back late this +evening."</p> + +<p>"I would," she said promptly. "I'll be ready in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>Lawrence did not say anything, but to his sudden surprise he felt his +heart sink. An insistent inner voice was saying, "I wish she wouldn't +go."</p> + +<p>He heard her, back of the curtain, dressing for the trip, and his little +petulant thought grew into gloom at the prospect of her being away. He +felt irritated at Philip for suggesting that she go.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to leave me a good spread, Claire," he said finally when +she emerged into the room.</p> + +<p>"I'll fix you up a great meal," she laughed. "You can eat all day, if +you like." In her voice there was an unusual warmth, for at his words +she felt suddenly as though she were thoughtless of him in going. For a +minute she pondered giving up the trip, then concluded that to do so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[Pg 506]</a></span> +would seem ridiculous, and set about preparing his lunch.</p> + +<p>Philip rose and, putting on his heavy coat, said carelessly, "You can +carve us a new wooden image, Lawrence."</p> + +<p>The words were casual and without intention, but they angered. Lawrence +felt as though both of them were trying to make amends to him for their +going, as though, being blind, he must of course stay at home, but ought +to have something to occupy his time. His resentment grew stronger as he +continued to think of their supposed condescension.</p> + +<p>When the lunches were ready Claire and Philip started. At the door she +paused and said gaily: "Keep the house warm for our returning, +Lawrence."</p> + +<p>He was sullenly angry and made no reply. The frank way in which she +spoke of herself and Philip somehow recalled to his mind other couples, +married lovers starting out somewhere, and his heart tightened +perceptibly. After they were gone he sat thinking for a long time, and +his impulsive feeling clarified into certainty. Claire and Philip were +in love. Perhaps they did not know it yet themselves, and had not +spoken, perhaps they had; at any rate, they were in love. It had grown +between them in his very presence, and he, doubly blind fool, had not +known. If he could have seen, it would have been clear to him, of +course.</p> + +<p>He thought of Claire's husband, and grew virtuously angry at Claire. +Howard Barkley would mourn his days out, never knowing that his beloved +wife was living in Bolivia with a Spanish trapper! He saw Claire going +about the cabin as Philip's wife and doing for love the things she now +did out of a desire to be of use, and his rage grew. Was it not for love +that she did them now? But she was just as thoughtful of him as she was +of Philip. "Of course, idiot," he muttered, "she pities you; you poor, +abandoned, blind man, you are to be cared for, don't you see?" He strove +to shake himself into a different mood by self-ridicule. Was this the +philosopher who made life a matter of calm acceptance of circumstances +which he knew to be his master? He laughed at himself, but the laugh was +bitter, and he knew that he was not willing to accept this particular +turn of circumstances.</p> + +<p>But what right had he to judge what she did? She was not his wife nor +the woman who would be his wife. She could never be his wife. There was +her husband. No, it was not her husband that counted, but Philip! +Suddenly Lawrence realized the point that he had reached.</p> + +<p>He loved Claire Barkley.</p> + +<p>The admission of that at last in frank, utter avowal set him dreaming of +the joys she might have been to him. He thought of a thousand little +intimacies, cares, thoughtfulnesses, that she might have given him and +received from him, and they were all made vital, real, by the now ardent +memory of her in his arms, of the hands he had held in his own so often +of late in the open.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon he grew disgusted with himself. He had moped all day in +his chair, moving only to replenish the fire or get a cigarette, and he +now shook himself vigorously free from his thoughts. "You love her, yes, +and she obviously does not love you," he told himself. "Why, then, make +the best of it, if you can't do better, and at least don't be a beast in +your treatment of your host when he comes back to his own hearth."</p> + +<p>With that he dragged out a block of wood, took his knife, and went to +work. As was his way, he was soon unconscious of everything but the +piece of wood beneath his hand. He had never done wood-carving before, +and he was learning the technique that made it very different from clay. +He had gone at this piece without any special intent and was shaping it +into a cherub merely out of whim, but he was giving to the task every +atom of his skill, and his hands worked with every nerve strained to +detect and keep line and proportion.</p> + +<p>Swiftly under his knife the child's body grew in shape, and he caressed +the rough form tenderly. He would polish it later, and then what +pleasure it would represent! It would make a great decoration for the +cabin—for her cabin. He winced—yes, for hers and Philip's cabin. +"Fool!" he ejaculated. "Forget it!" He bent again to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[Pg 507]</a></span> work, but it +did not go so smoothly. Out there she and Philip would be laughing +merrily together, skimming over the snow in long, sweeping strides, hand +in hand. Would they think of him? Probably not, or if they did it would +be to say, "Poor Lawrence! It's a pity he's blind. He has real talent."</p> + +<p>He gritted his teeth. Well, he had real talent, and they should know it. +She should know it. He would show her such carving as she had never +thought possible. After all, was her love to him, Lawrence the artist, +the capable, blindness-conquering artist? "I am reconstructing my life," +he thought, "so that I can still find it valuable without the woman I +want." He again laughed bitterly and said to himself, "You poor, blind, +groveling beast, you, what a poor excuse for life you have, and what a +tawdry substitute you would offer Claire for the vast joy that is hers! +Oh, it is contemptible!"</p> + +<p>He bent over his work again, and the door opened.</p> + +<p>Claire came across the room and leaned over him, her body radiating a +cool, healthy perfume as she laid her hand on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a splendid piece of work, Lawrence!"</p> + +<p>Her voice was joyous, triumphant, and his heart beat desperately against +his chest. "They've declared their love," he thought, and then he said +simply, his voice vibrant with the emotion he did not otherwise show, +"It's been beastly lonesome to-day, Claire."</p> + +<p>She laughed gaily, while her eyes clouded. Then she noticed the +untouched food on the table.</p> + +<p>"Why, Lawrence, didn't you like the lunch I fixed for you?"</p> + +<p>"It was bully, Claire," he answered quickly, "but I wasn't very hungry +to-day—I don't know why."</p> + +<p>The emotional coloring in his voice set her whole being atremble. She +had come in, radiant with the day's pleasure, and he had met her with +his need. He had been too blue even to eat. She was suddenly seized with +pity for him, as she thought of his long day alone. But more than that, +over and over in her heart she kept saying, with a joy she could not +conceal from herself, "He loves me! He loves me!"</p> + +<p>Philip came in and bent over them both to look at the wooden child.</p> + +<p>"<i>Caramba!</i> it is a marvelous thing!" he exclaimed. The unconscious use +of the Spanish word showed the genuineness of his admiration.</p> + +<p>Claire laughed joyously. She was glad that Philip knew the power of this +blind man who loved her, and a vague feeling came over her that she was +now somehow safe from Philip. Instantly she wondered at her feeling the +need of safety from him. Glancing back over Lawrence's head, she met +Ortez's eyes and read in their look a tenderness that he did not know +was there. Her heart leaped unsteadily, and her lashes dropped. She was +saying to herself, "How wonderful he is!"</p> + +<p>Then she turned and almost ran behind the curtain that walled her room. +On the edge of her bed she sat, her face in her hands, hot tears burning +her eyes, while over and over the blood rushed into her cheeks and out +again.</p> + +<p>"Claire! Claire! What sort of a woman are you?" she moaned.</p> + +<p>Her heart beat irregularly under the surge of emotion that shook her. +She was glad, glad that Lawrence loved her. She had looked into the eyes +of Philip Ortez, and her own had dropped, while her mind had leaped into +admiration of him, warm, yielding admiration. What was it that had swept +her on the discovery of one man's love to a deep, vibrant gladness—that +another man's eyes had been filled with tenderness for her? Was she so +changed from the Claire of old? Was she utterly degraded? Did she want +both men to love her? Did she love either of them? What of her husband? +She sank down on the bed and wept silently.</p> + +<p>They were talking out there in the cabin. She heard Lawrence say +laughingly: "One gets accustomed to hearing your voices around, and to +hearing Claire do things, so that a day alone seems endless."</p> + +<p>"Hearing Claire do things"—that was it—and suppose he knew what she +was, would he want to hear her then?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[Pg 508]</a></span>"Oh, I know," Philip was answering. "It gets to be a sort of necessity, +doesn't it, when we have so many associations and memories all among +ourselves? I shall find the place dreary next winter, I am afraid, when +you are back among your friends, and Claire"—he paused slightly—"will +be going about as ever, doing things for her husband somewhere up there +in the States."</p> + +<p>Would her husband ever imagine or discover what she was? If he did, he +would leave her. She remembered a girl in the slums at home who had +refused to be uplifted. "Aw, one fellow ain't enough. A plain ham is all +right for some, but I want a club-sandwich." She shuddered now at the +memory of the girl's words, and shrank together on her bed. Was she +another of that sort, abnormal, degenerate, whose life must find its +level at last in the sordid riot of promiscuity, disguising itself as +love? If Claire had never touched the bed-rock of self-abasement before, +she was doing it now, there in that cabin.</p> + +<p>She heard Ortez starting to get supper, and she sat up quickly. With +stern control she forced herself to seem composed and quiet, while +within her passions raged like a tornado. Self-contempt, wonder, +amazement, pity for her husband, for Lawrence, and hatred for Philip +Ortez swept round and round in her brain like a maelstrom.</p> + +<p>She stepped through her curtain and said gaily: "You're preempting my +privilege, Philip."</p> + +<p>He laughed. "I thought perhaps you were tired," he said.</p> + +<p>"She ought to be," remarked Lawrence from his chair, and in her present +state she imagined in his voice a tenderness, a worry for her, and a +distrust of her.</p> + +<p>She took up the kettle, and hung it on its hook in the fireplace. "I +never in my life imagined myself cooking over an open fire in this way," +she said as she turned toward the little storeroom adjoining.</p> + +<p>"You like it?" Philip asked carelessly.</p> + +<p>She felt sure that his eyes had read her heart and that he was looking +toward the future, his future with the wanton mistress he had found.</p> + +<p>She could have screamed, "I hate you! I hate you!" but she said only, +"It's great fun for a while; I wouldn't fancy it as a permanent thing."</p> + +<p>"It surely must be different from the conveniences of your home."</p> + +<p>"Rather," she laughed as she began cutting from the smoked meat that +hung in the storeroom.</p> + +<p>Now it was Lawrence who was speaking. "I guess she'd surprise us if we +could supply her with a chafing-dish. I'd like to see her at work over +one in my studio with the bunch around waiting hungrily for results."</p> + +<p>Would these men never stop saying things that made her want to scream? +What was the matter, that all at once the beauty of her day should be +smashed into a discolored memory of self-hatred? Was there nothing in +all the world but sordid thoughts of oneself and of men who, causing +them, said things to make them worse?</p> + +<p>After they had eaten she went to bed as soon as possible, leaving the +men to smoke before the fire. She had pleaded weariness, and they had +laughingly told her to get to sleep. They were out there now, talking in +subdued tones so as not to disturb her—as if their voices did not ring +through her suffering mind like clarions of evil! What should they say +if she should suddenly spring before them and shout out her mad fancies? +For a moment she had the wildest of impulses to laugh aloud, then +suddenly she turned on her face as she recalled the emotion that had +swept her when she saw Philip looking at her over Lawrence's head. Sleep +finally stopped her tears.</p> + +<p>The two men went to bed, and there was silence in the cabin. Lawrence +was smiling, as he felt Philip's body there beside him in the darkness. +"I could kill you now," he was thinking ironically, "and end all +question of your loving Claire."</p> + +<p>Philip, too, was awake. He had seen the hot flush that came into +Claire's face that evening, and he knew that she had been troubled +during the supper. He wondered if she were ill. Then suddenly he asked +himself, "Is she in love with one of us?" He immediately tried to +dismiss the thought as unworthy of her. She was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[Pg 509]</a></span> the kind of woman +to forget her marriage vows. But what a home she could make for the man +she loved! If he had only known her in time!</p> + +<p>But there was still friendship—yes, surely she could give that. +Complete understanding and perfect sympathy would be the basis of a +lasting attachment. "Who knows?" he pondered. "It may be that fate has +sent her to me to teach me what a great self-denying love can be. In +Claire I may find my dream-star again."</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">HOW SIMPLE THE SOLUTION!</h3> + + +<p>When Claire awoke the next morning her whole being seemed gathered into +a tense strain that made her feel as though the least thing might snap +the taut nerves in her body and leave her broken and stranded on some +far, emotional shoal. Her heart beat unevenly, while her lips and hands +felt dry and hot, as if she had spent hours in a desert wind. She did +not experience the bitter anguish of the night before; such storms are +too wild to last, but it had left her deadly heavy within, and she was +unable to recover her usual calm.</p> + +<p>One great determination dominated her, to prevent these men, at any +cost, from knowing her real feelings. It was a determination born out of +the sheer force that was carrying her on, a struggle that came from the +very strength of the tide she sought to resist.</p> + +<p>She had been awakened by a sudden and clear image, the result of her +unsettled mind. Her husband was beside her, leaning over the bed and +looking down at her with a great love and a greater pity shining in his +eyes. She thought that she had thrown up her arms to close about him +with the frantic joy of a rescued person, only to have them meet in +empty air and fall listless at her sides again.</p> + +<p>Beyond the curtain she heard Philip saying cheerfully: "It is a great +day outside, one of Claire's days for play."</p> + +<p>"Good!" Lawrence answered. "We'll go out, then, and play."</p> + +<p>A rush of self-pity, anger against her situation, fear of she knew not +what, and a gnawing desire to escape blended in her thoughts, while her +heart warmed at the sound of Lawrence's words.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she thought, "I can never, never stand this day!"</p> + +<p>She got out of bed and began to dress, her nervous hands fumbling at the +buttons on her clothes. Her eyes, deeper and shadowed in dark rings, +stared vacantly at the white canvas before her. Lawrence was talking +again, and she listened. Presently he started across the room and bumped +into a chair. The incident was one which had become long familiar to +her, and ordinarily she would have thought nothing of it, but this +morning she flushed with sudden anger that a chair should have been left +in his way. Then she realized that she was foolish, stepped through the +curtain, and said before she thought:</p> + +<p>"Lawrence, I do wish that you'd look where you are going!"</p> + +<p>He laughed merrily. "So do I," he rejoined. "For some years failure to +do so has kept me with at least one skinned shin. But just think of the +cost of stockings had I been blind as a boy!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she had a vivid picture of him as a ragged, little fellow, +stumbling about through his unfathomable darkness, bumping into things +and leaving jagged holes in his child's black stockings. Whether she +wanted to laugh or cry she did not know, but a great, warm surge of +motherliness came over her for the child she imaged, and she said aloud, +"Poor little urchin!"</p> + +<p>Philip turned and looked at her, smiling. "It would have been a picture +indeed," he said.</p> + +<p>"I had enough troubles during my rebellious childhood at the orphanage +without adding imaginary woes," Lawrence went on, amusedly +retrospective. "I remember one day when I was at the awkward stage. I +was all dressed for church and happened to stumble over another boy +lying in the grass. I fell against a bench, my trousers caught on a +projecting nail, and ripped dreadfully. The matron gave me a scolding +and sent me to bed for the day."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[Pg 510]</a></span>"Brought up in an orphanage!" thought Claire. "No wonder he is +pessimistic."</p> + +<p>"I didn't mind missing church," Lawrence continued; "but it struck me as +a piece of gross injustice that I should be punished for a boy's lack of +muscular coordination. I've experienced the same fate over my blindness. +It seems to be a special trick people have, and they play it +incessantly. I should think it would get as tiresome to them by and by +as it did to me some years ago."</p> + +<p>Claire felt as if she were included in his casual criticism of mankind, +and wondered just how she had been addicted to the practise. A dozen +different instances came to her, and she felt very penitent.</p> + +<p>"It's because we're all so thoughtless," she said.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. I rather choose to state it differently. It's for the same +reason that I do thousands of things, because I'm more interested in +myself than I am in any one else. I'm selfish, and so is the rest of +humanity."</p> + +<p>"But we aren't deliberately so," Philip protested. "Isn't it rather that +we are short-sighted and unimaginative?"</p> + +<p>"It may be. The end is the same. If I am too short-sighted, too +unimaginative to know how a fellow being feels, I can do nothing but +blunder along. He may be hurt by me. I may do him an injustice, I may +even cheat him of his chance at life, but it can't be helped, and again +the result amounts to my being selfish."</p> + +<p>As she worked over her biscuit dough, Claire listened to their talk +resentfully. She wished they would keep still, but she said nothing. +They went ahead, demonstrating, she thought bitterly, the truth of +Lawrence's argument.</p> + +<p>"I suppose mankind generally does the best it can," Philip said +thoughtfully. "If you ask a man, if you really talk with him, you will +find him kindly, inclined to be generous, and willing to do what he can +for another. I have always found that true."</p> + +<p>"So have I, in a way. He is kindly, he is inclined to be generous, and +he is willing to do what he can for another. The trouble is, he makes a +maudlin sentiment of his kindliness, a self-flattering charity of his +generous inclinations, and is unable to do what he can for another +because he is quite sincerely persuaded that he can't do anything."</p> + +<p>"My friend, I have had men help me when it cost them trouble to do it. +We all have. Without it, we would none of us accomplish anything of +value."</p> + +<p>"I, too, have had them help me, from the lending of money down to +guiding me across a traffic-blurred street, but I have never yet found +more than three or four whose imagination was keen enough and whose +judgment clear enough to give me a square deal at living."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that the same man who will help me across the street, lend me +money, and be a splendid comrade, stops short when he comes to the field +of self-support. He will say sympathetically, 'I don't see how you can +do it,' or 'I admire your grit, old man, and I'd like to see you do it,' +and then begin scheming around to direct my interests, aspirations, and +efforts into some other channel from where I want them, as though, out +of his own great wisdom, he knew much better than I what a blind man +could do. If you want to learn just how small the imagination of mankind +is and how obstructive to progress is their fool good-heartedness, go +among them as a capable mind with a physical handicap. You'll size them +up, yourself included, as the most blindly wall-butting set of +blundering organisms that ever felt their way through an endlessly +obstructed universe."</p> + +<p>"Breakfast!" Claire broke in with an unwonted sharpness in her tone. +"And do let the biscuits stop the argument."</p> + +<p>They laughed and sat down to a silent meal. When it was ended, and the +men took their cigarettes to the fireplace, she said: "I wish you would +both do me a favor to-day."</p> + +<p>"We will! Name it!" They spoke at the same time.</p> + +<p>She turned toward them with an earnestness which she had scarcely meant +to betray.</p> + +<p>"Go out, both of you, and leave me here alone a while."</p> + +<p>Lawrence was silent. Her words and her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[Pg 511]</a></span> tone sent a sharp pain through +him, and he wondered if she were ill. He wanted to say something to her, +started to do so, checked himself, and laughed embarrassedly.</p> + +<p>Philip stared at her. He noticed the pale face and the dark rings under +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly," he said, and rose. "You aren't looking well, Claire. +Is anything seriously wrong?" He looked at her again with the same +unconsciously tender warmth in his eyes.</p> + +<p>She saw it, flushed angrily, wanted to scream at him, and said simply, +"No, I just want to think, and want it quiet. You two talk too much +about yourselves and about things that you don't understand."</p> + +<p>"Very true"—Lawrence also had risen—"if I did understand them, I'd +show humanity how to stop being animals and be men."</p> + +<p>"While as it is," she said nervously, "you allow them to blunder along +and help the good work out by making plenty of trouble for them by your +own blind shortness of vision."</p> + +<p>He stood, wondering at her. How had he unintentionally hurt her, and +what exactly did she mean?</p> + +<p>Philip laughed heartily. "A just judgment on him for his sorry view of +the world," he commented, opening the door.</p> + +<p>"We'll tramp back into the hills," he said to Lawrence when they were +both outside, "and see what there is of deficient imagination in them."</p> + +<p>"There isn't," Lawrence said quietly; "they and the ocean are +testimonials to the real potential power of an otherwise very faulty +artist."</p> + +<p>Left alone, Claire worked furiously at setting the house to rights. Her +nervous state led her to throw herself into the work with an energy that +kept her from thinking. She sought for things to do with the desperation +of a person whose only escape from the furies that followed him is utter +physical exhaustion. When the cabin had been arranged and rearranged +until there was no possible excuse for further effort, she took her +heavy man's coat from its place and stepped out upon the snow-covered +plateau before the house.</p> + +<p>Along its edges the lake shone milk-white in the sun, while farther out +the ice glinted a clear, watery blue that made a gleaming jewel set in +the sparkling snow around it. She stood gazing across the ice to the +forest beyond. Its still beauty crept over her, and she breathed deeply +of the cold, crisp air. Her head ached dully, and her chest felt tight +as though trying to expand beyond its limit to make room for the trouble +that filled her being. After standing motionless for a few moments, she +started briskly across the snow toward the far side of the lake. She +walked carefully over the ice and into the trees beyond. In her mind was +one thought, to escape—but escape from what? From herself, she +answered, and then suddenly, with a panicky bursting of the tension, she +thought that is done only through death.</p> + +<p>She stopped and let the word "death" fill her mind, as a word sometimes +does, growing and growing until its increasing weight oppresses the +brain with a sense of physical pressure. "Death"—is it an escape? She +tried to imagine herself dead, and failed. She could find no adequate +image to express oblivion, and she gave up trying, while she began to +wonder if she actually were immortal, and if she were, what would she +say to herself beyond the edge of life?</p> + +<p>She thought of herself as standing, naked of soul, unbodied, in some far +etherealized atmosphere, and she shuddered. "I would still be Claire, +loving these two men and fearing a third." Tears crept down her cheeks. +No, she did not want to be immortal and have no escape from herself.</p> + +<p>If she would only be able to endure the months still remaining before +she got home, then everything would be settled. But would it? Did she +want Lawrence to go out of her life, did she want to lose him? She could +have him still as a friend, her home open to him always, her husband as +glad to welcome him as she herself—yes, that would be best.</p> + +<p>She was walking again now, rapidly, thinking as she moved, and it all +seemed very clear to her. She would tell her husband how Lawrence had +suffered, how brave he had been, and how he had carried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[Pg 512]</a></span> her on and on, +when death seemed inevitable. Howard would owe Lawrence a tremendous +debt of gratitude, and would make existence easier for him. Lawrence had +had a hard life, his bitter attitude showed that he deserved a less +obstructed road, and she would give it to him. In their home all three +would talk, laugh, and be, oh, so happy, while Lawrence could work +better with his studio near her, perhaps in her own house where care +could be taken of him. He would create great art there, and his +bitterness would end. She would show him that her husband was +understanding and imaginative. Again she stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>But Lawrence—would he accept? He was so independent, so doggedly +determined to fight his life out while his very battling made him +ironical and darkly pessimistic. She tried to imagine him agreeing to +her plan, and instead she heard him say, "I'm sorry, Claire, but I can't +do it. I've got to go it alone and win or go under. I can't accept the +charity you offer me in place of love. Gratitude, I know, prompts you, +but you owe me nothing, you paid your debt by being eyes for me. No, if +we can't be lovers, we can't be anything else. I know my limitations."</p> + +<p>Why had she put in that about "lovers"? He had never said anything to +lead her to think he would say that. She answered herself that it was +because she would want him to say it. And if he did say it, what would +she answer? She would say—no, she couldn't do that—she would want to +say, "Then let us be lovers!" But that was impossible. In her own +husband's home!</p> + +<p>And what would she think of Philip when she was again in her old world? +He, also, was deserving of gratitude. She stamped her foot in the snow. +She hated him, hated him, and he would drop out of her life, utterly and +forever. She would be glad when she saw the last of him with his +seductive eyes. Those eyes—why did he, and not Lawrence, have them? +They should have been Lawrence's. It was one more instance of the +endless ironic humor of the universe.</p> + +<p>Lawrence—Lawrence and her husband! She turned wearily back toward the +cabin.</p> + +<p>It was nearly noon when she reached home again, and Lawrence, a worried +look on his face, was standing in the door of the cabin.</p> + +<p>"You beat me back," Claire said, as she approached, and her heart leaped +at the look of relief that came into his face.</p> + +<p>"Claire, you ought to be punished," he said in gay, tender tones.</p> + +<p>"What sentence would you pass, Mr. Judge?" she questioned.</p> + +<p>He stepped out toward her.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps your fate needs a good washing in cold snow," he laughed.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it does," she said, caressingly. "Do you think you could +administer it?"</p> + +<p>"I know I could."</p> + +<p>He stooped and took up a handful of snow.</p> + +<p>She did the same and said gaily, "Two washed faces seem inevitable."</p> + +<p>Lawrence laughed and caught her around the waist. Her blood tingled, and +her throat hurt as if she would choke. She began to struggle +desperately, frightened at her own emotion. He laughed, and held her +tighter with one arm while he tried to reach her face with the other +hand. She was pressed against him, and they swayed back and forth, while +Philip laughed from the doorway. Her heart was beating trip-hammer blows +against her breast, she gasped for breath, and her eyes closed. His hand +reached her face, and she ducked against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence! Lawrence!" she sobbed. Her voice startled him. Its pleading, +yielding intensity sent his own blood racing. He let her go, and stepped +back quickly while his breath came short.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Claire," he muttered, and turned away.</p> + +<p>Claire saw Philip watching them, in his eyes a strange, new glitter. She +rushed past him to the cabin and into her little room.</p> + +<p>It was a silent dinner they ate that day.</p> + +<p>Claire was deeply, bitterly humiliated, and she kept seeing again and +again with exaggerated clearness that look in Philip's eyes when she had +staggered free from Lawrence's arms. It burned in her mind like an +unquenchable coal, and she revolted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[Pg 513]</a></span> at it. She was utterly unable to +collect her thoughts. She fancied she could still feel the warm pressure +of Lawrence's body while she suffered untold agony of soul for having +been carried away by his touch. She reproached herself with a scorn that +seared for having ever allowed herself to engage in that silly scuffle.</p> + +<p>She could scarcely bear to sit at the table with Philip, and she did not +once look in his direction. In her heart there was no anger against +Lawrence, only a dull, aching dread, tempered with a longing she did not +attempt to analyze.</p> + +<p>Dominating her thought was the one phrase, "Why need Philip have seen?"</p> + +<p>That look in his eyes—oh, God! would she have to go on day after day +facing those eyes that compelled her in spite of herself? Must she feel +his glances burning through her when her soul was filled with hatred for +him? But was it hatred? Surely his eyes, those lights that made her +marvel, were the windows to a high and noble soul. Yes, he was fine, yet +she wished he was not there, that she had never known him. She asked +herself if she would rather have perished, and she knew she would not. +Better to have lived forever with Philip's eyes piercing into her than +to give up life when Lawrence was with her, needing her, and—she +stopped—loving her, yes, loving her. It was true. She remembered his +voice when he had released her, and thrilled again at the tense note.</p> + +<p>He did love her! And Philip? She felt her heart sink, and then a +strange, subtle warmth came over her. It was good to be loved by two men +so powerful, so worth while, each in his own way.</p> + +<p>Of course, she could never care for Philip. He was beyond her power to +love; besides her heart was filled with Lawrence. But her husband, yes, +she had loved her husband. Her many days of happiness with him proved +that. She could never have lived with him as she had if love had not +been between them. She must remember that, and be true to him. It would +be hard to see Lawrence go out of her life, but it was her duty, she +owed it to herself, to her husband, and to society.</p> + +<p>If she could only get through the remaining months without allowing +Lawrence to hope! She must not give him another opportunity to want her +or to discuss his feelings with her. She would be very, very careful.</p> + +<p>She must plan it as easily for him as possible. The way to accomplish +that was not to be with him. This would necessitate her associating more +with Philip. After all, why shouldn't she? He was good and strong, and +not really in love with her. Of course, he might be, if she allowed it, +but she would stop that. She would show him by word, look, and act that +any such love was inconceivable. He would understand and forget his +earlier feeling, for after all he was not yet alive to the situation. It +was merely circumstances that had brought that look into his eyes.</p> + +<p>Disliking him as she did, it would be hard to associate with him. She +studied this last problem carefully, and at last arrived at a new state +of mind. She did not dislike him, it was merely the natural unconscious +trend of male and female that she hated. He was not to blame, neither +was she, and they were, fortunately, beings with mind and will. They +could use their God-given power to talk it out and face the situation. +Then Philip's natural nobility would make the solution easy. They would +be on a splendid footing of frank understanding; their foresight would +have saved them from a ridiculous and criminal mistake.</p> + +<p>In these mountains she would have found two real friends and a higher +ground of life. After the first painful talk with Philip they would go +out from the cabin, warm comrades, with nothing to regret.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE MAKING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT.</h3> + + +<p>Silently, Lawrence rose and went to his work-chair. The zeal with which +he began to cut his wood showed more clearly than any of them quite +knew, the turbulent state of his mind. He was carried far into +speculative possibilities that shook him with their power. He was +ab<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[Pg 514]</a></span>solutely in love with Claire, that was undoubted. He knew it, and he +was determined to tell her so. To continue living in this uncertainty, +with the memory of her pressed against him always compelling him to put +out his arms and draw her again to himself, was intolerable. He would +speak, and settle it once for all, nor would he take any compromising +negative as a reply. That tone she had used could indicate but one +thing, she loved him, and whether she knew it or not, whether she wanted +to know it or not, should not matter. He would argue it out with her, +showing her with the inexorable logic back of their whole experience how +she was his, his in spite of her husband, in spite of blindness, in +spite of everything. Without her, life was useless, barren, and dead. He +must have her!</p> + +<p>He carved viciously but accurately, while his mind and body yearned +toward the hour when she would be in his arms, yielding, abandoned, +loving.</p> + +<p>Claire watched him from her place at the table in calmness of mind that, +following her day of tumult, she could not understand. Peace, the peace +that comes when one thinks he has settled something forever, was hers.</p> + +<p>"Philip," she said, "our artist has buried himself in his work. Shall we +go forth on a chance adventure?"</p> + +<p>Lawrence choked back a whirl of jealous suspicion that swept to his +lips, and said from his corner, "Do! I'll have a surprise for your +return."</p> + +<p>He wanted to say, "No, stay here, Claire. I wish to tell you something, +to make you see that I love you, that this Philip is not for you, that +he is outside our real lives," but his tongue refused to obey his will.</p> + +<p>"It sounds inviting," said Philip, rising. "Suppose we do."</p> + +<p>They were gone.</p> + +<p>Lawrence worked savagely, his mind grasping at impossible thoughts which +kept struggling for expression. He was afraid, afraid till it chilled +him, lest, after all, she loved Philip. If her voice had sounded so +intense that noon, it had been because she resented his holding her +while her real lover looked on.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Claire and Philip tramped through the pines in silence. She +was wondering why she had come. She hesitated before speaking to him as +she had determined. Perhaps he would be hurt at her imagining he could +think of making any advances to a married woman, he would feel that she +had suspected and accused him of a thing of which he was incapable.</p> + +<p>Speech was difficult, so she trudged along, feeling very uncomfortable. +Her heart ached as she saw again the lonely look on Lawrence's face +bending over his work back there in the cabin.</p> + +<p>"The adventure is slow in coming," Philip said, genially.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we don't know how to find it," she answered, not heeding her +words especially. "To find adventure, one must be awake to +possibilities."</p> + +<p>"True," he mused, looking at her. "So much depends on a man's +experience, knowledge, and imagination."</p> + +<p>"I suppose life itself may set us, even calmly walking here, in the +heart of an adventure."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt it does," he said.</p> + +<p>Claire looked at him in faint alarm.</p> + +<p>"Why," she stammered, "I didn't imagine it was true when I spoke."</p> + +<p>"To him who has faith, the wildest dreams are always possibilities."</p> + +<p>"Do you believe that, Philip?"</p> + +<p>"I have found it to be quite true. I often dreamed of good company here +in my wilderness and a charming woman about my cabin. It has happened."</p> + +<p>"But even that has its very strong drawbacks, hasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"What, for example?" He looked at her, earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she hesitated, laughed, and said, "the rapidly depleted food +supply, your time for thought broken, and all the rest."</p> + +<p>"One sometimes finds a relief from thought very agreeable."</p> + +<p>She wanted to laugh at the force with which his words struck her. "I'm +sure that depends on the thought, as Lawrence would say," she answered, +smiling.</p> + +<p>"It does. And there is nothing I would not give to escape from my +present thoughts." His voice was pitched low.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[Pg 515]</a></span>Her heart failed her, but she said bravely, "Perhaps you need a +confessor, Sir Philip."</p> + +<p>"I do, a gracious one, who can listen well."</p> + +<p>"Then a woman would never serve," Claire laughed. "She would want to +talk, you know."</p> + +<p>Philip stopped, and looked at her. As far as he could see, she was calm, +indifferent, the lady making talk.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," he said, lightly. "They have that reputation, I know."</p> + +<p>"Now, I"—she laughed—"I, also, need a confessor."</p> + +<p>"You?" His look searched her, incredulously. "What in the name of all +the saints have you to confess?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Many things. Misunderstandings, social follies, mistakes in +character reading, mean thoughts, lots of things."</p> + +<p>"Absurd!" His tone was amused. "Who of us is not a sinner in those +things?"</p> + +<p>"But suppose," she ventured, hesitant—"suppose I had misjudged you? +Suppose I had suspected you of things you were not at all guilty of?"</p> + +<p>"I should be sorry if you told me of them."</p> + +<p>It was impossible, she thought, to go on. He would indeed be sorry, and +how foolish she had been! But what had he meant a moment before?</p> + +<p>"Is your confession worse?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I think so. A man is so apt to be a mad fool," he said, and lapsed into +silence.</p> + +<p>They walked some distance before either spoke. Then Claire laughed +suddenly. "Philip," she said, "we all three need a change of scene."</p> + +<p>He turned, and his face was crimson as he looked at her. "It will be +here soon. We can go out in April."</p> + +<p>He had answered her dully, with a heavy sadness in his voice. It was her +golden opportunity; and she took it.</p> + +<p>"Splendid!" she cried—"splendid! I so want to get back to my husband. I +am scarcely able to wait at all."</p> + +<p>"I suppose," he said, "it seems a long time that you have been +separated."</p> + +<p>"Oh, so long," she answered, softly. "And I do so want him."</p> + +<p>He walked on, slowly. "I shall miss you very much."</p> + +<p>Her manner and expression were those of a pleased, frank child when she +answered. "Really, I was so afraid I had been stupid company, and I owe +so much to you. My husband will want to come clear back here to thank +you for your winter's hospitality."</p> + +<p>"It would hardly be worth his while. The debt is more than paid."</p> + +<p>"I shall be sorry—in a way," she went on. "We have become such good +friends, such good comrades with not the least bit of unpleasantness to +remember. I shall always be glad of that."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said. "I am glad, indeed, that you feel so."</p> + +<p>"If any one had ever told me that I should find so rare a gentleman +here"—she laughed—"I would have thought they were talking medieval +gallantry."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. A gentleman is always himself when a lady is a lady."</p> + +<p>Claire flushed a little, and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"I shall remember you with pleasure and regret," continued Philip, his +head high.</p> + +<p>Her eyes opened wide, like a child's. "Oh, with regret, too?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Regret that you did not come to my cabin sooner, freer, and to +stay longer."</p> + +<p>"You are a consummate flatterer, Philip," she chided.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it seems artificial; one can scarcely imagine that I should +be in earnest," he said, a little bitterly.</p> + +<p>Her conscience hurt her, though she did not know why. She could have +said those things before and thought nothing of them. Why did she feel +sorry now?</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that," she said, earnestly. "Believe me, I did not."</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, "you answered out of mere indifference."</p> + +<p>"But I am not indifferent to you, Philip. I like you very much." She was +afraid she had hurt his feelings, and she, herself, was so tense, so +troubled, that she was uncertain of her emotional attitudes these days. +She felt that somehow she had been cruel and very ungracious toward the +man to whom she owed so much.</p> + +<p>"I know," he said, "one is interested, of course, in a novel, foreign +mountaineer."</p> + +<p>She was beginning to feel achy, and tears were near the surface.</p> + +<p>"Philip, why do you misunderstand me?" she cried. "It isn't that at all. +I like you for the man you are."</p> + +<p>He smiled sadly. "And did it ever occur to you that I might love you for +the woman you are?" he said suddenly, his good resolutions all gone.</p> + +<p>She stopped and her breath quickened. Over her rushed a tide of fear, +regret, sorrow. Even then she wondered that it was pity and not anger +which moved her.</p> + +<p>"I do not believe that. How could you?" she said swiftly.</p> + +<p>"You cannot even conceive of my loving you?"</p> + +<p>"I—I can, Philip—it isn't that, I—I"—she was floundering among her +own emotions—"I can under other circumstances, different conditions. +Oh, don't you see—think of"—she had almost said "Lawrence," but +hastily substituted—"my husband."</p> + +<p>"I have thought of him. From the day you came, he has haunted my +footsteps. But after all, he thinks you are dead."</p> + +<p>"But I love him. Think of that, too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Claire, Claire, I have seen you when I felt perhaps you +might—might learn to love me."</p> + +<p>"Philip, it is impossible!" she cried. "Please don't let's spoil +everything now. I so wanted to be just friends."</p> + +<p>His faced kindled and his deep eyes glowed with a fire that both +terrorized and fascinated her.</p> + +<p>"We cannot be that, Claire." His voice vibrated with growing passion. +They stood, facing each other, and she trembled like a reed in the wind.</p> + +<p>"I saw you this morning in his arms," he was tense and speaking rapidly, +"and I knew then that I loved you. Loved you with all the soul of me. I +could have killed him, I tell you. Claire, Claire, I love you! You must +not deny me love."</p> + +<p>She did not, could not answer, her tongue refused to move, and her dry, +hot mouth felt as if she would smother. She looked into his eyes and +said nothing, while she shook violently.</p> + +<p>"Claire!" he cried. "Claire! I love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[Pg 516]</a></span> you!" His arms closed around her +and he held her tightly. His eyes burned into her own with a flame that +was contagious in its intensity. She gasped, trembled, and did not +struggle, though in her mind she was crying, anguished, "Lawrence! +Lawrence!"</p> + +<p>He pressed her more tightly, and his body against her own stirred in her +a passion beyond the control of will. Her eyes lighted warmly and then +closed. She felt suffocated, weak, and her senses reeled. His head bent, +and his lips were pressed fiercely against her own parted ones, stopping +the cry that rose to her throat. He held her fast, keeping his lips +against her own until she felt her strength giving. She half leaned +against him, letting the weight of her body sink into his arms.</p> + +<p>A savage joy sprang into his eyes. She opened her own and saw. Throwing +up her hands wildly, she struck his face, twisted her body free, and +shoving him from her, stood, white, defiant, and determined.</p> + +<p>She was not angry with Philip, only with herself, but the storm of +self-reproach that swept over her burst into bitter, scorching words +against him.</p> + +<p>"You, you coward! You dare to touch me, to take me that way! If I had +only known what sort of a thing you were, you, you viper! Oh, to be here +with you!"</p> + +<p>His dark eyes flashed with sudden rage, and he moved to seize her. She +stood defiantly before him, her white face cold as outraged chastity +itself, and his anger died. Into his face came the dejected, suffering +look of a man whose passion ebbs before the compelling force of a +woman's scorn.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, Claire," he moaned, "forgive me. I was mad, mad."</p> + +<p>She knew he was sincere, and she smiled sadly.</p> + +<p>"I know, Philip," she said. "I understand, but you must realize that it +is impossible. Won't you see that? It was, perhaps, partly my fault. +Forgive me if it was, and let us be friends. Philip, I want a friend," +she continued. "I need one, a big, strong man whom I can trust, whom I +know to be my loyal friend and my husband's friend."</p> + +<p>He put out his hand, shame and love mingling in his face.</p> + +<p>"I will be that friend, Claire," he said, earnestly.</p> + +<p>She took his hand, her mind breaking with relief. She felt she was going +to cry, and she leaned forward to hide her filling eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Philip, God bless you! You do not know what this means to me! You +will never know. I thank you, I thank you!"</p> + +<p>The tears rushed down her cheeks and dropped upon their clasped hands.</p> + +<p>"Claire, don't, please—please don't," Philip pleaded, anguish in his +tone.</p> + +<p>She stopped, forced back her sobs, and smiled at him.</p> + +<p>"Philip Ortez," she said, "I shall make you glad of this."</p> + +<p>Deep in his heart, the words gave him hope. He grasped at them as a +drowning man at a life-belt, but he did not voice the hope.</p> + +<p>"I want to spend much of my time with you, Philip, in the out-of-doors. +I must do it, and it is such a relief to know that I can do it +without—without fear. You will be just my friend, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"If it is in my power, I will." He spoke as a knight of old, taking a +holy vow, and in his heart was the deep, sacred sense of the spirit that +still moved in his idealistic soul.</p> + +<p>Claire laughed joyously, almost hysterically, with the peace that came +over her at the sound of his words. She was sure that all was well. If +she had known that already he was building on the promise of frequent +days alone, she would have been more afraid than ever. But she did not +know that, neither did she know that in her very promise she was +preparing a more difficult situation for her own struggle with herself +than any she had ever faced in her life. She was only aware of the +crisis passed and the peace that was now hers.</p> + +<p>"Let us go back," she said gaily.</p> + +<p>They found Lawrence smoothing his little carved child with a stone. +Claire was effervescent with joy. Her great plan seemed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[Pg 517]</a></span>sure of +success, and she greeted him with a gaiety that was as abnormal as her +despondency had been before.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she cried, "we have had such a walk! And here you have +finished for us this beautiful cherub as the symbol of our little home."</p> + +<p>Her words stung him with savage pain, filling him with a great fear born +of love and jealousy. For a minute he did not know what he was doing or +saying, and he was scarcely aware of the words that fell from him.</p> + +<p>"Cherubs are said to be symbols of the greatest love." He laughed +tonelessly. "It belongs to you, Claire. Take it."</p> + +<p>The child was carved standing upon a stump with wings outspread. In the +form and face of the figure there was so much of benevolence, love, and +charity that the imaginative power of this blind artist filled Claire +with awe. She stood reverently before it, her heart singing with pride +in the handiwork of the man she loved. She interpreted his words as a +confession that he had carved it for her as a symbol of his love, and +she was humbled before him, before his work. She wanted to throw herself +in his arms and to tell him with the gift of her unreserved self how +grateful she was for his gift, but she only said, very softly, taking +both his hands: "Thank you, Lawrence."</p> + +<p>The words struck his ear with a strangely mixed power in their sound. He +wanted to laugh at the bitter mockery that swept into him. He had made +the image for love of her, and he presented it to her as a symbol of her +love for Philip. It was cruel, but he could endure it. Oh, yes, he was +accustomed to life's little jokes. He did not answer her thanks, only +gripped her hands in his own capable ones till he hurt her.</p> + +<p>To Philip, the child brought still other suggestions. Moved by his +present feeling of great, chivalrous guardianship of the woman who had +said she needed him, he felt that it was a symbol of the great +sacrificial love which he was privileged to know, and at the same time +he felt that it was a symbol of hope.</p> + +<p class="continue2"><b>TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.</b> Don't forget this magazine +is issued weekly, and that you will get the +continuation of this story without waiting a month.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1><a name="Part_III" id="Part_III"></a>Claire</h1> + +<h2><i>by</i><br />Leslie Burton Blades</h2> + +<h3>THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO<br /> +<i>BY A BLIND AUTHOR</i></h3> + +<p class="center">This story began in the All-Story Weekly for October 5.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_697" id="Page_697">[Pg 697]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE UNHORSING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT.</h3> + + +<p>Between men and women who have established what they believe to be an +unemotional friendship there nearly always springs up a relation +franker than any which is otherwise possible. Such was the experience +of Philip and Claire during the days that followed. They took many walks +together, and their conversation grew daily more exclusive and more +personal.</p> + +<p>Lawrence, through ignorance of their situation and jealousy of Philip, +grew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_698" id="Page_698">[Pg 698]</a></span> daily more dissatisfied. He would hear the intimate ring in their +voices and writhe within. The artist felt keenly that he was being set +aside, and his eager determination to live and be in the front rank of +warring manhood made him determine to win Claire against this man who, +it seemed to him, was taking her from him by mere advantage of sight. He +felt that they were shelving him as a blind man, a very nice fellow, but +quite outside the possibility of any relation with their real lives. He +now thought that Claire was kind to him as one is to those whose +situation makes them objects of pity.</p> + +<p>There were days when he sat alone before the fire in the cabin brooding +until he was filled with savage hatred of Philip. He would think of all +sorts of impossible means of eliminating this Spaniard from Claire's +life; then Philip would come in, talk to him, seem so very normally +friendly as man to man, that his reason mastered his fancies and he +laughed at himself. He ridiculed his own thoughts with an irony that +inwardly grew in bitterness with his growing love for Claire, and he +would end by admitting that Philip was only doing what he himself would +like to do.</p> + +<p>In his fair-minded moments he did not blame his friend. "I should be a +fool to expect him to act differently," he told himself. "In this +struggle for meat and mate which we all wage, he is doing what any one +would do. I who am losing must at least be just to him." He resolved to +be just, and in a little while was again ensnaring himself in his own +notions. "She is throwing herself away upon this Spaniard," he thought, +"while I sit by. If I were not blind, she would see that after all I am +the better man. I put all my power into the carving of that little +statue, and she knows it is good, better than anything he has done or +can do, and yet—she loves him."</p> + +<p>He would rise and walk the floor in his tension, knocking into the +chairs recklessly. His thoughts would gain speed from his bodily +movement, and soon he would rage against the man whose guest he was, +against Claire, against life, fate, and blindness. Then suddenly his +ever self-questioning mind would demand of him, "Why are you doing +nothing, then?" He did nothing because he could do nothing. That was +his answer, no sooner made than contradicted, no sooner contradicted +than to be restated, "I do nothing because I will do nothing."</p> + +<p>Several times he refused to go with them on tramps or skiing trips. When +they were gone he would revile himself for his stubbornness and ache +because Claire could not see that he had refused with a petulant boy's +hope that she would stay with him. "Why should she stay with me?" There +was no reason, he told himself, and again he would be off on a mental +whirlwind that carried him still farther from reason. He became +perpetually sullen, irritable, and discontented. He realized it, thought +that Claire would certainly grow to dislike him if he continued so +disagreeable, and with the thought became even more disagreeable.</p> + +<p>Claire, however, was not growing to dislike him. She avoided him in +pursuance of her settled policy, but she thought of him all the more.</p> + +<p>One morning when she and Philip were out in the pines together, she +observed, casually, "Lawrence doesn't seem to be doing any work these +days."</p> + +<p>Philip glanced at her carelessly. "Yes. I'm very sorry for the poor +fellow."</p> + +<p>His pity angered her a little. Lawrence did not need his sympathy. "I +think he must be feeling badly," she replied.</p> + +<p>"I believe he is moody by nature."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do you? I hadn't thought so," she objected.</p> + +<p>"It is not strange," Philip went on; "he is so limited by his blindness +and so ambitious that the effect is almost sure to be a disgruntled +mind. He cannot hope to overcome his blindness, and he ought to realize +it. I think that is the cause of his odd philosophy. He certainly would +be happier if he could get a more sunlit view of things. He needs +optimism, and he ought to practise it."</p> + +<p>For a moment, Claire was silent. She was not willing to admit that +Lawrence was unable to conquer blindness or even that his beliefs were +altogether wrong. She had more often disagreed with him than not, but +now for some reason she found herself desiring to support his +convictions.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_699" id="Page_699">[Pg 699]</a></span>"I don't agree with you," she answered Philip, a little shortly.</p> + +<p>"Well then, what is my lady's diagnosis?" He had not noticed her curt +reply, for he was thinking of something else and was not really +interested in Lawrence as a topic of conversation.</p> + +<p>Claire was unable to answer; she disliked both his tone and his +expression, but she had nothing to substitute for his explanation.</p> + +<p>They walked on in silence for a few minutes through the trees before she +ventured a little lamely, "I don't know what to say."</p> + +<p>Philip looked up, smilingly. "To say about what, Claire?" Then he +remembered, and continued hastily, "Oh, pardon me. I know, of course. +About Lawrence. If I could suggest anything to do, I would. He is an +interesting friend, but I have nothing to offer. It seems to me that we +can do no more than to let him alone. He will work it out for himself. +If he does not, we cannot help. He would not expect us to do so."</p> + +<p>"That's no reason we shouldn't try," she flashed, "unless, of course, +you quite agree with his argument after all."</p> + +<p>Philip colored slightly and said, "I admit the fault, Claire, but what +can we do?"</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you get him to tell what's the matter?" she asked, groping for +something to say.</p> + +<p>"No more than you could. Perhaps even less easily. You know him better +than I and understand him better."</p> + +<p>She laughed, a little satisfaction warming her at his words. "Sometimes +I think I understand him, sometimes I know I don't. As he himself would +say, it is merely a matter of blind psychology, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"It is not," she answered positively. "It's more a matter of artist +psychology, I think."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," he admitted; "certainly the combination is difficult."</p> + +<p>"I do wish we could do something for him."</p> + +<p>"He would be better off if he would come out with us, but since he will +not, he will not." Philip's tone showed clearly that he was inclined to +let the matter drop.</p> + +<p>But not so Claire. "You are willing to help me, aren't you, Philip?"</p> + +<p>"Why yes, if there is any way in which I can be of service."</p> + +<p>"We might stay and talk with him more."</p> + +<p>"That is useless, I fear," he said abruptly, his own wishes revolting +against sacrificing his companionship with Claire or against sharing it +with Lawrence.</p> + +<p>"He was unhesitating in his care for me those days we wandered," she +remarked simply.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me again. I forgot for the time that you owed him anything."</p> + +<p>"He doesn't consider that I owe him anything. It's simply that I want +him to be as happy as possible shut up here with us away from his own +kind of life."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Philip looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you think he could be +happier with other people?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so," she answered, a little regretfully.</p> + +<p>Philip's eyes searched her face. "I should think you could satisfy any +one's need for companionship," he said, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Don't flatter, Philip. That was a very silly speech."</p> + +<p>"Was it? It was not flattery at any rate. It is my feeling about you."</p> + +<p>"Please," she said, stopping, "let's not go into that again."</p> + +<p>"Very well, but why cannot my lady extend her charity? There are other +unfortunates besides Lawrence who have troubles to face."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Philip, you really haven't any troubles. You merely imagine you +have."</p> + +<p>He laughed, a little bitterly. "I suppose a life's happiness is a small +thing."</p> + +<p>"It isn't, Philip," she protested. "But you can get out and tramp and +trap and see things, and, after all, you don't really love me as you +thought you did. We've settled all that."</p> + +<p>"I know we have," he agreed. "That is, you have."</p> + +<p>She looked him over, angrily. "So this is the outcome! I ask you to +think of another person who needs our care, and you disregard him for +your own little troubles!"</p> + +<p>Philip looked down and flushed crimson.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_700" id="Page_700">[Pg 700]</a></span> "Well, it does seem as if I +were selfish. I am afraid I am. But I do not mean to be. I can talk to +him if you wish."</p> + +<p>"You needn't," she said, angered still more. "It isn't charity I'm +asking you to bestow on him. He doesn't need that, and you ought to know +it."</p> + +<p>She had laid more emphasis than she intended on the word "he," and +Philip's face darkened.</p> + +<p>"I see," he said coldly. "It is I after all to whom you are charitable. +Thank you."</p> + +<p>Tears of vexation came to Claire's eyes. "Oh, I do wish you'd be +reasonable," she said, half angrily, half pleadingly. "Don't you +understand that I am giving you more frank friendship than ever I gave +any man in my life? Isn't that of any value to you? Don't you realize +how unfair you have been to Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>His face grew suddenly white, as he said, "Do you love him, Claire?"</p> + +<p>She did not look away from him. "If I did, would it concern you?"</p> + +<p>He took one step toward her, then stopped.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it would," he answered.</p> + +<p>Her anger almost mastered her, but she controlled herself.</p> + +<p>"Philip, are we two irrational animals going to spoil everything? I had +hoped you might at least allow our companionship to live."</p> + +<p>He looked at her without answering. Finally, he choked, "Don't—don't, +Claire, I have the right to know."</p> + +<p>"If I promise to tell you when there is anything to tell, will you be +satisfied?" She felt no scruple of conscience at her pretense of +indifference to Lawrence, only a sense of protection for him. She did +not know from what she was protecting him, but the feeling gave her a +strange pleasure.</p> + +<p>"I will," Philip returned, simply.</p> + +<p>"And in the mean time will you help me pull him out of his slough of +despond?" she asked, smiling with the old, frank, intimate manner.</p> + +<p>"Surely I will, though I confess I do not see the way."</p> + +<p>"Then shall we go at once and begin our cheering process, my friend?" +she said, as though she were conferring a favor by the use of the word.</p> + +<p>He winced at her immediate application of his promise.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we would better," he answered sadly, and turned toward the +cabin.</p> + +<p>As she walked by his side she had already dismissed him from her +attention and was busy planning what she might do to make Lawrence +happy.</p> + +<p>When they entered the cabin, Claire looked eagerly about the room. As +she glanced around, her face clouded. Lawrence was gone. His coat and +hat were not on the rack, and the cane which he had carved one day from +a stick which she had brought him from the woods was also missing.</p> + +<p>Claire walked slowly into the room, her mind filled with an +unaccountable apprehension.</p> + +<p>"Why, how abandoned the place seems without Lawrence! Where is he, I +wonder?" She tried to appear casual.</p> + +<p>Philip followed her in and placed a chair for her. His mind, already +touched with the potential jealousy that Claire's talk had begun, leaped +ahead at her words and he felt more than ever doubtful of her attitude +toward Lawrence. Though he quickly dispelled his fear, the thought left +behind, as such things do, the readier soil for a stronger weed to +spring up in.</p> + +<p>"He has gone out for a walk, I suppose. Doubtless, he will be back +soon." His voice was indifferent. "Will you not sit down, Claire? You +stand there looking about you as though you had lost something."</p> + +<p>She was on the point of saying she had, but checked herself, and +accepted the chair.</p> + +<p>"It's so unusual. He never did this before." Claire forced a smile.</p> + +<p>"Well, he will be the better for it; I am glad that he has gone out," +Philip answered.</p> + +<p>"I know, but it is so difficult for him to find his way through the +snow," she said. "He told me it muffles sounds until he is almost +helpless in it. His feet can't feel the ground, and he doesn't know +which way to turn."</p> + +<p>"He cannot possibly go far, and he cannot get lost." Philip's tone was +becoming a little edged.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_701" id="Page_701">[Pg 701]</a></span>"All the same, it worries me to have him out this way."</p> + +<p>Philip started toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Shall I go search for him?" His voice, unknown to himself, was heavy.</p> + +<p>Claire glanced at him quickly. Her intuition told her he was jealous, +and she saw he was angry. She wanted to shout at him, "Go find +Lawrence!" and she was surprised at the sudden panicky nervousness that +seized her. But she rose calmly and crossed to the fireplace, saying as +she sat down, "No, thank you; I think he is able to take care of +himself."</p> + +<p>Philip also seated himself.</p> + +<p>"I think he is," he said. "Certainly he thinks so, and comes near enough +to proving his assertion."</p> + +<p>She was both angry and pleased with his words.</p> + +<p>"I never saw a man less handicapped by misfortune," she remarked.</p> + +<p>"He does do very well."</p> + +<p>"Lawrence seems all capable sense-nerves, and he is so very efficient +with his touch. What a keen appreciation of beauty he has!"</p> + +<p>"I think he does remarkably well."</p> + +<p>"In the hills he used to describe scenes to me, and do it accurately +just from their sound; running water and wind in the trees," she went +on, not noticing Philip's short replies.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is quite surprising."</p> + +<p>"He certainly has taught me a great deal about blindness."</p> + +<p>"Association with him does do that."</p> + +<p>"Do you know, I believe he is one of the most unusual men I have ever +known."</p> + +<p>Philip rose quickly.</p> + +<p>"Doubtless. He is not the only topic of conversation our friendship +permits, is he, Claire?"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him, and rose immediately, her eyes flashing.</p> + +<p>"I think you are more selfish with your theories of altruism than he +with his egoism."</p> + +<p>Philip looked quietly back at her.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I am where the woman I love is concerned."</p> + +<p>Claire turned away and walked angrily toward her room.</p> + +<p>"I see you can't maintain a friendship," she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Meaning, you cannot." Philip's voice was bitter.</p> + +<p>She turned quickly and looked at him.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she asked him, fearing.</p> + +<p>"I mean that you are unfair. You ask me not to talk of my love, you wish +to talk friendship, while you are forcing me by your every word and act +to think of my own misery."</p> + +<p>Claire stood aghast before him. His words seemed to her to be an +accusation so grossly false that she was stunned beyond anger.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," she said anxiously.</p> + +<p>"You ought to understand. I love you, I cannot help but love you, fight +it as I will. You say you cannot love me because of your husband. Yet +your talk is not of your husband, but of this blind man. You say you +desire friendship, yet you allow me all that a woman allows her accepted +suitor."</p> + +<p>Claire was appalled. She stared at him in amazement, faltering.</p> + +<p>"Why, Philip, I—what is the matter? I don't do any such thing."</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," he replied. "You look at me with that warm light in +your eyes, because you think I am not human. I am a mere duenna, a +chaperon, perhaps."</p> + +<p>She sank into a chair and covered her face. "I didn't think," she +moaned, and could say no more. A thousand memories of her intimate +treatment of Philip swept through her mind. She had considered him as +one of her own family, without thought, without intent, because she had +believed so strongly in his assurance of friendship. After a pause, she +gathered her thoughts.</p> + +<p>"Philip, I may have done as you say," she spoke slowly, "but it was not +because I was not conscious of your manhood. It was because I thought +you stronger than you are. I believed you could be my friend and not ask +more."</p> + +<p>He stood quietly looking at her where she sat.</p> + +<p>"And what of him?" he asked, steadily.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_702" id="Page_702">[Pg 702]</a></span>"I am worried about him because he is blind, nothing more." She lied, +looking straight into his eyes, then rose and stepped behind the +curtain.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he almost sang. "I am deeply, humbly, a thousand times sorry. +You cannot know how your talk of Lawrence made me wild. I am a fool, I +will admit, but I cannot think of your loving him, blind, selfish, +egoistic, intolerant of other people, I cannot."</p> + +<p>"You needn't," she returned, coldly. Her whole soul was filled with +rage. She was recalling that he had said her eyes were alight when she +looked at him, and she told herself that it was not true.</p> + +<p>"Won't you give me a chance to show myself as I am, Claire? I want to +prove to you that I am not a selfish beast."</p> + +<p>She thought of Lawrence's cynical view of Philip's sentiments, and she +laughed.</p> + +<p>Philip groaned, and then said again, "Aren't you fair enough to do that, +Claire?"</p> + +<p>"And what will you read in my eyes next?" she inquired icily.</p> + +<p>"Whatever is there?" he answered.</p> + +<p>"But your imagination spoils your sight," she returned.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. I will not deny that I am not myself where you are concerned. +But I ask only for one more trial. And I will do my best."</p> + +<p>Claire was growing more and more worried about Lawrence. What could have +happened to him?</p> + +<p>"Then go and find Lawrence," she said suddenly.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY.</h3> + + +<p>Claire heard Philip leave the house, and she sat down on her bed to wait +and think. It seemed ages that she sat there, her imagination busy with +a hundred possible calamities. When she finally heard the door open she +was almost afraid to look.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence!" Her voice was full of warm gladness.</p> + +<p>He was hanging his hat in its place.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Claire. Back, are you?" His voice held the impersonal, sullen +note that he used of late. "Where is Philip?"</p> + +<p>"Why, didn't he find you?"</p> + +<p>Lawrence was immediately angry. He thought, "Why should Philip be +hunting for me? I don't need his care. Can't I even go out without a +guardian?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't see him," he returned, aloud.</p> + +<p>"I sent him to find you." She was standing looking at him, her whole +figure expressing love and relief at his return.</p> + +<p>He was too angry to catch the fine warmth of her voice, and his +inability to see handicapped him more at that moment than at any time in +his life.</p> + +<p>"I sent him to find you," she said again.</p> + +<p>"He didn't. I came back as I went, alone."</p> + +<p>"Lawrence, what is the matter with you?" she asked, pleadingly, with +tears in her voice.</p> + +<p>He felt the emotion in her words, and was suddenly contrite. If he had +known it, he was acting like the sentimentalists whom he ridiculed, but +he suffered from the egotist's fate, he did not recognize his own +failing.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that there is anything the matter, Claire. It angered me +to think that you still imagine that because I am blind I need a +guardian," he said, dropping into a chair.</p> + +<p>She came over toward him, impulsively.</p> + +<p>"That isn't the idea at all," she said, still very worried. "It was +simply that you told me yourself that you were helpless in the snow."</p> + +<p>"I didn't ask to be cared for," he snapped.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't caring for you—nor about you," she retorted, in sudden +irritation. "I didn't want you to be lost, that's all."</p> + +<p>"I should think you'd be glad to see me gone." He was a little ashamed +of his own words, but he did not try to remedy the speech.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>He smiled ironically. "Even a blind man sometimes sees too much of +lovers."</p> + +<p>Claire sank into a chair and struggled against the starting sobs. It +seemed to her that her whole life was becoming one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_703" id="Page_703">[Pg 703]</a></span> continual argument +wherein she was accused and in return forced to demand explanations.</p> + +<p>"What in the world do you mean?" she faltered. "Are you saying that +Philip and I are lovers?"</p> + +<p>"Aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not! It isn't like you to say that. And what if we were?"</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't be any of my business, would it?" He was bitter.</p> + +<p>"I suppose not," she said, weakly.</p> + +<p>"You needn't be hesitant about admitting it. It's true," he went on. +"Why shouldn't it be? I am a mere piece of excess baggage which you are +too kind-hearted to eliminate. I know that, too. Why shouldn't you +eliminate me?" He smiled, satirically. "If I were Philip Ortez, loving +you and loved in return, I would feel like killing the blind man, whose +presence hampered."</p> + +<p>She stared at him, wondering if he were in earnest.</p> + +<p>"Then it's fortunate that you haven't the opportunity to feel that way."</p> + +<p>"Obviously." He laughed, sullenly. "I sha'n't, because you couldn't love +a blind man."</p> + +<p>Claire only sat and looked at him, thrilled with the knowledge that he +was about to tell her he loved her. She was trembling and desperately +afraid of herself. She moved uneasily, and against her will; her lips +said, "I could love a blind man, Lawrence."</p> + +<p>He sat up and clenched his hands together quickly. The tone of her voice +in itself was a direct confession. But his deep skepticism of blindness +would not let him believe that he was right.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you do love me?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>She wanted to say "Yes," but she thought of Philip and was afraid of +what he might do, should he learn of her lie. Then, too, there was her +resolution to go back to Howard. Strange that her long-planned friendly +explanation of her own attitude did not occur to her, but it did not.</p> + +<p>Lawrence rose and came toward her, his hands out. He was determined to +know, once and for all. The gathering emotion in his breast was growing +into an unbearable pain.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said, coming nearer and nearer. "Could you love me?"</p> + +<p>His hands were almost to her. She saw them coming; terror, love, +happiness, anguish, and the desire to be his paralyzed her will. She did +not move.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she whispered, "I could."</p> + +<p>He put his arms around her and lifted her until she was crushed against +him.</p> + +<p>"Do you love me, Claire?" he asked, tensely.</p> + +<p>She did not answer, but her head sank against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Outside the cabin, she heard Philip's step in the snow.</p> + +<p>"No!" she cried frantically, filled with dread. "No, no! Let me go!"</p> + +<p>Lawrence, too, heard, and released her, stepping back indifferently, as +though just going toward a chair.</p> + +<p>The door opened, and Philip entered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're back, I see." The artist was coldly cordial in his greeting.</p> + +<p>"And I see you, which is more important," Philip laughed.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so." Lawrence sat down, thoughtfully. "Claire has just +scolded me for going out. She doesn't like to have me add to the bother +I am already."</p> + +<p>Claire was still under the spell of her own emotion, and she resented +Lawrence's sang-froid. He was as cold as a block of stone. Her heart +cried out against him because he could not see why she had said "No" to +him, because he believed her! She wanted to cry, but did not dare.</p> + +<p>"I told him we were worried," she said, indifferently.</p> + +<p>"So we were." Philip was cheerful and friendly.</p> + +<p>Lawrence buried himself from them both, and sat brooding, clothed in the +blackness that blindness brought when it suddenly loomed before him as +the wall between him and his life's desires. The brief instant Claire +had been in his arms had made him feel that his life was intolerable +without her, and that blindness was the curse of a double living death. +She had told him that she did not love him. She had struggled to be +free.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_704" id="Page_704">[Pg 704]</a></span>Lawrence failed to read Claire aright because he had not seen her, and +because his blindness made him uncertain of himself.</p> + +<p>That was the truth of it all, the awful truth of his life.</p> + +<p>He was always uncertain of himself because he was afraid of blindness. +He strutted, boasted, lied, and above all pretended to himself that he +believed his hard philosophy because he was afraid, afraid of failing to +do the things he wanted to do. He saw himself clearly now, he was a +coward, a deceiving ape, a monkey caught in the terror of tangling +roots, and denying it. He barked like a frightened dog, at the thing +that was his master. He was gripped by life, tortured by life, denied +death by life, and cheated by life of living. His imagination, fired by +his passion, leaped into play, and he felt himself a thousand times a +slave, a chained prisoner in the hand of circumstance.</p> + +<p>Philip was laughing gaily, and talking to Claire, who listened, +answered, and was all the while lost in her own thought. When he had +entered, Philip had looked quickly at the two to see if there was aught +between them, and had found Lawrence colder, more despondent than ever. +He told himself that Lawrence had evidently pleaded with Claire for her +love and been denied. At least, this blind man had not been successful, +and Philip could afford to be good-humored. The more agreeable he was, +the more Claire would turn to him from that dark, ungracious form +yonder. His would be the victory of pleasant manners. Therefore he +talked, gladly, smilingly, while Claire listened, or seemed to listen.</p> + +<p>She was rebellious at the fear which had made her cry "No" to Lawrence, +and at the same time glad that she had done so, afraid of the future, +exasperated with Philip for coming in at the supreme moment, and angry +with Lawrence for his stupidity.</p> + +<p>Perhaps these tangled relations might have been cleared had it not been +for a piece of folly more stupendous than any they had yet experienced. +This event occurred the day after Lawrence's walk in the snow.</p> + +<p>Philip had stepped out for a few minutes to look at a near-by trap, and +Claire and the artist were left alone for the first time since her +denial. She wanted him to renew his suit, feared that he would, and sat +waiting for him to speak.</p> + +<p>But he remained silent, and at last she said, "Lawrence."</p> + +<p>"Well?" He did not move.</p> + +<p>The psychology of woman has been too often commented upon and attempted +by those who thought they could explain. Why Claire was doing and saying +what she did, she herself could not tell.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence, don't you ever, ever act as you did yesterday again."</p> + +<p>He smiled. "It would be dangerous if your gallant should come in less +slowly." He was filled with a desire to hurt her.</p> + +<p>Claire was angry with him for saying what was so utterly far from her +mind and so different from what she wanted him to say.</p> + +<p>"If my gallant should come in," she thrust coldly, "he would scarcely +appreciate the melodrama you are playing."</p> + +<p>Lawrence sat up with a jerk, his rage near the boiling point.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" he demanded. "I have not interfered with your +delightful episode, have I?"</p> + +<p>"No, and you couldn't. I mean that my husband—he is my lover—for I +know that is what you intend by 'gallant'—would scarcely appreciate the +type of man who mopes and abuses the woman who does not care to lie in +his arms."</p> + +<p>Lawrence sat still, while a fierce, uncontrollable rage consumed him. He +felt that to take this woman and whip her into submission would be a +pleasure. He thought of the lash he had in his studio at home and wished +it were in his hand. With the thought he rose and stepped swiftly toward +Claire, his teeth set.</p> + +<p>She saw him, and rose.</p> + +<p>"I have one way of showing you who is master," he began, and stopped.</p> + +<p>She had stepped forward and was standing almost against him.</p> + +<p>"Even blindness does not allow you the freedom to threaten."</p> + +<p>He shrank back and dropped once more into his chair.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_705" id="Page_705">[Pg 705]</a></span>Claire was talking rapidly, savagely. Later she was to be thrown into a +despairing self-hate that kept her many a night in tears, but now she +went on.</p> + +<p>"Do you think I will overlook everything in you because I pity you? +There have been times when your impositions, so carelessly thrust upon +me, because you were selfish, because you knew I must accept them from +you, were almost unbearable. The touch of your thief-trained hands to +steal from everything its beauty and self-respect has galled me beyond +all endurance. My body has received its last vile grasp from you."</p> + +<p>She stopped, appalled at his expression. She did not know, neither of +them knew, that love, the ever-changing impulse of creation within men +and women, speaks its desire through bitter scorn and abuse, when softer +words are too slow in finding their way.</p> + +<p>He was sitting there, white, anguished, cowering under her tongue, his +whole life shaken. Her words made him feel that the thing she said was +true. He had always feared it, realizing that in a measure it was +inevitable, and his great strength was now turned against himself, +against his bitter handicap, and he was in that tremendous upheaval that +requires a rebuilding of one's faith. His belief in himself was broken. +His belief in his power was gone. Coming after weeks of thought and fear +about blindness, Claire's words tore him asunder and made him feel that +there was nothing for him but abject misery and dependence upon charity.</p> + +<p>Instinctively, his hand went up as if to shield him from a blow, and he +murmured, "For God's sake, Claire!"</p> + +<p>There was to come a time, later, when experience would have taught him +that there is a wild strain in the nature of human hearts which abuses +out of a desire to be conquered. He did not yet realize that he had +spoken truly when he said that this woman had hidden in her the savage +warring sexed tumult of all the struggling ages.</p> + +<p>She saw him there, his hand up, and suddenly her emotion changed. It was +love, still love crying out for expression, but now she was all +compassion, tenderness, and fear. She read in his face what she had +done, and her heart was gray with the pain at her own failure.</p> + +<p>Now all love for her was buried, perhaps dead, under his shattered +selfhood, slain in the wrecking earthquake that she had brought to pass +with the ardor of her passion. She had meant to sting him into taking +her in his arms and forcing her to love him, and instead—"Oh, God!" she +whispered, and slipped behind the curtain to throw herself on her bed +and weep with heart wrung by self-condemnation and loving pity for the +man whom she had clubbed with his own dread weakness. She had shattered +into chaos the strong soul of the man she loved, with the only weapon he +would have felt, and she realized now that it was her love, her desire +to be his, to be his utterly, that had led her to do it.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was too hurt to move. His mind repeated again and again the +words she had spoken. He kept saying to himself: "Blindness has made me +that, an egotist beggar." He did not reproach Claire. She had swept him +too far from his habitual moorings for that. There was no rebellion +against her, none, indeed, against life. Over him rolled wave after wave +of self-contempt, distrust, and anguish that shook him with an agony +that only the assured man knows when the one he loves most of all on +earth strikes dead his faith in himself. He thought of a multitude of +things that stabbed anew, but not once did he move in the interminable +period that passed before Philip returned.</p> + +<p>When he did come, the Spaniard was amazed at the crouching, white-faced +man whom he found before a dying fire. There was something so sad in the +blind face that Philip felt no suspicion and no anger. He looked for +Claire, but she was not visible. He stirred the fire and set about +preparing supper while his mind began digging at the problem which he +saw in the attitude of the man there in the chair. Claire did not come +out to help. She was too exhausted from the storm that had swept over +her. In her bed she could hardly smother the scream that kept rising to +her lips. She wanted to spring up and cry aloud to Law<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_706" id="Page_706">[Pg 706]</a></span>rence for +forgiveness. She was scarcely aware of Philip as he moved about.</p> + +<p>She could have thrown herself at Lawrence's feet and pleaded with him. +She was discovering that her whole wild outbreak was a strange +expression of her physical desire for this man whom she loved, and the +discovery made her as self-detesting as she had been violent in her +outbreak. It seemed to her that there was nothing, nothing she would not +do to make amends to Lawrence for what she had said. She wanted to tell +him what it had been that prompted her, but she dared not lest in +revulsion at her viciousness he turn on her and kill her.</p> + +<p>"God, God," she muttered, "what have I done!"</p> + +<p>Philip was calling her to supper. She steadied her voice, and said +humbly: "I can't come out. I'm not feeling very well. Go on without me, +please."</p> + +<p>She heard him speak to Lawrence, and she strained her ears to catch the +answering movement toward the table, but there was none. At last Philip +spoke again in a voice that was full of anxiety: "Lawrence, what in +God's name has happened?"</p> + +<p>Lawrence was moving now, and she waited with bated breath for his +answer. He walked to the table and sat down. His voice was heavy. "I've +found myself out, Philip. That's all. I know what I am."</p> + +<p>There was a moment of silence. Claire covered her mouth with her hand to +suppress a cry. She wanted to shout: "No, no, no, not that, but what I +am, my beloved, my adored one."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Philip's voice seemed stern.</p> + +<p>"I mean that I am indebted to you and Claire for the truth I needed."</p> + +<p>Behind the curtain Claire turned on her face and burst into sobs.</p> + +<p>Philip arose abruptly. "Lawrence," he said quietly, "I do not know what +has happened to you this afternoon; I do not know what you mean; but +this I do know: I am deeply sorry if anything I have done or said has +made you feel that you are an unwelcome guest in my home."</p> + +<p>Lawrence stood up and gathered his scattered senses.</p> + +<p>"Philip, I beg your pardon, old man. It isn't that at all. The truth +is"—and his voice broke—"I have lied to myself and to the world these +many years. Much of it hasn't been my fault, but I must pay the price +just the same. I am blind. That has led me to a sort of clamorous egoism +which carried me on and on until I came to feel that I was really doing +something. At last, I know that I am a narrow human parasite, worthless, +utterly worthless. A blind, clinging, grasping, vagrant beast, fed upon +the mercy of too kind-hearted humanity. I am sorry. It isn't my fault, +but it is so."</p> + +<p>Philip stood for a few minutes in silence. "You're ill, Lawrence," he +said finally. "Get back to yourself if you can. Things do not stay at +this point in human abasement. I know of what I speak. I have been +through that myself. I cannot say anything comforting. No one can."</p> + +<p>They went to bed with but a few commonplace remarks, and the cabin +became silent. Lawrence lay awake through that night. Claire, unknown to +him, spent her vigil in a great readjustment of her life.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">PHILIP TO THE RESCUE.</h3> + + +<p>It is always the little things in human relations that have the most +far-reaching results. Claire might have avoided much trouble with a few +well-chosen words to Lawrence, but her own mental state prevented her +from speaking.</p> + +<p>On his part, Lawrence was so shaken by her outburst that his love for +her was driven deep into his subconscious self, and for the time it lay +there dormant. After the sudden volcanic upheaval of his entire +universe, he was utterly absorbed in the immediate task of +reconstructing his faith in himself. The primitive stages of his +thinking did not allow for any relation between himself and the woman +who had released the dam of self-abasement. She was unavoidably at hand, +reminding him of her speech, and that alone delayed what otherwise would +have been an unconscious process.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_707" id="Page_707">[Pg 707]</a></span>Claire was not able to forget the intense desire which, she now +realized, had prompted her terrible diatribe. Humiliation held her in +its throes, and she was reserved, distant, and unnatural toward him.</p> + +<p>Philip saw it all, and his mind was filled with conjectures which made +him less and less charitable toward Lawrence, more jealous, and more +hopeful of a happy issue of his love for Claire. She turned to him +eagerly for companionship. Instinctively she sought refuge from her own +thoughts—and from Lawrence—by talking to Philip.</p> + +<p>The morning after the incident between Lawrence and Claire there had +been an austere reserve in the cabin. Claire had fled from the +oppressive gloom into the open. Outside Philip joined her, and they +walked together in silence. He was determined not to ask Claire what had +happened, although he was extending her a silent sympathy which she felt +and a little resented.</p> + +<p>Lawrence, left alone in the cabin, gave small heed to their departure. +He had risen with a frightful headache and a fever. He lay on the bed +and thought of his situation, his past life, and his future chances, in +bitter, heartrending, self-condemnatory sarcasm which made his condition +even less tolerable than it would have been otherwise.</p> + +<p>"I am a miserable groveler at the feet of humanity," he thought, +"clutching at shrinking shoestrings for a piece of bread in pity's name. +If I could see, God, if I only could!"</p> + +<p>He thought of all the little things which his blindness made it +absolutely necessary for others to do for him, and his excited mind +magnified them into colossal proportions. If his landlady in New York +had removed a spot from his clothes, as she had often done, that was a +proof of his despised state. He fell to imagining that he was unkempt, +dirty, disgustingly unclean, and that people had tolerated it because +they had pitied him. At last, with a cry of anguish, he thought: "And my +work, too, it is a botched mess which they are amused at and do not dare +to tell me the truth about. It, too, is a jest that the world is having +at my expense." He remembered praise and prizes that he had won in +contests with other students, and he was too excited to see the folly of +his answer: "That was charity, the award of kindness to me. I know now +what they thought—that for a blind man the thing was nearly enough +correct to be interesting and quite amusing."</p> + +<p>His body felt hot, and he went outside to prowl about in the wind and +snow, like a despairing beast. His mind kept up its terrible work, and +he did not notice the continual drop in temperature. Round and round the +cabin he walked, instead of going into the forest, as he would have done +the day before. In his mind was a sudden doubt of his own ability, and +he said that Claire had been right to keep him in. She was more aware of +his pitiable weakness than he. At last, however, from sheer weariness he +went inside. He was chilled through, but instead of rebuilding the fire +and warming himself, he rolled up in a blanket and lay on the bed, +chilling and burning by turns.</p> + +<p>In the mean time Claire and Philip were discussing the man in the cabin. +Philip had finally broken the silence by saying: "Claire, you needn't +feel so about whatever has happened. Remember he is blind and must be +treated less critically than other men."</p> + +<p>She knew that that was just what had made Lawrence so deadly white when +she had spoken, and it filled her with sickening pain. She answered +unsteadily: "That isn't true. It isn't Lawrence, anyway, it's myself who +should be condemned."</p> + +<p>Philip was thoughtful. "It is like you to take the blame on yourself. +You are so kind-hearted that way."</p> + +<p>In her present state, his words seemed like a reproach. "Philip, don't," +she said sadly. "I know better than that."</p> + +<p>He persisted. "No, you do not. You are too sympathetic, and you let your +heart get the better of you."</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't talk that way," she repeated. "You wouldn't, if you +knew the truth."</p> + +<p>"Of course, I do not know what happened," he said, "but I do know +you—even better than you know yourself."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I've done?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_708" id="Page_708">[Pg 708]</a></span>"No, and I do not care. It was right, I am sure. The queen can do no +wrong." He was intensely serious.</p> + +<p>"Isn't there any common sense left in you, Philip?" she railed. "Have +you gone clear back into medieval nonsense in your feeling toward me? I +tell you, you are indulging in foolishness."</p> + +<p>"Am I?" He smiled. "Well, if that is the best I have to give—"</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to give me anything."</p> + +<p>"But I cannot help it, neither can you."</p> + +<p>"I have killed a man's love before this," she answered bitterly.</p> + +<p>"But you cannot kill mine. I love you, whether you love me or not. I am +proud to acknowledge my unreturned love."</p> + +<p>"As you please." Claire stopped suddenly. "Are we apt to get anywhere +with this subject?" she asked ironically.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I earnestly hope so."</p> + +<p>She looked at Philip thoughtfully. Perhaps the truth about her own +weakness might cure him.</p> + +<p>"Suppose I allowed you to love me, and you found that you had won a +woman whose passions were her whole life. Suppose she should prove to be +a mere bundle of sex, all polished over with other people's ideas, a +social manner, and a set of morals which she did not really feel, which +were deceiving ornaments hiding her soul. What would you think of your +prize?"</p> + +<p>"I should not love such a woman. I could not."</p> + +<p>"But suppose you were deceived and thought her other than she was."</p> + +<p>"I hardly expect such a thing to happen. Why suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Because if I were your wife you might find it to be true."</p> + +<p>Philip laughed aloud. "Claire, how preposterous! Are you trying to kill +my love for you with such terrifying pictures of depravity?"</p> + +<p>"I wasn't trying to do anything. I just wanted to know."</p> + +<p>"Have you been answered?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are like all of your type; you are in love with what your own +desire chooses as an ideal, and then you shout, 'Behold, I am not a +sensual lover!'"</p> + +<p>He stared at her in amazement. "What sort of a thing do you think I am?"</p> + +<p>She laughed carelessly. "A man. And what do you think I am?"</p> + +<p>"A very strange woman, but a dear one," he said earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Why strange, Philip?"</p> + +<p>"Because you talk of love as Lawrence might."</p> + +<p>She winced. "He would know," she said. "He does know, perhaps." She was +talking to herself, and her voice was pathetic.</p> + +<p>Philip's eyes grew fierce with anger. "What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Not what your very ideal mind thinks," she said coldly.</p> + +<p>He flamed scarlet, and looked away. "Claire," he said softly, "will you +never have done stirring up suspicions no man could avoid, and then +condemning them?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't stir them up," she mocked.</p> + +<p>"Who did, then?"</p> + +<p>Claire was undergoing a developing reconstruction, but that she did not +know. She thought she was degenerating, and the immediate result was to +make her careless and ironical.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the devil, perhaps," she hazarded.</p> + +<p>"What are you, Claire?" Philip demanded hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Suddenly her suffering broke into tears. To his utter amazement, she +began to cry unrestrainedly.</p> + +<p>Over and over she sobbed: "I don't know, I don't know."</p> + +<p>For a moment Philip stood motionless, bewildered, then his love and +natural tenderness swept over him, and he said tenderly, "Don't, Claire, +please."</p> + +<p>She only cried harder, weakened the more by his pity. He took her in his +arms as he would a child, and comforted her. She was tempted to +struggle, but her need for sympathy prevailed, and she did not resist +him. He held her in his arms, pouring out his love, his anxiety, his +tenderness, and in her momentary condition she listened and made no +protest. In her aching mind she kept repeating, "I have killed +Lawrence's love with my bestial talk"—and she wanted love. She did not +think of her husband. He was too far away. In her present attitude she +exalted Lawrence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_709" id="Page_709">[Pg 709]</a></span> to the unattainable, and, without formulating the +thought, she was willing to lie in Philip's arms and take what he could +give. They were two of a kind, she thought scornfully. In her +bitterness, the bleak, snow-covered land, with its drooping pines, +seemed in its cold monotony a fitting background for two such worthless +derelicts.</p> + +<p>In the Spaniard's mind was but one thought—to comfort Claire and +restore her to her usual self. Vaguely he knew that love was already +promised by the unresisting body in his arms, but there was no thought +of immediately pressing his suit. He petted and talked until she stopped +crying, then he stood her on her feet, and said, with a tender laughter +in his words: "There, you are all right again. We would better go in. +You are cold."</p> + +<p>Silently she walked beside him back to the cabin. She was indifferent, +she thought, as to whether he did or did not continue his appeals for +love. She was under her own deep, unexplained, emotional control which +led her forward. She was finding herself, but before she would be safe +she would have to throw off a mass of traditional views, beliefs, and +teachings. If Philip chose to press his suit while her knowledge of +herself still seemed vile and abnormal, she would be surely his. Claire +thought herself lost. She had revealed her terrible state to Lawrence, +killed his love, filled him with abhorrence, and struck at his life's +source.</p> + +<p>With silent turmoil in her brain she entered the cabin beside Philip. +When she saw Lawrence, a sharp pain went through her. He was white as +death save for the red spots that marked his fever. She took off her +coat and snow-cap hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she said softly, going toward him.</p> + +<p>He lifted his head slightly.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Claire?"</p> + +<p>"I want to do something for you. You're ill."</p> + +<p>His face clouded. "No, thanks," he said. "You've done too much for me +already."</p> + +<p>"Won't you do anything for yourself?" she begged.</p> + +<p>"I'll be all right. It's just a cold, I guess."</p> + +<p>Philip came and stood looking down at Lawrence scrutinizingly, while +Claire went to the fire and heated water.</p> + +<p>"I am going to fill you up with quinin," he announced. "It is never +missing from my medicine-chest."</p> + +<p>"All right," Lawrence laughed. "It isn't bitter compared to what I'm +filling myself with."</p> + +<p>"Are you not making a fool of yourself?" Philip asked plainly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I know it. That doesn't keep me from doing it, though."</p> + +<p>Claire turned and looked at them, her eyes sternly reproachful toward +Philip.</p> + +<p>"One can't help thinking," she said. "I can't."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't want you to," Lawrence returned. "Indeed, I'm grateful to +you for making me think, too."</p> + +<p>"She started you off, did she?" Philip smiled.</p> + +<p>Lawrence did not answer, and Philip sat down by the fire where he could +watch Claire as she worked.</p> + +<p>After a time Lawrence said thoughtfully: "If one could establish some +sort of a relation between himself and the ultimate first cause of all +this blind snowstorm we call life, things might get shaped with some +measure for perspectives."</p> + +<p>"Yes," Philip assented. "I manage to establish one, though I confess it +isn't clearly logical."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" Lawrence asked.</p> + +<p>"Simply having faith; hope, if you prefer it."</p> + +<p>"But faith in what, and what do you base it on?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, on my experience."</p> + +<p>"I wonder if we really matter at all to the rest of the scheme," Claire +voiced.</p> + +<p>"I am inclined to think not," replied Lawrence. "We matter only to +ourselves, and what we can do with the universe around us."</p> + +<p>"We matter to God, I think," said Philip. "I don't mean in the old +accepted sense; but we must matter to Him in some way, perhaps as your +statue here matters to you."</p> + +<p>Lawrence chuckled weakly. "It mattered tremendously when I was doing +it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_710" id="Page_710">[Pg 710]</a></span> Now it doesn't in the least matter. I shouldn't care if you burned +it as firewood."</p> + +<p>"But you must care," Claire protested, feeling that he was losing +interest in his work because of her.</p> + +<p>"I don't see why. I haven't any real assurance as to its value. It may +be good, more likely it isn't; in any case, I have turned it loose to +shift for itself. It can survive or not; its doing so is immaterial. +Perhaps as immaterial as my existence is to the Great Artist who +conceived the botched job called me."</p> + +<p>"But, Lawrence, why insist that you don't matter to Him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, because I am scarcely aware of Him at all; indeed, I am not aware +of Him, and I am sure He isn't aware of me."</p> + +<p>"You have not any way to prove that," declared Philip.</p> + +<p>"True, except that I can imaginatively comprehend the size of time and +space, and all that is therein. I know my own size, and I can readily +imagine that the creator of the whole is no more aware of me than I am, +say, of a small worm that may be in the heart of my cherub there."</p> + +<p>"We do seem pretty small in the face of the stars," said Claire.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and so impossible," added Lawrence. "I didn't realize until to-day +how utterly impossible I really am."</p> + +<p>"But, impossible or not, here you are," Philip laughed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, here I am and there I may be, but in either place I am not +especially possible. You are; you can go out and make a definite, +independent impression on life; that makes you possible in that you are +forcing recognition of power and capability. I can't do that. The +impression I make is one of incapability. For myself I am impossible, +and for others more so."</p> + +<p>"Which has nothing to do with God," said Philip, in his tone a touch of +distaste.</p> + +<p>Lawrence recognized it and became silent.</p> + +<p>Claire made him take the quinin and heated bricks for his feet. Philip +went out to cut wood for the fire, leaving her alone with the sick man. +She was so full of her own wickedness, as she conceived it, that she +dared not tell him her thoughts. She wanted to explain that she loved +him, that she had loved him all along, but she could not. She looked at +him, and felt sure that he had now no love for her.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was trying to follow out in his mind a searching inquiry as to +his relation to life. "If I could only establish that," he thought, "I +could get myself straight and there would be something to start from. If +I knew which way to move!" But he was unable to do any coherent +thinking. His head ached, his lips burned with fever, and his body kept +him busy with the sensation of pain. It seemed to him that illness made +his state more detestable, but it also offered him a chance of escape +from the whole drab business. He was quite sure that he wanted to +escape, and he would not have believed it if any one had told him that +he would resist death to the uttermost; yet deep within him was that +will to live which had made him the creative artist. It was working, +unknown to him, now, toward the reconstruction he so needed.</p> + +<p>He turned restlessly, and muttered something about his foolishness. +Claire came and sat beside him silently. She was wondering what would +happen if she should tell him of her discovery of herself.</p> + +<p>"Claire!" Lawrence spoke. "Is it possible for any one to get his life +platform built so that it will stand without that first great plank?"</p> + +<p>"What plank?"</p> + +<p>"God."</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me that you couldn't have shaken me so yesterday if I had +been built up right."</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she said piteously, "I didn't mean to do that, to say that."</p> + +<p>He waved her words aside. "Never mind, Claire, it did me good. I was not +realizing, quite, just what I was. I'm finding it out, and when I get +right I'll be all the better for it."</p> + +<p>"But you don't know why I did it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do, but it doesn't matter, anyway. What was behind your words +doesn't count so long as you told the truth."</p> + +<p>"But it does count, and I didn't tell the truth."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_711" id="Page_711">[Pg 711]</a></span>"I'm afraid you did. Please don't try to cover it with kind fibs now."</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't, but you don't understand."</p> + +<p>"Well, Claire, it doesn't matter, as I said. What is it to me what you +do or don't do, so long as you bring me face to face with more truth?"</p> + +<p>She thought he was telling her that he cared nothing for her. She did +not blame him, yet there was a tiny streak of pride that said, "At least +Philip finds me worth while."</p> + +<p>"It is simply my own salvation that is involved," Lawrence went on.</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope you find it," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"I must find it to live," he answered.</p> + +<p>"And how do you propose to find it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I wish I did."</p> + +<p>"You might find it, as you once said, in creative work."</p> + +<p>"No, that isn't a salvation. I must have a platform from which to work. +Don't you see that, Claire?"</p> + +<p>"I don't understand anything about it."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, I didn't intend to force this upon you."</p> + +<p>"That isn't what I mean, Lawrence." Her eyes were moist. "What I meant +was that you live above me entirely."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," he said wrathfully. "You talk like a silly girl, Claire."</p> + +<p>"Do I? Well, I am perhaps less worth while than you think."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess not," he returned carelessly.</p> + +<p>She covered her face with her hands.</p> + +<p>"I know you are worth all that I think you are," he continued. "But I am +afraid that just now I am too interested in my own salvation to think of +you at all correctly."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she observed wearily.</p> + +<p>She was thinking of Philip as he had comforted her that morning, and his +tenderness, compared to this cold statement from Lawrence, seemed +attractive beyond measure. She admitted that all hope of Lawrence's +loving her was dead, and she said to herself: "It is what I wanted. I +can go back to my husband." But she did not want to go back to Howard. +She received this discovery calmly. She would never go back. But why +shouldn't she? She could not tell for certain. She thought it was +because she had found herself unworthy, but deep within her was the +knowledge that she no longer loved him. It would be useless to go back +to him in any event. He could never be the same to her after hearing of +her long months with this blind man in the wilderness.</p> + +<p>What months they had been! She thought them over, day by day, and she +saw what might have been a great joy sink, after a glimpse, into utter +darkness. Before her she saw the endless gray years beside Philip. Yes, +she would stay with him. At least he loved her, and she could help him. +If she did not love him, what of it? She would be an able wife to him. +She could keep him from ever knowing that her heart was away with +Lawrence, who would be back in the world at home and have forgotten her.</p> + +<p>"Claire!" Lawrence was speaking. "We have certainly reaped a strange +harvest from our months of sowing in the wilderness."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Whatever brought it about?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it was fate, that you should teach me where I stand in life."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"And perhaps you, too, will find that I have been of some value when we +are separated."</p> + +<p>"It may be."</p> + +<p>"I wish things might have gone differently."</p> + +<p>"They didn't."</p> + +<p>"No, and they can't. Well, let them be as they are."</p> + +<p>"I guess we'll have to, Lawrence."</p> + +<p>A few minutes later, when she looked at him, he was asleep.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">UTTER EXHAUSTION.</h3> + + +<p>Claire rose and slipped quietly to her own bed. All the aching pain of +her proposed future came over her with its dirty sordidness. She could +never stand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_712" id="Page_712">[Pg 712]</a></span> it, she thought, and clenched her teeth. Well, it was not +necessary. When Lawrence was gone, there was the lake. That would be her +way out of it all. No one need ever know. The thought of death seemed +very sweet to her.</p> + +<p>Philip came in, saw Lawrence asleep, and stole across the room to peep +in at her. She met his glance.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," she answered dully. "Come in if you like."</p> + +<p>He hesitated, then stepped through, and let the curtain fall behind him.</p> + +<p>"May I sit here?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" Her voice was colorless. "Only please speak softly. Don't +wake Lawrence."</p> + +<p>"He'll feel better after his sleep, I think."</p> + +<p>"I hope so."</p> + +<p>He sat looking down into her dark, clouded eyes. There was something so +tragic, so sad, and so submissive in them that he was filled with utter +tenderness.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he whispered, "what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I'm quite well."</p> + +<p>"You look absolutely desolate."</p> + +<p>"I don't especially feel so."</p> + +<p>"Are you happy?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>He stooped over her, studying her face. She did not move, only her deep, +dark eyes looked up coldly into his. He took the hand which she did not +draw away, and whispered: "Claire, let me make you happy."</p> + +<p>She did not answer. He bent nearer. Her eyes did not shift from his, she +saw that he was going to kiss her, but she did not move. If the whole +world had come crashing down upon her, she could not have made the +slightest effort to escape.</p> + +<p>He pressed his lips against hers. She did not return his kiss, but she +did not protest. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her up. +Still she made no objection. He held her more closely, kissing her again +and again. She remained impassive, unable to summon sufficient willpower +to resist. Besides, had she not decided to be this man's wife?</p> + +<p>He was pouring into her ears short, whispered words of endearment, +giving his love free rein.</p> + +<p>"Claire—Claire," he whispered passionately, "you do love me! Say you +love me!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, must I say that?" she asked languidly.</p> + +<p>He laid her head back on the pillow tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't you?" he demanded. "You do, or you wouldn't let me act +this way. Oh, Claire, isn't that true?"</p> + +<p>"Doesn't your own heart tell you, Philip?" She could not lie easily.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. I just wanted to hear you say it, dear."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because—because it means so much to me."</p> + +<p>"How does it mean any more than my unresisting lips?" She wanted to be +fair to Philip. Would he want a wife without love?</p> + +<p>He looked at her, puzzled by her calm question.</p> + +<p>"Because, dear, it would mean that you put your seal on our divine +betrothal."</p> + +<p>"I gave you my lips, you held me in your arms, doesn't that mean love to +you?"</p> + +<p>"Claire, why do you talk that way?"</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't I? Isn't it true?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you—you seem so unlike the woman you are."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see. But you haven't told me fully why you wanted me to say I +loved you."</p> + +<p>He stood up nervously and moved a few paces away, but the patient, +self-reproachful gaze in Claire's eyes brought him back again.</p> + +<p>"Why talk of that at all, dearest?" he whispered. "We have each other. +Isn't that enough?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not. You asked me to say it, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I don't care. I won't plague you. I know you do love, me." He +kissed her again and then looked at her. Her lips had been cold.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Claire? Don't you love me? Is that why you wouldn't +give me your word?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_713" id="Page_713">[Pg 713]</a></span>It was coming at last. How could she make Philip see, and yet be fair to +him, too?</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by love." Her voice was carefully toneless.</p> + +<p>Philip's eyes lighted. "Don't you want me here beside you? Don't you +warm to my kisses? Isn't there an awakened tenderness in you at my +touch? Isn't there, dearest?"</p> + +<p>Claire's hands moved nervously up and down the edge of the comforter. +"If I should stay here with you, that would be the highest proof that I +loved you, wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>"What else?" He looked at her, hope giving his face a renewed glow.</p> + +<p>Was that all that love meant to him? "Is that what your years of thought +have taught you?" she said aloud.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, Claire, the return of passion for passion, of warmth for +warmth, of tenderness for tenderness, must be the last test, mustn't +it?"</p> + +<p>Despite her resolution her eyes narrowed ironically.</p> + +<p>Philip started, and stared at her.</p> + +<p>"Would you ever be jealous of my husband?" she asked, slowly.</p> + +<p>His head dropped. "No—and yes. Of course, I wish he hadn't been your +husband, but we can't help what fate has decreed." He raised his eyes, +and then suddenly he smiled. "Claire, is it because of him that you are +unwilling to tell me you love me?" he asked softly. "I think I can +understand. You'll have to be freed from him in some way, and we must be +married, of course."</p> + +<p>"I am free from him. To him, I am dead. Isn't that enough?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered judiciously, "if your own conscience is satisfied."</p> + +<p>She smiled a little, her eyebrows lifting in amusement. "Oh, my own +conscience dictates my every act, Philip."</p> + +<p>"I know it does," he agreed, earnestly. "But your lips were cold to my +kiss." He bent over to test the truth of his remark.</p> + +<p>"Do you forget Lawrence so easily?" Claire raised a hand over her face. +"Certainly I cannot."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," Philip said, rising hastily. "Of course he is to +be remembered. We will wait until we are alone to talk of our future."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "I should prefer that greatly."</p> + +<p>He touched his lips to her forehead tenderly, then stepped silently into +the room beyond.</p> + +<p>She heard him as he moved quietly to replenish the fire, and it seemed +to her that he made enough noise to echo from the mountains across the +lake. She must think her situation through. She was studying the look +she had read on Philip's face, and was angry with herself, yet she could +not help thinking of it and its meaning. Suddenly she remembered the +same expression on her husband's face, and she shuddered. She had +thought it beautiful then, why not now? And why should she be so +contemptuous when probably the same look had been in her own eyes when +she had raged at Lawrence because he had not taken her in his arms. +Philip was sitting out there beyond the curtain dreaming ecstatically of +the days when they would be alone in the cabin, and she smiled +ironically. After all, there was but one way out. He would find little +comfort in her ghost, and her drowned body would scarcely fire him to +passion.</p> + +<p>She rose and slipped out into the room. Lawrence was still asleep. She +did not even glance toward Philip because she foresaw his look of +proprietorship. She went straight to Lawrence, and bending over him as +if to arrange something about his blanket, she whispered softly: +"Beloved, when I am alone with him, I shall be more with you."</p> + +<p>Philip came and stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"It looks like a serious fever," he said softly.</p> + +<p>Claire listened to Lawrence's breathing and felt his temperature. She +stood up, gray with anxiety. "I'm afraid for him," she said, and there +was that in her voice which Philip did not understand.</p> + +<p>They ate their supper in silence. Claire glanced at Philip occasionally +and found in his eyes the anticipated look of tender ownership. She let +him slip out of her mind while she thought again of the after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_714" id="Page_714">[Pg 714]</a></span>noon when +Lawrence had declared his creative principle. How dearly she would love +to help him, to have him model his statue of her. He had said that she +was savage and elemental underneath her polish. He had known, then, all +the time. What a man he was! If only she knew how to find his love, to +reawaken it. But no, he would never forget. Well, he would not have been +able to care for her, anyway, she was so utterly sensual despite all her +training in culture. He would want a more spiritual woman to fire his +imagination to do great work. She tried to imagine what sort of woman +would be best for his wife.</p> + +<p>Lawrence stirred restlessly. She rose and went quickly to the bed. He +was still asleep and she stood looking down at him. In her heart was a +great tenderness and a great fear. What if he should die? Memories of +their days in the woods swept over her in waves of love.</p> + +<p>Abruptly she turned to Philip and said quietly: "Philip, until I am your +wife you must not touch me again."</p> + +<p>He looked up, startled, then smiled. "I understand, my dear," he said, +"I will not."</p> + +<p>She sat down at the table to wait for Lawrence's waking. It was late +when he did, and immediately they realized that he was worse. Claire +gave him some hot soup made from dried meal and helped Philip get him +undressed and into bed.</p> + +<p>"I'll put some blankets here and sleep on the floor beside him," Philip +whispered. "I don't in the least mind, and I can help him if he wants +help during the night."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," Claire said gratefully. She felt indebted to this man for +every kindness shown Lawrence.</p> + +<p>Long before morning she was aroused by the sound of movements out there +in the room.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she called softly.</p> + +<p>"I am looking for something in which to heat water," came Philip's +voice.</p> + +<p>She scrambled out of bed, drew on a few clothes, and went out. Lawrence +was tossing on his bed and breathing heavily. She set to work heating +the water herself, and sent Philip back to his blankets. There was a +pleasure in doing this nursing for Lawrence. She felt glad that hers +was the chance to care for him.</p> + +<p>"You're to have the best nursing a sick man ever got, Lawrence," she +said, stooping over him tenderly.</p> + +<p>He smiled faintly and whispered: "Good, Claire."</p> + +<p>"You'll be well so quick you won't remember being ill."</p> + +<p>"I know," he murmured huskily.</p> + +<p>"What do you know?" she asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I know, it's natural for you, this kindness."</p> + +<p>"Is that all you know, Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>"About all, Claire. About all, yet."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say 'yet'?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't thought it out yet."</p> + +<p>"What, Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>"My platform, my work-bench for the future."</p> + +<p>She laughed, a little sadly. "You would better stop thinking about that +for a day or so, wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. I can't, though."</p> + +<p>She drew up a chair and sat beside him. "I'm going to become a regular +guard, and if you don't sleep and let thinking wait, I'll scold +dreadfully."</p> + +<p>He tossed uneasily and turned toward her, his cheeks brilliant with +fever.</p> + +<p>"I like to hear you scold, Claire," he said. "I shall go my limit."</p> + +<p>She rubbed her cool hand across his forehead for answer.</p> + +<p>When he at last slept, she continued to watch by his side, rocking +slowly in her chair. It was peace for her to sit there and dream. There +was rest from her ceaseless questionings, and it was welcome rest.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE QUESTION ANSWERED.</h3> + + +<p>During the days that followed Claire's attitude grew into one of +motherhood. She watched over Lawrence for the least thing she might do, +the least promise of returning health. There were times when he raved in +delirium, and she listened with a swelling heart.</p> + +<p>One morning he began suddenly talking of himself. In broken sentences, +shapeless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_715" id="Page_715">[Pg 715]</a></span> phrases, half finished thoughts, he unfolded a strange tale. +Claire was glad that Philip was away at work with his traps. She sat +beside Lawrence, her hands clasped, and did not miss a word.</p> + +<p>"You see," he began one day without preliminaries, "you see, I wasn't +just given the best of chances. That was the beginning of it all. I +wasn't fairly treated." She tried to comfort him into sleep, but he did +not know she was talking to him and went on earnestly with his +unconscious revelation.</p> + +<p>"The whole business was a squalid sort of thing banked by mountains so +grand in their rugged strength that I never got used to the dirty, dusty +little half-civilized town there on the plateau. Even as a child I felt +the intolerable difference between the place and its surroundings. Men +ought to be better up there, but they aren't. They just magnify faults +with the bigness of the hills around. Lots of it was romantic, lots of +it ought never to be lost, the frank freedom, the vital living, the joy +of uncertain victory over the dirt of the mines. It made men wild, wild +to the last degree, that ever possible stumbling into gold, pure, +glittering gold. Why, I saw it as a kid, shining like stars all over the +side of the tunnel. It made even the children mad, I think. When I +modeled rude little figures out of the red clay, I was always on the +outlook for a possible gold-mine."</p> + +<p>He laughed, then went on seriously. "I didn't have the chance to grow up +learning things gradually. There was no dividing-line between vice and +virtue, all of it spread out there, street behind street, in a glow of +abandoned riot. Even virtue flashed with a loose frankness that deceived +a growing boy. It was a grand drama. Fifty thousand mad men and women!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him in amazement. This was something beyond her knowledge. +What was it all that he was talking about?</p> + +<p>"There was Josey; she didn't know. I didn't. We saw love played with in +hilarious open passion. We thought it was the thing to do. Children +oughtn't to see it quite that way."</p> + +<p>Claire felt guilty, but he stopped and when he began again he was on a +different line of old memories.</p> + +<p>"Why, when I sold papers down on the main street I could see the girls +of the district standing around, one block below, in their business +regalia. I thought at first they were angels."</p> + +<p>Claire sat in wonder and listened.</p> + +<p>"The first time I ever went down there I was eight. Eight years old, and +one of them called me from the open door of her house. When I stepped to +the door, she was coming down a stairway, her white dress open and +spread like wings at either side of her naked body. I was sure she was +an angel out of my Sunday-school book. I could scarcely take the dime +she gave me. I never forgot her kissing me and patting my head when I +stared so at her."</p> + +<p>Claire felt a strangely tender pity for the little chap she was seeing +now in her imagination.</p> + +<p>"And the fighting, dirty, freckled sons of those women—they kept me +hard at it, keeping the money I got. After that day, I went down there +often. Traded a paper with a golden-haired angel for a box of +cigarettes, the first I ever owned. It was great, wonderful, to have her +cigarettes. I smoked them with a sense of reverence.</p> + +<p>"Wright and I played hooky, and the girls hid us all day in their +shacks, played with us, teased us about sex, and taught us things we +oughtn't to have known. Poor old Wright! They sent him to the pen for +burglary after I had been gone years and was blind. I wonder if I'd have +followed him. Most likely would.</p> + +<p>"And, oh, the hills! There was old Pisga, pined to its cone point, and a +race-track, with a saloon, at its foot. I ran away out there once at a +big Fourth of July barbecue. It rained like the devil and I lounged in +the bar with jockeys and sporting girls, listening to their ribald talk.</p> + +<p>"I don't know—a street urchin in a camp, that was all I was. If I got +licked, and I did, I was a coward for years and had to give up my +pennies. I used strategy, cunning, because I was afraid to fight till I +whipped Red. That made a difference. If the old fellow I liked so hadn't +given Red a quarter to lick me, I'd have been a coward yet. It made me +so mad I licked Red."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_716" id="Page_716">[Pg 716]</a></span>Lawrence laughed again merrily.</p> + +<p>"That started me fighting, and I fought daily without provocation. +Dirty, scaly fisted little rat, whose stockings sagged around his shoes, +fighting for money in the saloons! The men liked me, too. All of them +called me their kid. I used to stand big-eyed and watch the faro-table +stacked with gold. There were days, too, when I went out alone over the +hills. I was ashamed of my little figures and afraid lest the boys find +my mud-pies, as Red had called a tiny dog that fell out of my pocket in +a fight.</p> + +<p>"One day in an electric storm I saw a man and his horse killed by +lightning. I was awed, and electricity became my god. I worshiped it +like a little heathen. I even bought penny suckers and stuck them up in +the ground where the lightning played in stormy weather.</p> + +<p>"It always seemed that the only things about the whole camp that fitted +with the hills were that girl in white and an old mountaineer who fought +with his fists alone against a gang of drunks. I don't know why. They +just belonged."</p> + +<p>He stopped and lay a long time in silence. Claire thought over what he +had said, and her heart went out to this man as if he were still the +little gamin of the hills.</p> + +<p>"Poor little chap," she murmured aloud.</p> + +<p>Lawrence half raised himself in bed, talking again, and she was obliged +to push him back.</p> + +<p>"It was all paradise, though, compared to that school where the Women's +Club sent me. I didn't want an education. Freedom was taken from me. I +was chained with discipline. I had seen too much and I told the other +marveling boys. They talked, and I was punished as a degenerate little +villain. I couldn't see why. That first winter was hell. They all +misunderstood me, and I them. I ached for my mountains again, and when +they sent me to the camp for the summer I whooped for joy.</p> + +<p>"I must have been thirteen at that time. The men in camp paid the Widow +Morgan to keep me through the summer. She had a daughter seventeen or +thereabouts. Georgia had curly hair and blue eyes. She didn't pay much +attention to me at first. I didn't care.</p> + +<p>"Then one night the widow went off to a lodge-meeting and left us alone. +Pearly and the gang came around and began throwing rocks at the house +and demanding that Georgia let them in. I was furious, and she was +nearly scared to death. She got her mother's pistol and asked me to +shoot it. I took it and, opening the door, fired into the night. The +gang slunk off, but Georgia was still frightened.</p> + +<p>"We slipped out of our clothes in trembling silence and huddled together +in her mother's bed. She was crying, and I felt very brave. I put my +arms around her and comforted her. She became quiet by and by and +slipped her arms around me. After that we found ourselves.</p> + +<p>"She said we were in love, and I guess we were. That night was the +beginning of my rebellious manhood. Her mother abused us roundly for +immoral little whiffits. I was put out, and after that the county kept +me. Georgia hated me, for she said I was to blame.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that was all right, too, but it made me bitter against what +seemed to me an unjust world. I went back to school, hating. I never +stopped hating as long as I was there. It was misunderstanding from +first to last. I never ceased rebelling against punishment for +rebellion.</p> + +<p>"It was a hopeless snarl, but it made me what I was when I entered +college, distant, sullen, and ferocious. My only joy was in my work, and +I spent all my spare time in the studio. Then the second summer I shot +off the gunpowder, and blindness came."</p> + +<p>Lawrence lay back silent, then began again.</p> + +<p>"After the accident it was a thousand times worse. I thought people +didn't like me because I was blind. They only pitied and misunderstood. +Misunderstood—that word might be my epitaph. It could certainly be +placed over my childhood's grave.</p> + +<p>"It was in college that I started thinking. Thought out my plan of +militant egoism. It seemed to succeed, but all the time I was afraid it +was only pity that sold my work. You know, Claire, as you said, I've got +to do it all over again. All of it, building a new platform, a new +work-bench. I've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_717" id="Page_717">[Pg 717]</a></span> got to allow for things. I've got to understand."</p> + +<p>In her tension, Claire walked the floor. Would he never stop? That +glimpse into his life at the widow's—who was Pearly?—and what a tough +little gang he must have grown up with! Poor boy!</p> + +<p>He did not talk much for a long time, then he kept repeating: "I must +build a new work-bench, Claire. That's the thing to do."</p> + +<p>She felt at times that she must scream at him, then she would be all +motherly tenderness. "Lawrence," she would whisper, "do it, my man. You +can, my laddie."</p> + +<p>He tossed, and chided an unseen man or woman for having helped him +through charity under the garb of admiration. He was misunderstanding +again. He thought everything was charity, pity for his blindness, and he +raved. She began to see that this sudden bitterness which poured from +his lips was the outcome of years of sorrow, the product of a +deep-burning fire to see the beauty his soul craved.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she cried, "God knows if I could I would give you my eyes!"</p> + +<p>She knew that he was consumed with the pain of his struggle to +comprehend more beauty. Even exaggerating his hunger for sight, she wept +beside him. Her whole soul yearned to help him, to give him more of the +beauty which seemed the prime need of his nature.</p> + +<p>Sometimes he prayed for it, addressing Fate, Nature, Chance, anything, +everything but God.</p> + +<p>After a silence that was beginning to frighten Claire, he began again. +At first his words were indistinct, but as she leaned closer, they +cleared of guttural sounds. She listened spellbound.</p> + +<p>"You see, I hadn't done my thinking with allowance for the whole of +human character, Claire. That was what was wrong with me. I'm doing that +now. I'm finding myself again. It is back with the beginning of things I +must start. Back with the first squirm of life in the primordial mud. +It's no use trying further back than that. No use at all. Back of that +lies only conjecture.</p> + +<p>"There was existence, perhaps, inert unconscious existence waiting to +become suddenly aware of itself, aware of its parts and its difference +from other things. Well, existence struggling, dreaming of +self-knowledge, found in a wriggling, oozing spot of protoplasm—that's +the start of it all. Feeding without hunger, moving without knowledge to +food, reproducing mechanically by division, living without instinct, +without emotion, without death. For me, that must be the beginning.</p> + +<p>"Whether death came, or what it was—a long period without food, +perhaps—that started this stuff to changing, I do not know. Maybe it +was existence following the way of greatest pressure toward selfhood. +Anyway, it started and began its journey. Up and up, out of the mud and +ooze, into light and dry dirt.</p> + +<p>"The glory of light must have been a great thing then. Think of it, +coming into light, out of wet, dark mud. I know what it would be better +than you. Light, the first great discovery of life! It must have +hastened growth—warmth, sunrays, heat, cold at night and dark again. +The glory of it breaking at dawn over the squirming, groping blind +existence of things!</p> + +<p>"God said let there be light, and there was light.</p> + +<p>"Existence demanding the thing it craved. Was that it, or existence +finding light and learning to crave it? No matter—light, a thousand +miracles of warmth and wonder! Growth was inevitable, Claire.</p> + +<p>"Then the craving learned by experience broke into new form. I don't +know what it was; a two-celled bug, perhaps—only that it was craving +that did it. Hunger and thirst after light.</p> + +<p>"Pain came at the very start of things. Wants unsatisfied drove with the +scourge of hell, forcing eyes, ears, stomach, sex into being, and out of +the squalor of it all, still goaded by incessant want, there heaved the +gigantic scaly carcass of the dinosaur. Still unaware of things, but +driven to move, to grow, to expand. Existence demanding more expression +of its awareness of self.</p> + +<p>"The beast didn't know what it was. He only grew and grew and grew, till +he spread his ugly, yearning life over hundreds of feet of ground. Eye +and ear and touch and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_718" id="Page_718">[Pg 718]</a></span> a peace of filled belly lay basking in the light, +glorying in what they found. Life was good, riotously good, finding +things, finding itself out. They fought, fed, killed, bred, all in the +effort of existence to know.</p> + +<p>"What a blood-drenched chaotic struggle for self it was, Claire!</p> + +<p>"And so, on and on and on. Touch didn't satisfy the incessant taste for +more knowledge, more life. Bodies rising like hills out of the marshes +couldn't give the keen joy that existence craved for itself.</p> + +<p>"New things again: changed, altered products of the old, bearing in +their frames the history, the memory of the old—it all came, and out of +it at last, hunger-driven for more keen life, sprang a biped, hairy, +tusked, savage, bloody, lustful, eager to live, live, live!</p> + +<p>"He was a glorious beast. In his flattened head that held the little +bloodshot eyes were memory, products of the past, things that harked +back for confirmation of present things. He had instincts—that's what +they are, instincts, memories of past sufferings—that whipped the +organism to go on into keener living. He was sexed, he was hungry, he +was vicious, he slept and ate, he bred consciously, carrying on the +eager shout within his being for more, more of life. More of existence +aware of itself!</p> + +<p>"If he killed, he gloried in the hot blood that drenched his hairless +nose, and he learned to laugh through the pleasure of a filled belly. He +learned to cry when he went hungry. Tears came, and emotions, a more +specialized instinct.</p> + +<p>"He was learning something else, too. But pain still whipped him on, +filled him with fear of non-life, and he grew cowardly. Nature had +created a new thing, a brain, a specialized mass of cells that can +comment, realize, criticise, warn, appreciate, choose better food, get +it easier, help to conquer and promote life; the biped used this new +thing to understand why he ran from the fingers that clutched at him in +the dark and he became afraid. If it brought him new pain, it also +brought him new pleasure. It was a great toy that could be used to enjoy +oneself with.</p> + +<p>"It can have the joy of bodily sensations and then recall them, study +them, comment on them, on its own instincts, its own memories. It can +dream of ways for procuring fuller life, and put the dreams into any +desired shape. Man struts from his jungle, laughing aloud, with lust for +life and joy at his fulness thereof. But all the while, pain, the +darkness, the still inert unconsciousness in existence that oppresses +and drags back into its own dead inertness, is laughing still more +heartily.</p> + +<p>"Everywhere it checks, but man in his egotism forgets that he is a +slave, bound and hampered, and boasts himself master. Death sweeps in, +lightning kills, thunder crashes over him, and filled with fear, with +something bigger than he can grasp, he falls upon his knees, and cries, +'God!'</p> + +<p>"Then begins the mess, the tangled, detestable, bloody, dirty, riotously +glorious, sublime mystery that is me. Me and you, Claire. Here we are."</p> + +<p>Claire leaned over him, her breath suspended in her eagerness.</p> + +<p>"Me, the man, specialized, sex-specialized, made to record, to enjoy, to +remember, to create, and to die at last from sheer wearing out myself +seeking life.</p> + +<p>"And you, you the woman, deeper, more vitally sexed, 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, passion, 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 lust for life +has sent children out to carry on the struggle.</p> + +<p>"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 sex, our pain."</p> + +<p>Claire caught her breath and sobbed: "Lawrence, Lawrence!"</p> + +<p>"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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_719" id="Page_719">[Pg 719]</a></span> you to speak as you did. I +see. I love you!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When Philip came in he found her sitting quietly, in her eyes a deep, +calm peace that filled him with wonder.</p> + +<p>He smiled at her, thoughtfully, and remarked: "Well, Claire, you look +happier than you have for months."</p> + +<p>"I am," she said simply.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p class="continue2"><b>TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.</b> Don't forget this magazine +is issued weekly, and that you will get the +continuation of this story without waiting a month.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1><a name="Part_IV" id="Part_IV"></a>Claire</h1> + +<h2><i>by</i><br /> +Leslie Burton Blades</h2> + +<h3>THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO<br /> +<i>BY A BLIND AUTHOR</i></h3> + + +<p class="center">This story began in the All-Story Weekly for October 5.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">ANGLES OF A TRIANGLE.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 assurance 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.</p> + +<p>The days passed 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 shore 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She saw it in his dark expression, and her heart cried out against +herself for the time of weakness. Then a great doubt would assail 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> 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 pass 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He looked up and smiled faintly, though his face remained clouded.</p> + +<p>"Philip," she said, "you look worried!"</p> + +<p>"I dare say I do," he returned quietly, but there came into his eyes a +fierce light that frightened her.</p> + +<p>"Why should you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>His eyes flashed fire at her.</p> + +<p>"Would you say you wanted to be mine and not mean it?"</p> + +<p>"No," she faltered, "I—I might have meant it then."</p> + +<p>"Does your heart change with the passing breeze?"</p> + +<p>She was feeling panicky. Her throat was dry and hot.</p> + +<p>"I hope not," she said faintly.</p> + +<p>"Bah! Does it?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, even more faintly.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>He laughed aloud. "What in Heaven's name made you act like that, +Claire?" he asked, once more kindly and agreeable.</p> + +<p>"A woman's whim!" she said, and hated herself for saying it.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand women," he laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Neither do I." It was Lawrence's voice. He had come in, just in time to +hear the last words. "Nor men, either—except in one thing."</p> + +<p>"What is the one thing?" asked Claire eagerly.</p> + +<p>"That, given a normal, healthy mind, they will sacrifice all their idols +for life. Life is the one eternally insistent thing."</p> + +<p>Philip chuckled. "You are yourself again, I see."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and stronger than ever in my faith," said Lawrence, sitting down. +"I know the price I would pay for life. It is the price every human +being would pay, if demanded."</p> + +<p>"What is that price?" Philip asked.</p> + +<p>"The whole of one's faith in God and man!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" Philip spoke curtly. "I would die before forfeiting a dozen +ideals I hold dear!"</p> + +<p>"Would you?" Lawrence looked at him quizzically. "Would you sacrifice +your own life before you would the love of your sweetheart, for +instance, if you had one?"</p> + +<p>The conversation was similar to those which they had had months before, +but the fire was nearer the surface now.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>"Yes." Philip's answer came swiftly.</p> + +<p>"Then you are a sex-maddened mountaineer!"</p> + +<p>"And you are talking like the beast you are not. I know you do not +believe that."</p> + +<p>"I know I do. I would only die for a woman if she were my life."</p> + +<p>"But any real love finds her so."</p> + +<p>"Folly! I find my work, my future, my dream of a single immortal statue +more my life than any woman!" Lawrence exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if you really do," Claire mused, half to herself.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Lawrence insisted, "although she might be necessary to that +statue. At least I believe she might—and I would feel sure of it if I +wanted her badly enough," he ended amusedly.</p> + +<p>"That merely means that you are still utterly selfish!" said Claire.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am." Lawrence was thoughtful. "It is a paradox, I am so selfish +that, although I would sacrifice myself to the last degree for a person +I loved, yet I would all the time feel that I was a fool, that I was +doing an absurd thing when life was so good."</p> + +<p>"I see," Claire observed. "And I know I would do the same."</p> + +<p>"I would do it," Philip said, "but I would not feel a fool. It would +seem to me right."</p> + +<p>Claire looked straight into his eyes. "You would not, Philip," she +declared softly. "Your own happiness would come first—and you know it."</p> + +<p>The Spaniard's gaze shifted, and there was silence in the cabin. When he +looked up his eyes had changed their expression.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he agreed steadily, "I admit it. Hereafter I mean to have what I +want from life at any cost."</p> + +<p>"Yet you will go on talking ideals," Lawrence mocked.</p> + +<p>"Yes—and thinking them, too."</p> + +<p>"While Lawrence will make the sacrifice and go on talking his +selfishness," Claire added.</p> + +<p>Both men laughed constrainedly.</p> + +<p>"And I," Claire continued, "if it is necessary, will lie to preserve my +will, and, having it secure, will use it to obtain what I want."</p> + +<p>"We are at last three delightfully frank, insufferable, unpleasant, and +very natural, likable human beings!" Lawrence laughed.</p> + +<p>"And on that basis we will work out our fates," murmured Claire.</p> + +<p>"We will do just that," Lawrence answered gaily.</p> + +<p>"Be they good or bad, we will meet our futures with perfect +self-knowledge," contributed Philip.</p> + +<p>"Then most likely they will be bad," Claire added with conviction.</p> + +<p>They gave up talking, and each abandoned himself to his own reflections. +In the minds of the two men these thoughts assumed widely differing +words, though they were the same thoughts.</p> + +<p>Philip was garbing his impulses, desires, and determinations in clothes +that furnished his habitual mental wardrobe. With their marriage, he +thought, Claire would learn the real Philip. He would treat her with +such deference, such tender respect, and such devotion that she would +see the wisdom of her choice. He would prove to her that sex mattered +little, was altogether secondary. It was her great companionship, her +dear thoughtfulness, her charming personality that he loved. Respect, +first of all: happy married life depended on respect; then, common +interest, friendship between two human beings, and, last and least +important, that wonderful emotion springing out of the divine God-given +reproductive life of both.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was thinking very different words to the same end. He thought +of her as his mate, his comrade, and his equal. He admired her brain, +smiled at the thought of their hours of intellectual pleasure, dreamed +of her as the stimulus to creation which her mind should help shape into +master work.</p> + +<p>He loved her beauty and her measureless well of bubbling energy. What a +help she could be to him! She was the greatest of all women; he wanted +her, needed her. Could he realize his dream? That was the point. Well, +no matter, or, at least, no use in speculating. He would try. If she +were willing, what a life of joy and accomplishment lay before them! If +not, he had lived alone until this time, and he could continue<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> to live +alone. Meantime, was Philip the barrier that would keep him from her? He +hoped not. He did not believe that she loved Philip. If she did, he +would be a good loser and wish her joy. His heart ached at the thought. +But, after all, one doesn't die over such things, and he would recover.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to get the supper," said Claire somewhat abruptly. She rose +and set to work.</p> + +<p>Here the thoughts of the two men flowed into an identical channel. It +was certainly good to sit and listen to her. That sound would be very +agreeable, indeed, at the end of a day, in one's own home. As for her +husband, he was out of the question. If Claire went back to him, she +might find him married or in love again, unwilling to receive her after +her long months with two men in the wilderness, suspicious of such a +thing being possible without more intimacies than he would care to +overlook. No, her husband did not matter. She would be justified and +safe in remarrying. Of course, not safe if she returned to America, but +that she would not do.</p> + +<p>At this point their thoughts diverged. Philip was seeing Claire as the +continued inmate of his cabin. Lawrence was painting a delightful mental +picture of Claire as the ever-present fairy of his studio in some South +American town, or perhaps in Paris. He preferred France; it was a land +of more brilliance, more freedom, and certainly much more appreciation +of the things in which they were interested. Besides, his work would +carry more prestige in the world if it came from Europe.</p> + +<p>He thanked the memory of old Roger Burton, of Cripple Creek, and he +rejoiced that he would be able to give Claire the home to which she was +entitled. He smiled as his thoughts went back to the mines and the dirty +little newsboy an old man had befriended. Burton's quarter to Red had +kept Lawrence, the boy, from becoming a coward, and Burton's slender +provision for the college graduate would now insure happiness for +Lawrence the man. Many times before he had laughed scornfully at the +untouched interest from the miner's bonds. He could make his own living. +But now there would be Claire. The old man would have been glad to see +his protégé happy in the love of such a woman.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Claire was doing her work automatically. In her mind there was +pleasure at the thought that Lawrence was listening to her movements. +But she was filled with a dead weight that seemed likely to break her +down with its dreadful pressure. Vaguely she wished that she had never +seen Philip, even that she had never seen Lawrence, or that she had +perished with him in the mountains.</p> + +<p>How had she ever placed herself in the position she was now in? She had +come by the way of a terrible road and, looking ahead, she could see +nothing but sadness, anguish, and a life of dull discontent with +Philip—that or death!</p> + +<p>Lawrence had had time and opportunity since his recovery to declare +himself, and he had not done so. She had had time and opportunity to +tell him frankly of her own feeling, but she had not done so. She did +not know why. Now she could not. Philip had given her to understand his +desperate determination to marry her, and, after all she had said and +done, she had no right to refuse him. If she told him the truth he might +kill Lawrence or her, or both of them. These tragic idealists, she +exclaimed to herself, what a tangle they can make out of life!</p> + +<p>Oh, what a noose she had managed to fasten around her own neck! Would +the problem never be settled, one way or the other?</p> + +<p>What would she do if Philip tried to force her to marry him? Kill him? +Was she, then, so primitive, so savage, so much the slave of her own +desires that she would slay to gain her end? She remembered Lawrence's +talk when he was ill, "We killed those days, Claire, killed because we +wanted fuller life, fuller knowledge, fuller expansion of our own vital +existence; we were gropers after more light!"</p> + +<p>"Supper!" she said dully, and then sat down.</p> + +<p>They ate in silence save for the occasional necessary word, and +afterward went immediately to bed.</p> + +<p>Claire soon fell asleep, with the last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> thought in her mind—to live as +she wanted to live she would pay any price!</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE ROMANTIC REALIST.</h3> + + +<p>It was the 1st of May when Lawrence at last found himself alone with +Claire and decided to speak. The instant he thought of declaring himself +he was surprised at his own mental state. A panic seized him, his heart +beat unsteadily, his mouth grew dry, and he could think of nothing to +say.</p> + +<p>They were out on the lake shore. Philip had left them on his last long +trip across the plateau before starting for civilization. The warm +spring wind blew around them, laden with scent of pine and flower. At +their feet the water rippled and cooed little melodies. Claire sat very +still, gazing wistfully at the man beside her. Her heart was a lead +weight, and her brain ached with the strain of her problem.</p> + +<p>It was late afternoon. All day she had wandered with Lawrence in +comparative silence, wishing that he would speak, and observing that +something troubled him.</p> + +<p>Finally she moved uneasily, took her hand from her cheek, and said +half-dreamily, "You aren't a bit talkative."</p> + +<p>He gulped, swallowed, and laughed. "I'm too busy trying to think of +something to say," he told her amusedly.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" She was provoked in the extreme. "Have I ceased to suggest +conversation? You are very tired of me, then."</p> + +<p>"Quite the contrary. So far from it, you paralyze my tongue."</p> + +<p>"How complimentary!" she said. "Then I suppose your excessive arguments +with Philip denote your weariness of him?"</p> + +<p>"They do."</p> + +<p>"I suppose, if you were really fond of a person, you would never talk at +all?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. I don't know but that you are right."</p> + +<p>She laughed gaily. "Lawrence," she said, "you are certainly amusing when +you attempt to be flattering!"</p> + +<p>He grew warm and uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't trying to flatter. Can't you see that?" He was almost wistful.</p> + +<p>"I don't see it. No, if you weren't trying to flatter you were surely +doing the unintended in a most intricately original manner."</p> + +<p>He shifted his position and did not answer.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said, "although you aren't accustomed to flattering, +you've taken to doing it almost constantly."</p> + +<p>"Well, why shouldn't I?" he asked curiously.</p> + +<p>"Why not, if you care to?" Her reply was as gentle as if she were a +submissive object of his whims.</p> + +<p>He felt that now was the time to speak, but he could not bring himself +to the point. The thought of his blindness killed all confidence.</p> + +<p>"Hang it all," he broke out, quite as if it were a part of their +previous talk, "blindness certainly does rob one of his will!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him apprehensively. "I thought you had decided you were +the master of that."</p> + +<p>"I had, but it seems I was mistaken."</p> + +<p>Claire laid her hand on his arm tenderly. Her eyes were dazzling.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence, you must master that, you know."</p> + +<p>"Why?" he said thoughtfully. "If I shouldn't, it would mean only one +more human animal on the scrap heap!"</p> + +<p>"But you don't want to be there."</p> + +<p>"Of course not. No one does. I don't imagine any one chooses it."</p> + +<p>"If you go there it will be because you choose it."</p> + +<p>"I wish I saw things your way," he observed. "At times I feel as sure of +success as if it were inevitable, and then suddenly down sweeps the +black uncertainty, and I am afraid, timid, and unnerved."</p> + +<p>She looked at him sadly.</p> + +<p>"Don't you believe in your work, Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is about all I do believe in."</p> + +<p>"Then what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"It is that, after all, thousands of men have believed in their work to +no avail. One can never know whether he is a fad or a real artist. It +isn't only that, either.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> One's work, when it is his life, requires so +much besides to make it possible. It is that which gives me the blue +fear you see. I always imagine that the thing I want just then is +absolutely essential to my better work. Perhaps it is. I don't know. I +know only that I am persuaded that it is. Then I set about to get that +thing and I fail."</p> + +<p>"But do you always fail?" Claire was unconsciously pleading her own +cause.</p> + +<p>"Not always. Just often enough to scare me to death when the biggest +need of my life seems just out of reach."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Lawrence," she laughed. "When you were sick you talked as if +you could reach out and pull down the stars, if you needed them in an +endeavor to complete your life."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes I think I could, then the reality of life comes crashing +through the walls of my dream-palace, and, behold, I am standing +desolate and abandoned, grasping at lights which are even too far away +to be seen! I am clawing darkness for something I fancied I could reach, +while, as far as I am concerned, it is clear out of space and time."</p> + +<p>She sat pensively looking across the lake.</p> + +<p>"Yet you keep on reaching, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—and no. I always wish I could. There are times, Claire, when I +don't want to be a realist, don't want to face life as it is, when it +seems too tawdry to be valuable just as it is; then I reach out into the +night and cry, 'Let me be the maddest of dreamers, the wildest of +idealists, a knight of fancy seeking the illusive dream!'"</p> + +<p>Claire laughed aloud as she said, "And don't you know, dear man, that +that is just what you do become at times?"</p> + +<p>"I know it. That's the joke of it. All the while I mock myself for being +a romancing idiot!"</p> + +<p>"What a state of mind!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"It isn't pleasant. Then, worse than that, when I attain my star, I +spoil it with too much scrutiny."</p> + +<p>She started. "What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Just that. I make a mess of it."</p> + +<p>"Still I don't understand."</p> + +<p>He thought for a moment, then said sadly: "Take the cherub I carved +there"—he nodded in the direction of the house—"I was wild with +creative fervor when I did that. I put into it a thousand little +thoughts that flashed with imaginative fire. I dreamed things, felt +things that should have made a masterpiece beyond all masterpieces, and +at last the thing was finished. Still under the heat of enthusiasm, I +felt of it, tested it, and found it good. Well, a week later, when the +imaginative flame was gone, I went back and looked at it again. It was +poor, cold, imperfect, not at all what it should have been. I dreamed a +star and made a block of poor wooden imagery."</p> + +<p>"But you underestimate your work. To me the cherub is still a star."</p> + +<p>He laughed. "It is what others see of good in my work that makes me hope +that sooner or later I will do the thing that will stand eternally a +star of the first magnitude."</p> + +<p>"And you will, Lawrence," she said earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps." He was pensive. "Perhaps not. That is where the rest of life +enters in. I want many things; they seem necessary if I am to attain my +eternal star. I am afraid I shall never get them!"</p> + +<p>"Have you tried?"</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't the courage. If they should be beyond my grasp, if +obtaining them, they should prove to be wrong and not the real things I +need, after all, what then?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know." She waited to watch a little colored cloud float by, and +then continued: "Isn't the real interest in life the game you play?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is, but it's hard on other people."</p> + +<p>"Why—and how?"</p> + +<p>"Suppose," Lawrence said slowly, "you were the one thing I thought I +needed."</p> + +<p>Claire leaned toward him, her lips apart, her heart beating wildly.</p> + +<p>"Suppose I were sure of it, and set about to make you part of my life, +well, if I succeeded and then"—he smiled sadly—"found that you were +not the necessity, not the answer to my need, what of you? It would be +an inferno for you, and none<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> the less equally terrible for me! We +couldn't help it. Under such circumstances you would be right in saying +that I had been unfair. I don't know, certainly you would be right in +charging your possible unhappiness to me."</p> + +<p>"Under your supposition, Lawrence," she answered evenly, "if you +obtained my love, wouldn't it then be my game, my risk in the great +gamble for deeper life? Wouldn't it be my mistake for having thought you +were what I needed?"</p> + +<p>"What if you still thought you needed me after I was sure that I did not +need you?"</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders. "I am too fond of life and too eager to know +its possibilities to let that hurt me long. Possibly I should weep, be +cynical, maybe even do something desperate, but at last I would come up +smiling, calm in the faith that my life was deeper, richer for the +experience, and that yours was, too. Or if it proved that yours was not, +I should be amused at the shallowness of the Claire that was, for having +been so simple a dunce as to imagine that you were worth while. I should +thank you for teaching the present Claire to forsake that shallow one, +and should find you a rung on my ladder of life!"</p> + +<p>He laughed merrily. "You are strong in your faith, Claire."</p> + +<p>"Yes. This winter and you have made me strong," she answered.</p> + +<p>"I have made you strong in it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Last summer, when you dragged me out of the surf, I was full of a +number of ideas I no longer possess."</p> + +<p>"But what have I done?"</p> + +<p>"You have lived stridently all your life."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so. What of it?"</p> + +<p>"I see that is the thing most worth doing."</p> + +<p>"What will your husband say to such a doctrine?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I am not going back to him. We are not the same people we +were a year ago, and he would no more love the present Claire than I +should love the present Howard."</p> + +<p>The sky deepened from pink to crimson, but Claire's eyes were staring +blankly on the ground.</p> + +<p>"Claire, what do you think is essential to great work?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. To keep at it most likely." She was digging with a little +stick in the grass.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you're right," he agreed. "But sometimes I think it is a lot of +other things; romantic wandering over the earth, a deep and lasting +love, any number of such external factors."</p> + +<p>"You don't call love external, do you?"</p> + +<p>"I mean a permanent love," he laughed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, perhaps those are necessary, certainly they would be a help +to you, they would be to any one. But, after all, even a woman isn't +absolutely essential to a man in order that he create great art."</p> + +<p>"I think she is," Lawrence insisted.</p> + +<p>"Very well, perhaps she is, but"—Claire laughed skeptically—"I know +that she is not the all in all, the alpha and omega, the 'that without +which nothing,' that she is so often told she is by seeking males."</p> + +<p>"No," he agreed slowly, "in rare cases of great love that may be true, +but in most cases it isn't."</p> + +<p>"It is more likely that what you, the abstract male, really mean is that +you must have some woman as wife and housekeeper."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps that is so, although even that needs qualifying."</p> + +<p>"I know," she said, "but why not be frank about it both ways; that is +precisely her situation as well as his. There ought to be less +sentimental rubbish and more plain sense about all of it. Women would +suffer less from shattered illusions, they would grow accustomed to +reality, and be considerably less idiotic in their romantic caperings."</p> + +<p>"I admit it," Lawrence said, smiling; "and yet"—he paused—"I want to +be the maddest of romanticists, I want to say those things to the woman +I love, I want to think them about her, I want to feel them all, all +those dear, false romantic deceptions. I do, in fact, even though my +brain agrees with you."</p> + +<p>"So should I, and I would." Then she added softly under her breath, "I +do."</p> + +<p>Lawrence turned a little toward her, his fingers gripping the grass in +front of him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>"Claire," he said slowly, "I—I want to say them, think them, believe +them about and with you."</p> + +<p>She did not move. Over her there swept a great joy, and her thinking +stopped. She was feeling all the dear things she had just condemned, and +she looked at her lover. He was blind. He could not see what was in her +face, and he was not sure that he interpreted her silence correctly. He +was waiting, anguishing, for her answer. She realized then what it was +he needed more than he himself knew.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she cried joyfully, slipping into his arms, "I know what you +need, beloved!"</p> + +<p>He laughed exultantly as he showered kisses upon her eagerly upturned +face.</p> + +<p>"I guess you do, sweetheart," he consented. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>She settled down with a sigh of content, her head against his shoulder, +and announced, very much like a child saying what it knows to be wisely +true: "You need a woman who is keen enough to think with you and be eyes +for you, natural and unspoiled by conventional sham enough to be your +heart's answer, self-willed enough to be herself and deny you and your +selfishness, and, above all, mother enough to care for you as she would +a child. I believe I am that woman, dearest boy!"</p> + +<p>He held her tight in his arms and smiled.</p> + +<p>"I not only think, I know you are."</p> + +<p>For a long time they sat in silence, dreaming, loving, enjoying, and +caring nothing for all the rest of the world. At last Claire raised her +head from his shoulder and whispered, "Lawrence, before I would be +separated from you, I am afraid I would kill!"</p> + +<p>He chuckled merrily. "Good!" he said. "That sounds proper. So would I. +We are alive because our ancestors killed to live, they fought to mate, +so shall we, if need be."</p> + +<p>She remembered Philip and shuddered slightly.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Claire?" Lawrence drew her closer.</p> + +<p>She did not answer. She was wondering how to tell him about Philip, and +afraid.</p> + +<p>"Are you filled with terror at the mere thought of murder!" he asked.</p> + +<p>She moved uneasily in his arms. "No, but I can't say I like to even +think of such a possibility."</p> + +<p>"Don't, then. It isn't very likely to happen," he comforted.</p> + +<p>She remained silent, but her pleasure was not untroubled. Her whole +impulse was to wait, but her brain kept demanding that she tell him now, +and she gathered herself for the effort.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence"—she hesitated—"I—I have something I must tell you."</p> + +<p>"All right. Go ahead; but confessions never do much good."</p> + +<p>She drew away from him tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Because my whole being wants to be in your arms, I will not—not while +I tell you," she said, sitting beside him. "I want you to hear and think +without my body in your arms as a determining factor in your answer."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Go ahead. I promise to be an emotionless judge."</p> + +<p>"Can you?" she asked quickly.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "but I will."</p> + +<p>They both laughed, and she nerved herself to talk.</p> + +<p>"It's about Philip," she said timidly.</p> + +<p>He started.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell me about him, Claire," he said. "It can't do any good, and +it's hard for you, I see. Whatever you are or were to Philip doesn't +matter to me in the least. The Claire of this morning wasn't my mate. It +is only Claire from now on that counts, and she is not in any way bound +to Philip for whatever may have occurred in the past."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wish that were true!" she moaned.</p> + +<p>"It is true," he asserted.</p> + +<p>"But you don't understand. Let me go on, please."</p> + +<p>"Surely," he answered. "Say as much or as little as you wish."</p> + +<p>She told him then, falteringly, sometimes wondering at his calm, +expressionless face as she talked. She was filled with dread, for he sat +as still as death, without a word, without a change of expression to +show her what he was thinking. She made many corrections to her +explanation, and supplied<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> bits of comment in an effort to discover +herself how it all had happened. There was nothing of apology in her +attitude, however, and she finally concluded with an account of that +afternoon in her bedroom, and what she had said to Philip since that +day.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said at last, "you know all about it. You can do as you +please, of course. If you choose to go on, we will have to find some +solution together. Philip will not take it easily. Of that I am sure. He +is more than likely to become desperate."</p> + +<p>She waited. Lawrence did not move. His face was seriously thoughtful, +and she was filled with a growing fear that made it harder and harder to +wait for him to speak.</p> + +<p>When she could stand it no longer, she shook his arm.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence, why don't you say something?" she cried.</p> + +<p>He read the fear in her voice, and laughed caressingly, as he took her +in his arms.</p> + +<p>"I thought you knew it wouldn't alter our futures," he said. "I was only +trying to think out a just solution unpersuaded by your body in my +arms."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" She laughed comfortably. He was making fun of her, and she was not +averse to it.</p> + +<p>"It certainly looks as if Philip were up against a bad future," he went +on, amusedly.</p> + +<p>"Philip!" she cried, startled. "Are you pitying him all this time?"</p> + +<p>"Whom else?" Lawrence demanded. "We don't need pity, do we?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you selfish lover!" she chided. "I have been needing and do need +it. Philip worries me."</p> + +<p>"I see," he mused. "Well, accept my condolences, and prepare to pass +them on to Philip. Poor devil! When you and I are back in our world, he +will indeed need pity."</p> + +<p>"Suppose he takes steps to see that I don't go back?" she chanced.</p> + +<p>"He can scarcely compel you to live with him."</p> + +<p>"He can, and he will. He isn't as civilized as he appears. If need be, +he would keep me locked up here and make me his by force, or kill me. +He told me so."</p> + +<p>Lawrence shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Romantic raving for effect!" he exclaimed. "But if he should happen to +try that, well, I think my argument might be as effective as his."</p> + +<p>"But how do you propose to stop him? I tell you, he is in earnest." +Claire was insistent.</p> + +<p>"Why, in whatever way is necessary. If it is my life against his, I'll +give him the best I've got."</p> + +<p>She looked at Lawrence in wonder. He was as calm as if he had been +making small talk at a theater-party.</p> + +<p>"Can you plan it so—so carelessly, like that?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Why not? I could hardly allow him to take you by force. I wouldn't +choose a fight as a diversion, but once in, I wouldn't stop short of his +life. And I wouldn't feel any compunction afterward, either."</p> + +<p>"Well," she said quickly, "it won't be necessary."</p> + +<p>"I think not." He smiled. "We need say nothing about our plans. Once we +get into town, all the world is ours, and we can quietly depart, leaving +Philip Ortez a very pleasant memory."</p> + +<p>They both laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>Neither of them allowed for that vast portion of human character which +lies beyond the knowledge of the most keen-visioned. Claire was more +familiar with the distinctly male phases of Philip than +Lawrence—perhaps a woman always is—but they were too happy to give the +matter any real consideration, and, after the fashion of all lovers, +they shut out the third person from their little self-bound universe.</p> + +<p>The whole world seemed a friendly sphere whose entire action was merely +to bring them together, and they were utterly oblivious to Philip and +his new attitude. It seemed so impossible that anything serious could +arise to separate them from each other.</p> + +<p>It was late when Philip returned, and he was instantly aware of the +change in his guests. The old, serious silence was gone from Lawrence; +he was not the speculative man to whom Philip was accustomed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> His talk +was light, pleasantly humorous, and very genial. He was, in short, the +lover. Claire, too, shone with a new radiance.</p> + +<p>Doubt rearose in Philip's heart, and grew rapidly into suspicion. He +became less responsive to their chatter. His dark eyes grew somber with +misgiving, and love swelled into longing that made him feel sure that +Claire was necessary to his life. Without her there could be no living +for him. He wondered if she and Lawrence had found love. "If they have," +he argued, "there can be but one explanation. Claire is unreliable, +vicious, and dangerous." His aching desire to possess her did not +lessen, however. It became deeper, in fact, with each succeeding thought +of her as a wanton at heart, and he set his teeth over his will, +assuring himself that all would be well when Lawrence was gone.</p> + +<p>He took to avoiding absences, and to watching furtively for some +confirmation of his suspicion. Claire was instinctively cautious, and he +saw nothing that could actually be construed against her. He was of that +type of man whose love, burning into jealousy, does battle with ideals +which stand against his suspicions and demand actual physical proof +before retiring and allowing the beast to run riot.</p> + +<p>He knew no middle ground. Once he had seen that which would condemn +Claire, he would be utterly savage. His soul anguished to bitterness at +every thought against her purity and truth. He could not accept her as +she was. His suspicion painted her black with the sticky ink of a morbid +idealist, while his faith, rising from the same ideals, made her seem +almost ethereal. His longing for her was an acute physical pain, and he +never allowed his ideals to stop his romancing. He insisted that his +desire be stated in masking phrases and deceiving glories of chivalrous +prattle. He was so torn by his conflicting emotions and ideals that he +was fast arriving at a state where his action would be that of a wounded +beast at bay. He did not know and would not admit that his own distorted +view of Claire was back of his own condition. True to his type, he +carried this war in silence, and sought support for his fast-weakening +ideals in argument. He was wise. Defend your faith if you would keep it +glowing.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE LAST DISCUSSION.</h3> + + +<p>The time of their departure was at hand. There had been two days of +intense packing of the food and clothing necessary for their +two-hundred-mile walk. Now that was behind them, and after a short trip +which Philip must take the following morning, they would be off for the +ten or fifteen miles they hoped to cover that day.</p> + +<p>When night came they were overjubilant, and they sat before the cabin +watching the lake as it shimmered in the moonlight. Claire was pensively +silent, though her heart sang. She was dreaming out her days, painting +them on the moonlit water, and she paid very little heed to the two men, +though unconsciously her whole personality leaned toward Lawrence. What +they were saying she did not at first know, but gradually her attention +was caught and she listened earnestly with an ever-growing fear in her +heart.</p> + +<p>She saw the deep fire that burned in Philip's eyes, and she realized +that Lawrence was unaware of how his provocative, half-humorous ironies +were stirring the volcano within the man who sat beside him.</p> + +<p>"No man has a right," Philip was saying, "to think of a woman in his +house unless he can think of her as altogether trustworthy, pure, and +beyond temptation. If he does think of her differently, he is a beast, +and wants a mistress, not a wife."</p> + +<p>Lawrence laughed carelessly. "The average man wants both in one," he +said. "Personally, so far as your talk about suspicion goes, who needs +to think either way? I'm sure I don't. I'm quite content to live with a +woman, giving and taking what we can enjoy together, and not asking that +she limit her time and devotion to me. She may have various outside +interests of her own. In fact, I would prefer that life should hold a +separate work for her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you do not care. You are too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> selfish to feel any responsibility +for a woman's soul. I would feel depraved if I did not guard my wife's +soul by my very faith in her."</p> + +<p>"Why should you guard her soul? Isn't the average woman intelligent +enough to look out for herself? What she does, she does because she +wants to, and for Heaven's sake, man, let her have the right to freedom +of being."</p> + +<p>"But real freedom of being lies in her dependence on me as the head of +the house," Philip protested.</p> + +<p>"If you happen to be the head of the house," Lawrence added jestingly.</p> + +<p>"But I would be the head of the house. It is my right and my duty."</p> + +<p>"Poor Mrs. Ortez, if there ever is one," Lawrence continued, joking. +"She is to be guarded by a great, aggressive, possessing husband. What +if she happens to want something you don't approve of?"</p> + +<p>"She won't. A good woman doesn't."</p> + +<p>"But suppose your woman isn't good, and does?"</p> + +<p>"I should have to explain to her her mistake."</p> + +<p>"And then when she says, 'But I don't regard it as a mistake, I think it +was quite right,' what will you do?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have a woman who would hold such views."</p> + +<p>"What is it you want for a wife, Philip? A brainless feminine body who +is content to be your slave?"</p> + +<p>"I should be ashamed to speak of any woman I cared for in those terms. +One doesn't marry a woman who can be thought of in terms of sex."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps 'one doesn't.' I would. I should want her to be very well aware +of her exact physical potentialities, and to think enough about them to +understand herself."</p> + +<p>"Then you would want an unwholesome wife, my friend."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I want a natural one, that's all. Moreover," he added +joyously, "I shall have one."</p> + +<p>Philip glanced at him quickly. Into his mind flashed the memory of +Claire's words in the room that fatal afternoon.</p> + +<p>"I shall never marry such a woman," he declared, and added: "But I mean +to have one whose devotion is so pure that even her talk to me of such +things will be holy."</p> + +<p>Lawrence laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>"Philip," he said, still chuckling, "you seem to think we human beings +are half supernatural and half stinking dirt. Why, in Heaven's name, +don't you once see us as plain, healthy, intelligent animals?"</p> + +<p>"Because we're half gods, half beasts."</p> + +<p>"So I was once told by the son of an ancient mind whose farthest mental +frontier reached <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> 1123."</p> + +<p>Philip rose and faced Lawrence, then looked shamefacedly at Claire, and +sat down again.</p> + +<p>"You think you are advanced because you are still unaware of anything +but beasthood!"</p> + +<p>Lawrence grinned complacently.</p> + +<p>"I am always amused at the way men speak of beasts as if they were +something base," he said. "'Beast' should not be a term of opprobrium. +The average dog or elephant, for example, is fairly wholesome and quite +naturally proper in his fulfilment of instincts. It is more than one can +say for men. Yes, I am a beast, if by that you you mean a physical +being; and if humanity ever does get anywhere in quest for a soul I +suspect it will have to start from that very admission."</p> + +<p>"Of course"—Philip hesitated a little—"we are animals in that sense. +But who can think of us as nothing more? Take Claire, for example. We +both know her better than any one else. I could scarcely think of her as +an animal, subject only to its instincts. Even allowing that she is a +very intelligent animal, it isn't all or even the better part of her, +any more than it is of any good woman."</p> + +<p>The speech was self-revealing, and Lawrence smiled.</p> + +<p>"Now, it is strange," he observed; "that is precisely the way I should +think of Claire if I wanted to see her in the best possible light, as +the most splendidly intelligent, healthy animal I ever knew."</p> + +<p>"You are more insulting than you intend. I am glad that you do not mean +to be," Philip growled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>"Tra-la-la. I shouldn't insult her for a good deal."</p> + +<p>"Yet your attitude is debasing," Philip retorted.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, perhaps. She has my apology if she thinks so."</p> + +<p>"But you can't actually mean what you say," Philip went on. "Your +attitude would lead you to make a cave of your home, and a mere lair of +your bed."</p> + +<p>"Which, by the way, very elaborately arranged, and embellished with +thousands of psychological phases, products of the most highly +specialized part of me, is exactly what my home would be."</p> + +<p>"Well, I certainly should deplore your household."</p> + +<p>"Go as far as you like. It ought to be a fairly comfortable home, with +its basis on frankness, oughtn't it, Claire?"</p> + +<p>Philip's eyes flashed.</p> + +<p>Claire hesitated, fearing lest she provoke him further, and said +cautiously: "Yes, it ought to be based on frankness."</p> + +<p>"But frankness doesn't mean an attitude of mind like that," Philip +protested.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" Lawrence asked.</p> + +<p>"It means an established order where love makes it possible for two +beings to speak their thoughts freely one to the other," Philip said, +with the air of defining infinity.</p> + +<p>"Does it? Well, if that is frankness by definition, I have known many +women with whom I was in love, but neither they nor I knew it until this +minute."</p> + +<p>Lawrence laughed. Philip flushed, shrugged his shoulders, and stood up.</p> + +<p>"I thank goodness I do not see things as you do," he said.</p> + +<p>"Even the parable of the Pharisee has its modern aspect," Lawrence +murmured chucklingly.</p> + +<p>Philip stood looking moodily across the lake, and fortunately did not +catch his words.</p> + +<p>"I think I shall walk a little," he said coldly. "I can't sleep until I +have walked some of your conversation out of my soul."</p> + +<p>"Go to it," Lawrence said with a smile. "I didn't mean to corrupt you."</p> + +<p>"You didn't. You simply make me angry. I'm sorry, but you do."</p> + +<p>"Yes? So am I. However, it won't last much longer, Philip."</p> + +<p>Both men smiled at the thoughts that came with those words.</p> + +<p>"I think I shall go in," Lawrence went on. "I shall want sleep for the +big start to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Philip looked hopefully at Claire. She rose with a sigh of weariness, +pretending not to see him.</p> + +<p>"So shall I," she said. "Good night, both of you."</p> + +<p>She was gone into the cabin, and Philip looked disappointed. He turned +down the lake shore, dreaming of the end of his journey, rebelling at +the necessity for Claire to listen to Lawrence's talk, and rejoicing at +how different his life with her would be.</p> + +<p>Inside the cabin, Lawrence closed the door and stepped into the room. +Claire stood waiting silently before him, and when he came to her, she +threw her arms happily around his neck. He laughed and caught her up.</p> + +<p>"So you lie in wait for me, do you?" he teased.</p> + +<p>"Why not? I want to capture my man," she said softly.</p> + +<p>"You have him, dearest. And, by the way"—he sat down and drew her on to +the arm of his chair—"permit me to extend you my sympathy for the +suffering you must have experienced at the thought of living with +Philip."</p> + +<p>She shuddered a little, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Such frankness as his home would permit!" she said. "I'm afraid our +hearth would not radiate warmth."</p> + +<p>"Nothing could warm such a home into anything like the real thing," +Lawrence mused. "It was my privilege when in college to stay for a time +in a home where the people had really attained the ideal. It was the +only home that ever made me envious."</p> + +<p>"I shall make you such a home, dear," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"No, we will have a mere cave, a lair," he laughed.</p> + +<p>She shook her long hair down over his face playfully.</p> + +<p>"Will you be a savage old cave man?" she asked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>"I shall. As savage as they ever made them in the golden age," he +answered, and drew her down against him.</p> + +<p>"I shall like that," she said, her eyes full of a warm, dreamy light.</p> + +<p>"You will be terribly abused by your beast husband," Lawrence said +gaily.</p> + +<p>"I think sometimes, Lawrence, that I could enjoy being hurt by your +hands—having them really cause me pain."</p> + +<p>He gripped her tightly against him and his hands tightened.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said, "a man never knows what there is in his nature till a +woman like you whispers in his ear. You make me afraid at what I feel +within me."</p> + +<p>"I know," she said. "I'm afraid, too, of what there is in you, but just +the same I'm going to be the happiest woman in the world."</p> + +<p>"I hope so," he said. "But you will have to defend yourself against +selfishness."</p> + +<p>"I have to do that already," she laughed, "but I don't mind. I can, and +that is the main thing. Besides, when you really want anything very +much, you have a way of forcing me to want it, too, my master-lover!"</p> + +<p>He laughed joyously. "Claire," he said, "if we ever do go to smash, you +and I, there will have been a glorious day and a glorious house to smash +with. It won't be a petty breaking of toy dishes!"</p> + +<p>"No," she whispered, "it will be the breaking of life's foundations."</p> + +<p>She slipped from his arms and into her room. Philip was coming in. +Lawrence sat down in a chair and Philip threw himself on his bed in +silence.</p> + +<p>He was caught in the inevitable result of his beliefs. He had argued +with Lawrence because he was troubled. His whole being was filled with a +great fear. Remembering how Lawrence and Claire had acted lately, he had +been thrown into a fever of jealous rage. He was utterly beyond his +depth now, and he was silent because to speak would have meant to break +into accusation. His imagination had pictured Claire in Lawrence's arms +while he was gone; if he had actually known the truth it would have been +less agonizing than the picture.</p> + +<p>He lay there filled with his own thoughts and dreading the moment when +Lawrence would come and lie down beside him. Behind her curtain he heard +Claire moving about, humming a little song, and it added to his torture. +He turned restlessly on his bed and groaned.</p> + +<p>Lawrence raised his head. He, too, was dreaming of Claire, but his +imaginings, vividly alluring in their appeal, were filled with the +content of happiness. Claire was his. That was certain, and those sweet +dreams should be fulfilled again and again in his life, with a growing +depth that would make them the more beautiful. What a creature of wonder +she was—and she was his—his, to love, to enjoy, to master, and to work +for. Yes, and to work with. He would find her the needed impulse and +idea to form his great work. She would make him the creative artist, the +sculptor that he felt he had the power to be.</p> + +<p>Philip muttered something, and Lawrence turned toward him.</p> + +<p>"Feeling bad?" he asked genially.</p> + +<p>Philip did not answer.</p> + +<p>"You aren't ill, are you?" Lawrence's voice was full of real concern. He +was thinking that it would be bad if they had to stay here a while +longer.</p> + +<p>"No. Only in spirit. I will be all right to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Philip turned over, and Lawrence sat down again to dream.</p> + +<p>For a long time he remained there, meditating, and at last he arose to +go to bed. Philip was asleep and breathing heavily. Claire was moving a +little. Lawrence stopped to listen. The curtain parted, her arms slipped +around his neck, and silently there in the darkness she kissed him +passionately, eagerly. He held her tightly, her soft, warm figure +thrilling him with joy.</p> + +<p>Philip turned restlessly, and she hastily drew back, stealing a last +swift kiss. Lawrence walked toward his bed. He heard a low, stifling +little laugh, then all was still in the cabin. Claire had laughed for +very joy at her love. He smiled tenderly. Dear little woman, she was +indeed a wealth untold to him. What a life theirs would be after they +got away from Philip!</p> + +<p>Poor Philip, his would indeed be a sad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> fate, with his ideals here to +worry him after they were gone. Well, he wasn't the sort that one could +help. Let him work out his own destiny. Lawrence lay down comfortably, +and sending a thousand dear thoughts flying across the silent room, he +fell asleep while he smiled at his own romancing.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">THE LAW OF LIFE.</h3> + + +<p>The last morning at the cabin was bright and sunny, with the warm +mystery of the day promising an infinity of strength for the future. All +three of them felt it and were carried along in dreams of anticipated +relief. Breakfast over, Philip helped Lawrence and Claire get their +packs ready. When everything was done, he said cheerily: "I will be gone +less than an hour in getting that farthest trap—I am going to make +quick speed—and then we will be off."</p> + +<p>They laughed with the joy that was filling their hearts.</p> + +<p>"Don't be longer than you can help, Philip," Claire admonished, and +Lawrence added: "Every minute that divides us from our life ahead seems +an eternity."</p> + +<p>Claire smiled at the dear thoughts his words provoked.</p> + +<p>"Good," said Philip in the doorway. "I'll hurry." And he was gone.</p> + +<p>Claire and Lawrence stood in the doorway while Philip went singing down +the lake shore. Her eyes filled with a warm light, and she slipped her +hand into Lawrence's.</p> + +<p>"At this moment, dear," she said, "I feel only pity for him. He is going +to be hurt."</p> + +<p>"Who wouldn't be, dearest, at losing you?"</p> + +<p>"Always flattering," she teased. They stood arm in arm, leaning against +the door-casing.</p> + +<p>"Claire," he said, "let's take a last walk around our estate. The place +where I first found the real, you will always be beautiful to me. I'm +less blind this morning than I've been in my life."</p> + +<p>"Of course you are," she said gaily. "You've acquired two good eyes."</p> + +<p>"And two dear hands and a very wonderful personality that makes me +doubly able," he said softly.</p> + +<p>They wandered out across the plateau in the direction from which they +had first entered it. Their conversation was broken and often +meaningless, but eminently pleasing to them both.</p> + +<p>"Dear heart," Claire mused softly, "you don't know what that poor, +freezing, underfed woman in your naked arms felt when she heard you +muttering that you needed her, as you stumbled down this ravine."</p> + +<p>"How did she feel?"</p> + +<p>Claire was dreaming back, and she wanted to tell him, but she found her +emotions too complex and too rapid for expression.</p> + +<p>"And then when you added that it was to use her as a subject for a stone +image," laughed Claire, "she was furious with you, and yet she was very +sure that she didn't want you to care about her in any other way."</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps I am making a mistake," he jested.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, my dearest, but I am so glad of it that I don't care if you +are."</p> + +<p>He caught her in his arms. They were very near the great point in +lovers' lives when emotions always tend to break all restraint. She +clung to him passionately, her lips yielding and holding his in a +rapture of love. Together they swayed toward a great tree and sat down.</p> + +<p>When they returned to the cabin, they were surprised to find Philip +still gone. With the whimsicality of lovers, they dismissed him from +their thoughts and sat down in the armchair together, laughing and +talking of the past. Their conversation ran gradually into a clearly +defined discussion in which both minds were compelled to think quickly, +and they found new joy in their love. Even now, when their whole minds +were swayed by emotion, they were able to think, to talk, and to be +alive to everything in the world of intellect.</p> + +<p>Art, religion, and life, all in a grand mix-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>chaotic tangle. Lawrence +was talking for the joy of his thought to the woman who he knew would +enjoy it.</p> + +<p>"You see, Claire," he said after a long discussion, "in the religious +instinct we find very little besides a fear of the unknown. What else +there is in it is the more valuable part, and it is this lesser section +that we can develop and use to advantage."</p> + +<p>"What is this lesser section?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"The vital desire to create for our God's sake. If we could build that +into its real place, stimulated as it is by the overwhelming +appreciation of beauty in nature, we could establish something far more +worth while than a mere deceiving of men about their own kind, their +faults, and their relations."</p> + +<p>"You aren't quite fair, Lawrence," she protested. "In so far as the +church makes for a stronger socialization, it is a good."</p> + +<p>"But does it always promote that very effectively? Most of the +socialization could be better carried on where really educated people +were educators. The few of them there are in our schools now are +hampered as much as they are helped by the church."</p> + +<p>"I don't agree," she said. "The church does hamper education in higher +branches, undoubtedly, but in the kindergartens and grades it is a +good."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he responded; "I never saw it."</p> + +<p>"Well," she cried suddenly, and laughed, "whatever we think of the +church, I agree that religion isn't always there, and when it is, +barring a few liberal exceptions, it is generally misdirected."</p> + +<p>"And here you and I sit in the Andes Mountains talking when we might be +making love," he laughed.</p> + +<p>"And here we are making love under the pretense of being intellectual," +she rejoined. "What would we do without the dear deceptions that make us +such pitiably delightful animals?"</p> + +<p>"We'd be a hopelessly unimaginative set of eaters." His answer was +quick. "I am convinced that it is our very power to deceive, plan grand +follies, though petty in deeds, that makes us artists, dreamers, +thinkers, and statesmen."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," she agreed, and then slipped her arms around him suddenly. +"Is that what makes us able lovers, too?"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "By Jove, I believe it is!" he exclaimed. "Well, old +universal tangle, I do truly thank you for the power to be a foolish, +deceived, human being. Hurrah for the instinct that makes me call you my +divine necessity, Claire."</p> + +<p>She laughed happily and leaned against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"For any instinct or deception that makes you more enjoyable, let us +give thanks," he repeated.</p> + +<p>"And for all the dear bodily claims that make me your adored one I do +give thanks, Lawrence," she whispered.</p> + +<p>Their lips met again. She drew back startled, and sprang to her feet +with a cry of terror.</p> + +<p>Philip stood in the doorway, looking at them with a face from which all +human sentiment was gone. He was a raging beast.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she screamed. "Philip!"</p> + +<p>Her lover sprang to his feet. Now he realized his blindness and its true +handicap. Philip was there, somewhere before him, thinking what he could +not know. He waited, every muscle strained with expectant fear and +anger.</p> + +<p>Claire was staring at Philip with abject terror in her face. Lawrence +could not know that, he only heard her breathing heavily, and +instinctively his arm went out to her.</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid, dear," he said tenderly.</p> + +<p>The man in the door uttered an exclamation. "So"—and his words were +sharp as icicles—"that is your damned wanton way. You are the second +harlot I have loved."</p> + +<p>Lawrence started forward angrily.</p> + +<p>"Fool!" he ejaculated.</p> + +<p>Claire's warning scream gave him just time to brace his body. Philip had +sprung at him like a wild beast, and the impact of his weight sent +Lawrence staggering backward. In that moment the Spaniard's hand closed +on his throat. The blind man was paying the price of his defect in his +long-talked-of primitive battle for life.</p> + +<p>Even then he thought of the scene as it must be, and smiled bitterly, +while his hand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> went to his throat and tore at the wrist that was +steeling itself to rob him of breath.</p> + +<p>Had he been able to see, the fight would still have been unequal. Philip +was taller, wirier, and quicker on his feet. Lawrence's one advantage +lay in his keen, quick response to touch sensation, and that gave him +his sense of direction and ability to move rightly.</p> + +<p>With one hand he tore at Philip's wrist, while with the other he reached +steadily for Philip's face.</p> + +<p>They had knocked over the chairs and were staggering against the table.</p> + +<p>From the corner by the fireplace Claire watched them in an agony of +dread. It was indeed her time of test.</p> + +<p>She saw Lawrence's hand clutching at the flesh of Philip's cheek. They +were panting like two beasts. It was the primitive battle of males for +the female of their choice.</p> + +<p>Philip's hand was torn free from Lawrence's throat. The blind man +laughed as his lungs filled with air. She heard him mutter between +clenched teeth: "By God, I'll spoil your advantage."</p> + +<p>They were struggling again for throat holds.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was protecting his own, but the hand he had wrenched free +closed around his arm, bending it back slowly, irresistibly toward the +point where it must break. She screamed and covered her eyes for a +second at what her lover was doing—she saw him deliberately gouge at +Philip's eyes with his thumb held hard.</p> + +<p>She heard both men fall, and looked again in spite of herself. They were +on the floor writhing, their bodies against each other, clawing, +striking, digging, and biting like two wild gorillas.</p> + +<p>Now Lawrence was on top, now underneath, but she could not help but see +that Philip was slowly gaining. Though badly injured in one eye, he +still fought on unhesitatingly, forcing Lawrence nearer and nearer to +death. The artist was even now ceasing to resist, his struggle had +become spasmodic. Her lover was being choked to death. She sprang to her +feet.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence!" she screamed. "Lawrence!"</p> + +<p>He was being killed in a battle for the possession of her. Could she +stand still and see the man she loved murdered? Her hair fell about her +shoulders in a mass. She swept it back from her face, looked frantically +around her, then rushed to the wall-cupboard on the other side of the +cabin and drew out a long meat-knife.</p> + +<p>The touch of the steel in her hand carried her out beyond the last +barrier of civilized thought. For a moment she was the savage through +and through. With a scream like that of a wounded lioness whose cub is +in danger, she sprang toward them, the knife uplifted.</p> + +<p>Then she stopped. Something paralyzed her—generations of inherited +inhibition, conscience, what you will. "O God!" she moaned miserably, as +the weapon fell from her hand.</p> + +<p>It clattered on the wooden floor close beside the two men. Philip looked +up, and his white teeth gleamed in a grim smile. Claire realized what +she had done—she had placed the means of certain triumph within reach +of her lover's enemy. She stooped to regain the knife, but it was too +late. Philip released his grip on Lawrence's throat, leaned over, and +seized the blade.</p> + +<p>It was a mistake. Lawrence was far past consciousness of what he was +doing, but his body still instinctively obeyed his will. As the weight +from his chest was eased for a moment, he writhed his body into a freer +position and his arms struck out wildly.</p> + +<p>Philip saw his danger and raised the knife. The scene passed in a +second, but to Claire it was as if they were petrified for hours in that +position—she half-kneeling there, her arm outstretched, and Philip +astride Lawrence's body, holding the knife in midair. In that last +picture, carved upon Claire's agonized gaze, all the Spaniard's beauty +was gone forever—he was a monster, his face distorted, one eye closed, +his smile broadening into a hideous dog-like grin.</p> + +<p>Philip's arm came down. As it did so, it was struck from above by +Lawrence's, swinging aimlessly in a wide sweep. The blade, deflected +with double force, entered deep into Philip's breast.</p> + +<p>For just one instant an expression of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> angry and almost ludicrous +surprise leaped across the Spaniard's face as his teeth snapped shut. +Then his whole body twisted round violently, rolled over, and lay still +beside Lawrence's equally motionless form.</p> + +<p>Claire tottered back into a chair, and stared at them stupidly. Silence +reigned in the cabin where there had been chaos. Slowly from under +Philip's body a red line spread to a blotch on the floor. Lawrence was +lying there, his head almost touching it.</p> + +<p>Claire gazed and gazed, while she felt as if she must faint from the +dreadful illness which seized her. Suddenly Lawrence was sitting up, his +blackened face growing less terrible to look upon. He put his hands to +his throat, and then, as the pain in his lungs decreased, he rose +unsteadily. For a moment he balanced himself carefully, rubbing his +throat.</p> + +<p>Then he cried hoarsely: "Claire!"</p> + +<p>She moistened her lips with her tongue, but could not answer.</p> + +<p>He stooped and began to feel across the floor. She saw his hands, those +sensitive hands, move toward Philip's dead body. They would be in his +blood presently.</p> + +<p>She started forward. "Lawrence!" she screamed.</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly. Her tone had filled him with dread wonder.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Claire?" he whispered.</p> + +<p>She stood a moment, silently looking at him.</p> + +<p>He straightened and stepped toward her, "What is it?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>She swayed unsteadily and sank into his arms, sobbing, her body wrenched +with the agony.</p> + +<p>"Take me outside," she whispered fearfully.</p> + +<p>He lifted her and carried her out into the sunlight.</p> + +<p>She sat down on the ground and wept bitterly, while he sat silently +beside her, seeking to comfort her with his arms.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>She remembered the touch of the knife in her hands, the sight of +Philip's blood seeping out around his own body.</p> + +<p>"It is terrible," she moaned. "I—I might have done it."</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>He wet his lips, then suddenly laughed aloud. Claire could have screamed +at the sound. She clutched his arm and shook him.</p> + +<p>"Stop it!" she commanded. "What is it, Lawrence?"</p> + +<p>He stood up and lifted her beside him.</p> + +<p>"I must have a drink," he said calmly.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Life is a wonderful thing, Claire."</p> + +<p>She was still too shaken to do aught but gaze at him.</p> + +<p>"What now?" she asked at last, falteringly.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>She let her head fall on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Then—then I am not repulsive to you?" she choked.</p> + +<p>"Repulsive! Why?" His voice was full of wonder.</p> + +<p>"I—I thought of murdering him," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>She stepped back and looked at him. He was all energy, +clear-countenanced, free, frank, and normal.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am ready."</p> + +<p>She stooped and took up her pack from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> beside the door. He took his and +threw it over his shoulder. Hand-in-hand they started forward and out +toward civilization.</p> + + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3 class="newchapter2">INTO THE SUNLIGHT.</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>That night they camped beside a stream under great trees where tiny blue +flowers winked up at them from the deep grass. After supper they sat +beside their fire dreaming. At last Lawrence took her in his arms, and +she laid her shoulder against his.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she said thoughtfully, "isn't it strange how little we know +ourselves when we think we know most?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I sometimes think we are nearer folly then than at any other +time."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I have been thinking to-day?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>She patted his hand tenderly.</p> + +<p>"I can scarcely wait till we get out, Claire."</p> + +<p>"I know, dear."</p> + +<p>They listened to the purling of the stream and dreamed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"If she wants me to know, she will tell me," he thought.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," Lawrence said at last. "To-morrow we reach civilization. +Oh, Claire, Claire, with civilization come you, home, our real life!"</p> + +<p>She moved uneasily. There was a sudden overwhelming sense of her need, +and she resolved to tell him everything.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," she began, "to-morrow we do reach civilization, and I—I am +finding out things about myself."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Claire. I have noticed something."</p> + +<p>"It isn't that I don't love you," she cried, seeing his fear in his +drawn face. "Oh, I do love you!"</p> + +<p>He laughed with relief.</p> + +<p>"Then speak away. Nothing else in the world can frighten me."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid that it will displease you."</p> + +<p>"Not if it is something real to you."</p> + +<p>"Well then—oh, it seems so hard to explain. I—I am finding myself +out."</p> + +<p>"That ought to be pleasant."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Why not? It all seems clear to me."</p> + +<p>"But, Lawrence, are we quite fair? Are we quite right with ourselves?"</p> + +<p>"I try to be. I certainly try to be fair to you."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>"I know. That's it. You would want me to be fair to—to every one, +wouldn't you, and above all, to myself?"</p> + +<p>"You must be that, Claire."</p> + +<p>She did not continue at once. He waited, holding her hand very tight +between his own.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Claire."</p> + +<p>The deep earnestness of the faith in her that rang through his words +gave her courage.</p> + +<p>"It is Howard and—and my vows to him."</p> + +<p>Lawrence sat, his brows knit. She watched him.</p> + +<p>"I see," he answered. "I see, but—"</p> + +<p>"After all, I promised to be his wife forever, you know."</p> + +<p>"But you don't love him now."</p> + +<p>"No. I love you—and for your sake as well as my own I've got to +straighten things out between Howard and myself."</p> + +<p>"I thought they were straight. He thinks you are dead."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Her voice dropped and lingered caressingly yet with gracious reverence +over these last words, as one's does in speaking of holy things.</p> + +<p>"I see," he said. Her tone told him more than her words.</p> + +<p>"I think you do."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do. But when did you begin thinking of this?"</p> + +<p>"When you said, 'Human beings think many things they don't and can't +do.'"</p> + +<p>"I understand." He threw back his head.</p> + +<p>"You see, dearest, it is that everything in our lives may be clean."</p> + +<p>"Good enough, Claire." He was hearty in his agreement. To his alert mind +the problem seemed very clear.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I knew you would say so." Her cry was full of relief.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>At noon of the next day they stopped on the brow of a high hill.</p> + +<p>"Lawrence," Claire cried exultantly. "It is there—below us—a town!"</p> + +<p>"Hurrah!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>That night they were speeding toward the coast, and a few days later +found them northward-bound on a liner.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When Claire arrived, the old familiar city seemed strangely desolate. +She found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>How she ever got through her own explanations she did not know, then she +heard him speaking.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I—sorrow—why?" She stared at him wonderingly.</p> + +<p>He looked surprised, then understood. Claire listened silently to his +brief, sincere sympathy as he told her how her husband had died during +the winter of pneumonia.</p> + +<p>"It has been nearly six months now," he finished, "and, of course, I am +very sorry for you. If I can do anything to help you, don't hesitate to +call on me, please."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I—I won't."</p> + +<p>She heard her own voice change. Stifled, she fled up-stairs.</p> + +<p>Her grief was sincere, unshaded by any selfish thought that it made her +own course easier or more justifiable in the eyes of society. To her, +Howard Barkley's death changed nothing save that the man whom she had +once loved sincerely was now no more.</p> + +<p>But the living remained, and to the call of the living her life was +henceforth joyfully dedicated.</p> + + +<p style="margin-top: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 2.25em; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">(The end.)</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the +original edition have been corrected.</p> + +<p>In Chapter V, "tenements she had visted in her charity work" was changed +to "tenements she had visited in her charity work".</p> + +<p>In Chapter VII, a missing quotation mark was added after "What, indeed, +is moral law?"</p> + +<p>In Chapter IX, "disdiscover what she was" was changed to "discover what +she was".</p> + +<p>In Chapter X, "Disliking him as he did" was changed to "Disliking him as +she did".</p> + +<p>In Chapter XI, "as abnormal as her depondency had been before" was +changed to "as abnormal as her despondency had been before".</p> + +<p>In Chapter XVIII, "I promise to an emotionless judge" was changed to "I +promise to be an emotionless judge", and "harded and harder to wait" was +changed to "harder and harder to wait".</p> + +<p>In Chapter XX, "clearly defined discusion" was changed to "clearly +defined discussion", and "the overwelming appreciation of beauty in +nature" was changed to "the overwhelming appreciation of beauty in +nature".</p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Transcriber's Note: The following summary originally appeared at the +beginning of the serial's second installment.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">PRECEDING CHAPTERS BRIEFLY RETOLD</p> + +<p>When the City of Panama foundered off the coast of Chile, Lawrence +Gordon suddenly realized he had been left, in the frenzy of the +disaster, alone on the deck.</p> + +<p>Then, before he had fully recovered from the lash of the wind and the +violence of the waves, he was swept overboard and into the seething +maelstrom of an angry sea.</p> + +<p>As he came up from the depths he struck a heavy timber, and with the +strength of desperation he dragged his weight up on it and clung fast.</p> + +<p>"Land may be in sight," was his thought, "and I shall never know!" +Lawrence Gordon was blind.</p> + +<p>Hours had passed. The wind-lashed water beat him as he lay on the +timber. Fear and the cold drove him to rave at life and death alike. +Finally, over the roar of the wind, he caught the tumbling of breakers. +His plank was spun round, the swell lifted him from his position, and +the next breaker rolled him past the water-line.</p> + +<p>Once with the feel of the sand beneath his feet he ran until a rock +caught him above the knees and sent him headlong.</p> + +<p>When he regained consciousness he returned to the water to hunt for +clams. As he came ashore again he tripped over an object that on +investigation proved a woman.</p> + +<p>Claire Barkley answered to his ministrations, and recognized the blind +man she had observed on the boat. She could furnish the eyes for an +investigation of their situation inland, but her ankle had been sprained +in the wreck and she was unable to walk.</p> + +<p>When months after, just as they had reached the limit of human +endurance—what with hunger, the cold, and privation—they stumbled into +the cabin of Philip Ortez. The Spanish mountaineer declared it no less +than a miracle that a blind man should have carried a woman in his arms +half across the Andes—from the coast to the borders of Bolivia.</p> + +<p>Then they settled down to spend the winter in Philip's cabin. And now +the latent antagonism of the woman, who was so curiously stirred by the +apparent coldness of this blind sculptor to her charm, began to plan the +man's punishment.</p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Transcriber's Note: The following summary originally appeared at the +beginning of the serial's third installment. The summary at the +beginning of the serial's fourth installment, if one was present, was +not available when preparing this electronic edition.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">PRECEDING CHAPTERS BRIEFLY RETOLD</p> + +<p>When Lawrence Gordon, numb with cold and hunger, after weeks of weary +wandering through the mountains in a desperate effort to find a +habitation, came in sight of the mountaineer's little cabin, he dropped +the woman from his breaking arms and fell, exhausted and unconscious, in +the snow.</p> + +<p>Flung into the sea when the ship foundered, he had eventually found his +way to the beach, and here he stumbled on the unconscious form of Claire +Barkley.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Barkley's ankle had been sprained in the wreck and she was unable +to walk. The man was strong, dominant, and unafraid; but he was blind.</p> + +<p>Carrying the woman in his arms the blind man had stumbled half across +the Andes, for the boat was wrecked off the coast of Chile, and Philip +Ortez, whose cabin they had reached, declared they were on the borders +of Bolivia, about two hundred miles from the nearest railroad station.</p> + +<p>This Spanish scholar, gentleman, and recluse readily welcomed two such +promising guests for the winter. A charming woman of twenty-six, with a +mind as well as emotions, and a man not much older, who was both a +philosopher and an artist, promised no end of diversion for the winter.</p> + +<p>And diversion, not to say, drama, came—the eternal triangle.</p> + +<p>Lawrence was slow in admitting his love for Claire, even to himself. And +Claire, who was affronted by the seeming cold and calculating +indifference of this big, blind god, suddenly realized his apparent +coldness held the very heart of passion itself.</p> + +<p>In the playful scramble of a snow-fight before the cabin, Lawrence had +taken her by the waist to wash her face with snow, and the contact of +her tightly held body betrayed the tensity of the man's feeling. Claire +broke from his grasp to look into the eyes of Philip, who had stood in +the doorway to watch the fun. In the eyes of the Spaniard she detected +the emotion she felt in the touch of the blind sculptor.</p> + +<p>The next day, to relieve the suppressed passion in her own as well as +Lawrence's soul, she proposed to go with Philip, as she sometimes did, +when he went out to spend the day with his traps.</p> + +<p>On the return journey, when the conversation was fast drifting into the +personal, Philip, carried off his feet by the nearness of the woman and +the madness in his blood, snatched Claire up in his arms and covered her +full lips with his kisses.</p> + +<p>The indignant woman brought him to an abject apology after his wild +confession of love, and entered into a compact of friendship with him.</p> + +<p>Reaching the cabin, the blind man, whose acute soul and senses had long +told him of Philip's passion, held out the finished carving he had been +at work on all these weeks—a winged cherub.</p> + +<p>In his eyes it was the symbol of his love for her. But her words of +acceptance made him think in her eyes it was rather a symbol of her love +for the mountaineer.</p> + +<p>To Philip it was a symbol of hope.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Claire, by Leslie Burton Blades + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLAIRE *** + +***** This file should be named 30261-h.htm or 30261-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/2/6/30261/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Claire + The Blind Love of a Blind Hero, By a Blind Author + +Author: Leslie Burton Blades + +Release Date: October 15, 2009 [EBook #30261] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLAIRE *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +Claire + +by Leslie Burton Blades + +THE BLIND LOVE OF A BLIND HERO + +_BY A BLIND AUTHOR_ + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: This novel was originally serialized in four +installments in All-Story Weekly magazine from October 5, 1918, to +October 26, 1918. The original breaks in the serial have been retained, +but summaries of previous events preceding the second and third +installments have been moved to the end of this e-book. The Table of +Contents which follows the introduction was created for this electronic +edition.] + + + + +On the editorial page of last week's ALL-STORY WEEKLY we announced a new +serial by a new author. "Claire" is a story of such subtle insight, of +so compassionate an understanding of human nature, and of so honest an +attack on the eternal problem of love and living, that it can well +afford to take its chances on its own merits. But _Lawrence Gordon_, the +blind hero of the triangle tragedy, which runs its inevitable course in +the mountain cabin of _Philip Ortez_, takes on a new interest, when we +learn that his creator is himself a blind man. + +Born of mining people in Colorado, Blades lost two fingers and the sight +of both eyes when as a lad of nine years he refused to take the dare of +some playmates and set off a giant firecracker. While still a youth he +entered the Colorado State School for the Blind. Here he spent six +years. In the crash at Creede, when the bottom fell out of so many +mining fortunes, the Blades family lost their all. Then young Blades +took up the burden of his own keep. For two successful years he +maintained himself at the University of Colorado by teaching music. When +the family moved to Oregon, the indomitable Leslie followed. At Eugene +he entered the State University and continued to support himself by +music and lectures. After receiving his degrees of B.A. and M.A. he was +a substitute teacher in the English Department. + +For some time he has made his home at San Dimas, where his regular +contributions on a variety of themes to the magazine section of _The +Express_ have brought him something more than local prestige. He is +deeply interested in the drama, and has several plays to his credit. +"When He Came Home," a play of his dealing with the return of a blind +soldier from the war, has become a favorite with one of the California +circuits. + +"Claire" is his first novel, and though he is still on the sunny side of +thirty, this arresting story is a promising portent of what we may +expect from the powerful pen of this blind man with an artist's +vision.--THE EDITOR. + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + +I. DISASTER. 256 +II. THE WATER OF LIFE. 260 +III. THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE. 262 +IV. MUTUAL DISLIKE. 266 +V. THE FACE OF DEATH. 269 +VI. THE STONE THREAT. 274 +VII. PLAYING WITH FIRE. 498 +VIII. THE TIGHTENING NET. 501 +IX. CLAIRE'S ABASEMENT. 505 +X. HOW SIMPLE THE SOLUTION! 509 +XI. THE MAKING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. 513 +XII. THE UNHORSING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. 697 +XIII. FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY. 702 +XIV. PHILIP TO THE RESCUE. 706 +XV. UTTER EXHAUSTION. 711 +XVI. THE QUESTION ANSWERED. 714 +XVII. ANGLES OF A TRIANGLE. 151 +XVIII. THE ROMANTIC REALIST. 155 +XIX. THE LAST DISCUSSION. 160 +XX. THE LAW OF LIFE. 164 +XXI. INTO THE SUNLIGHT. 168 + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +DISASTER. + + +In the confusion Lawrence stood still. Over the howling wind and +smashing sea, he heard thin voices shouting orders. Another mass of +water swept over the deck. Near him a woman screamed piteously. +Instinctively, the masculine desire to protect womanhood made him ache +to help her, but he bit his lip and clung to the rail. If he could only +see! Never before in his five years of blindness had he felt the full +horror of it. He had taught himself to forget his loss of sight. It is +useless to waste time in sentimental moping, he would say, but now-- + +"God, when will it end?" he muttered savagely. + +The City of Panama lurched back and forth like a rocking-horse. +Somewhere forward they must be lowering the boats. He stumbled along the +deck, holding to the rail for support. The spray dashed in his face, and +he could feel the water from his hair trickling into his ears. He shook +his head and laughed grimly, but he could not hear his own laughter. The +terrific noise of the wind drowned everything else. It became +increasingly difficult to keep his hold on the rail. He was wet to the +waist. Each time the wave struck him higher, and he noticed that the +lurching grew heavier. He was strong, six feet of hard muscle, but the +water was stronger. His mouth was filled with it, and his ears seemed +bursting. His rugged features twisted into hard lines. As he struggled +forward, he raged at the blindness that kept him from seeing. + +"Not a chance, not a chance," he repeated over and over, as he strained +to hold the deck. There was a lull in the wind, and he marveled at the +absence of human sound. Suddenly he divined the cause. His mind became a +chaos of rage and fear. + +"They have left me," he cried; "left me without a thought." He shut his +teeth hard, then ducked as another heavy beating weight of water crashed +over him. It seemed it would never lift and leave him free to breathe. +His arms and feet no longer seemed a part of him. He wondered if the +vessel were under the surface, and nerved himself to let go. But he +could not. The rail was his only hope of life. Slowly the water began to +draw his fingers away from it. The next surge sent his body +out--somewhere. He struck forward with both hands and kicked his feet +mechanically. Was it the roar of the wind or the weight of the water +itself that beat into his ears? The sudden pain in his lungs, told him +that he had reached the surface. How good the air felt! Shaking the +water out of his ears, he listened. Nothing but the wind was audible. + +It seemed to him that he had been swimming for hours in the icy waves. +Events on the ship, the shock of the boiler explosion, the rush for the +deck, all seemed to have happened long ago. + +"If I could only see," he thought, "I might find the ship again." It +occurred to him that he might be swimming in a circle, and he resolved +to keep in one direction, but how? He remembered that he had always +tended to swim to the left, so he increased his right-arm stroke. +Suddenly a heavy timber struck him. He gasped with pain, and sank under +the surface. When he came up, his hand struck the same piece of wood. +With a desperate effort, he dragged himself up on it, twisting his arms +and legs about it to maintain his hold. + +The water, swirled by the wind, lashed him as he lay on the timber. +"Land may be within sight," he thought, "and I shall never know." His +fear and the cold began to work upon his imagination. He had a clear +mental picture of a sandy beach backed with trees. He felt sure he was +being carried past it into the open sea. + +Hours passed. He began to rave at the water, at life, at everything. +Mixed, tangled masses of images heaped themselves in utter disorder in +his brain: passages of verse, bits of his trained laboratory jargon, +phrases from half-forgotten books, the delicate curves of the Water +Sprite at the exposition, and, above all, a fierce gnawing pain in his +side. + +Over the roar of the wind he heard something else. Was it the tumbling +of breakers? He listened, then concluded that it was his imagination. +But they came nearer, louder; he sat up on his plank, his nerves tense. +The board lurched sidewise, spurn around, and the swell it was riding +broke over him with a force that knocked him from his position. Over and +over he rolled, until, almost unconscious, he felt his body dragging +along the sand. The undertow was pulling at him. He fought furiously, +digging his hands into the sand, and clawing desperately up the steep +sloping beach. The next breaker caught him and rolled him past the +water-line. He scrambled to his feet, and ran shakily ahead, neither +knowing nor caring what was before him. + +Behind him he heard the water sweeping in. He was out of its reach, but +still he ran. A rock caught him above the knees and sent him headlong +into the sand. He became unconscious, and lay still, half doubled up. + +When he recovered consciousness and sat up, a fierce sun was beating +down upon him. His head ached, and he was hungry. "There may be people +within call," he thought. Rising unsteadily, the soreness of his muscles +coming home to him, he gave a prolonged "Hello-o." A faint echo was his +answer. He formed a trumpet of his hands and shouted louder. The echo +came back stronger. "Only cliffs," he concluded. + +The gnaw of hunger increased. "Clams are my best chance," he reasoned, +and, turning, he groped his way to the water. When the incoming breakers +washed his knees, he stopped. The intense dread that his experience had +given him was crying retreat, but he stood his ground. Stooping over, he +began digging in the sand. His cut and bleeding hands burned with the +salt water, but he dug steadily, moving rapidly along the beach. At last +his fingers turned up a round, ridged object. Feeling the edge of it he +knew that he had found what he sought. He wanted to eat the clam at +once, but reluctantly dropped it into his pocket, and went on digging. + +When he had filled his pocket he straightened up and started toward the +shore. As he waded through the last shallow wash of the wave, his foot +caught in something soft, and he fell. He rose, and then on second +thought stooped to feel what had tripped him. His hand touched a mass of +wet, tangled hair. He jerked it back hurriedly and screamed. The strain +he had been under was telling. Nerving himself, he reached again, and +touched a face. + +"A woman! Another human being! Thank God!" + +Then he clutched his throat in desperation. She might be dead. He +stooped and dragged the body up on the sand. He was afraid to find out +if she were dead or alive, and sat beside her, timidly touching her +hair. + +"Fool!" he muttered at last. "If she is not dead, she soon will be." He +leaned over, listening for her breathing. At first there was only the +sound of the waves, then he heard her breathing come faintly. He took +off his coat, emptied out the clams, and dipped it in the ocean. Coming +back, he wrung it out over her face. He knelt beside her, and rubbed her +arms and throat. + +His hands were his trained observers. As he worked over her, they gave +him a detailed picture which sank deep into his memory. She was +splendidly made. His fingers caught the delicate curve of her throat and +shoulders. Her skin was satin to his touch. He knew that the fine hair, +the smooth skin, the curve and grace of her body belonged to a beautiful +woman. + +Taking her arms, he worked them vigorously. When he was beginning to +despair, she coughed, moaned a little, and turned over on her side. + +He wondered if she had her eyes open. He dared not feel to see, and sat +silent, anxious, waiting for her to speak. + +It seemed to him that eternity passed before she murmured, "Oh, oh! +Where am I?" + +"I do thank God," he exclaimed earnestly. + +"Where am I?" she repeated as she sat up. + +"I do not know," he answered. "Presumably somewhere on the coast of +Chile." Her eyes opened very wide and gazed at him as she said, "Are we +the only ones?" + +"I cannot tell," he replied, smiling a little. "I am blind, you see." + +"Yes, I know," she said softly. "I saw you on shipboard." + +"The first consciousness I had of you," he continued, "was when I +stumbled over you while getting my breakfast." + +"Breakfast? Where is it?" + +He laid one hand on the pile of clams. She looked down at them, and +burst out laughing, uncontrollably. + +"It is not much," he said, "but we primitive people are simple in our +needs. I worked to get them, goodness knows." + +She was looking around her, twisting her long brown hair in her hands. +At last she shuddered. "It's desperately lonely. Nothing but sea and +mountains. I'm afraid I can't walk," she said. + +"Good God!" he exclaimed. "Can't walk?" + +She turned toward him, smiling faintly. "I was struck when I washed +overboard, and my ankle, I think, is broken. I am sorry," she added. + +Her tone was slightly apologetic, and he laughed nervously. "Oh, that's +all right," he said, assuringly, then stammered, "I mean--" He +hesitated, and she laughed. + +"I mean that we can get along," he continued, stubbornly. "Heaven knows +I am sorry. But you can't realize what it means to have some one near +you who can see." + +She did not answer for a minute, then said quietly: "Shall we breakfast +before beginning anything else?" + +He reached in his pocket for his penknife. It was gone. The blank +expression of disgust on his face made her ask: "What is it?" + +"My knife," he said. "It is gone." + +They sat opposite each other, the clams between them. Each followed a +different trend of ideas. He was raging at this last mishap, and +considering means of opening the clams. She was conjecturing over the +fate of the City of Panama and wondering what she could do, alone here +with this blind man. Her night-gown and a heavy skirt had been all she +had worn when she had rushed on deck in the night. She looked around her +at the rocks and thought how foolish she had been to leave her shoes. + +At last he rose and began to grope back along the beach. + +Noticing that his hands were torn and bleeding, she said, hastily: +"Don't do that. What are you looking for, anyway?" + +"Stones," he answered, stopping. + +"I will direct you," she to him. "Left--right--a little ahead now." +Guided by her, he moved until his hand touched a small stone. He found +two of them and came back to her side. + +She watched him while he tried to break a clam-shell between the two +rocks. "Let me," she said, taking hold of one of them. "Your hands are +too badly cut." He hesitated. + +"Please," she said. "I can at least do the woman's part and prepare the +meal. Especially when you bring it to me." + +He laughed and gave up the stones. + +"I am desperately thirsty," she said, breaking open the shells. + +"I feel as though my tongue were swelling fast," he admitted. + +They dug the tiny clams from the shells, and ate for a few minutes in +silence, then she said: "I can't go any more of them." + +He wondered if she were not hungry, but said nothing. After eating a few +more, he understood. Then he, too, stopped. + +"I've got to find water," he said. He waited for her to speak. + +At last she said: "I can see nothing that might indicate fresh water. +Where will you go?" + +"Up the beach, I suppose." + +"There are mountains up the beach, and back of us, too. You could never +find your way out." Her tone was despairing. + +"True," he admitted. + +There was a long pause. Then she said slowly: "It seems to be your only +hope, doesn't it? Well, I guess you had better go. God bless you!" she +concluded as though it were her last word. + +Suddenly it occurred to him that he had been thinking and talking of +himself alone. The idea of parting from this woman who could see, whom +it seemed to him he had found as his own means of salvation, immediately +became impossible. + +"I am going to take you with me," he stated quietly. + +"You forget," she said, "I cannot walk." + +He had forgotten it for the moment. Now it filled him with new terror. +He laid his hand on hers. "I can't help it," he said finally, "I can't +leave you. I will carry you." + +"Oh, no!" Her protest was genuine. + +He felt her fear that she would hamper him. "Don't be foolish," he said +as though he had known her for years, "I am not being gallant. This is +not a time for gallantry. I am simply being sensible. You can't sit +here, can you?" + +"I can't help myself, can I? I can't walk." + +"I can help it," he retorted. + +"It would simply make your chance of escape impossible," she argued. "It +is preposterous. Why should you? Your life is worth to you as much as +mine is to me. I know what that means. I would not stay here if I could +help it. I would not sacrifice my life for yours. Neither shall you +sacrifice yours for mine." + +"See here," he demanded, "who are you and where did you get that +attitude toward life?" + +It was one he knew. It was the hard, relentless theory of the struggle +of animal survival which his thinking in college had led him to accept. +There was in it no touch of duty, no sense of obligation, and very +little pity. He had called himself a hard materialist, and had never +lived up to his theory. Now here beside him in this outlandish +situation was a woman quietly arguing his own philosophy of life to him +against herself. + +She laughed. "It's my way of thinking, and I mean it," she said, +twisting her hair up on her head. "I got it out of four years of thought +and reading in a college, and I do not thank the college for it. I find +it very inconvenient, but it is my belief. I have tried to live by it." + +"So is it mine," he said, "and I mean to live by it." + +"Very well," she answered. "That aggressive tone against me is not +necessary. Go ahead and get through if you can. Good-by, my friend." + +"I'm afraid you do not understand," he answered her steadily. "I want to +live. To do it, you are necessary to me. I need your eyes. Very well, +whether you like it or not, you are going with me." + +He rose quickly, and stretched his muscles. His head ached, his whole +being cried for water. He knew he could not carry her far, but without +her he was powerless. + +"Suppose," she suggested, her eyes flashing from hazel to deep-brown, +"suppose you do take me. Have you any assurance that my eyes will serve +you rightly?" + +"Your own life, which is pleasant to you, will depend upon your eyes +serving me rightly," he said coldly, as he stooped over her. + +She laid a restraining hand on his arm. "And in the long days that we +may have to go on together, what will you do in return for my eyes?" + +"Carry you," he answered. + +"Very well, but there are two things you must know," she said quietly. +"First, that I am married; second, that I am quite as steadfast in my +belief as I said. If you make one single attempt to establish more than +a frank comradeship, based on mutual support in our unforeseen +partnership, my eyes will serve you falsely." + +He laughed a little as he picked her up. She gasped with pain. + +"I can't help hurting you," he said gently. + +"It's all right," she answered, putting her arm around his neck so that +he might the more easily bear her. "We are off on our great adventure. +The halt and the blind! Such a mad pair!" + +He smiled, and started slowly up the beach. + +"I shall have to develop a system of one word guides," she mused. + +"Left--right--slow--ahead--all right--and so on," he admitted. + +Suddenly she laughed out merrily. "My friend, a stranger pilgrimage the +world never knew. What is your name?" + +"Lawrence," he said. + +"Mine," she answered, "is Claire. Go a little to the left." + +He turned slightly, and plodded through the sand. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE WATER OF LIFE. + + +Still exhausted from his recent battle with the waves, Lawrence was not +in the best condition for this new struggle. Before he had gone far, he +was forced to rest. He lowered Claire to the ground carefully and +dropped beside her. His effort in carrying her had made him breathe +hard, the sun was beating down on them, and his throat was dry and +parched. Speaking was becoming difficult. + +"If we don't find water soon, we're ended," he managed to say. + +"I'm afraid we are," she admitted. "Do you know, Lawrence, you shouldn't +try to carry me. I weigh over a hundred and thirty pounds. That is too +much for any man. Without me, you might make it, even though you +couldn't travel so steadily ahead." + +"Perhaps," he agreed. "I've thought of that. But, you see, I would have +to feel my way. At best I'd get a lot of falls. I might walk off a +precipice. That doesn't appeal to me, now that I've set myself to +winning." + +"And yet you are almost certain to wear yourself out to no purpose if +you carry me," she repeated. "If you could do it and get me through, I'd +never stop you. I've a husband in America who loves me, and I want to +get back to him, but you aren't equal to it. I see no advantage in +dying a mile or ten miles inland. For one's grave, this is as good a +place as any." + +She spoke of dying in a matter-of-fact way that made him feel strange, +though he thought of it in exactly the same way himself. He believed +that he was a mere animal and that death was a mere cessation of energy. +"I wonder if she feels just as I do about it," he pondered. "Perhaps +not. But it can't matter anyway. Here we are, and death does seem fairly +certain." + +He was breathing more regularly now, though his throat burned and his +tongue stuck to his mouth disagreeably. + +"We'd better be moving," he said, rising with an effort. + +"As you please," she assented. + +Then, as he lifted her: "My ankle is swollen dreadfully. If we could +find water, I'd bathe it and put a stick splint on it." + +He did not answer. Silence fell between them while he plodded ahead. +They started up the mountainside, and the way became increasingly +difficult. There was a dense undergrowth through which he was compelled +to shove his feet. There were rocks which she could not see, down which +he was constantly slipping. Her directions barely kept him from bumping +into the trees that grew closer and closer together. Occasionally she +pushed a branch aside from before him, and laughed as he stooped to pass +under, throwing her forward so that she had to cling to his neck to keep +her position. + +On and on he forced his way, his teeth clenched, his breath broken by +the strain. She made herself as easy to carry as she could, but beyond +that she showed no sign of sympathy. Again and again he was obliged to +stop and put her down while he rested. His head was throbbing +frightfully. He gave up trying to talk. + +During one of their frequent rests she had asked him quietly, her eyes +filled with a soft, calculative haze: "How much are you good for, +Lawrence?" + +He had answered: "Till we find water." She had laughed a little at that, +and it had sounded unpleasant to him. + +Now she said again: "You don't face facts, do you?" He made no answer. + +She continued: "It's strange how we humans are always so overdetermined. +One ought to know by the time he is grown that he is a puppet in the +hands of circumstance. Now I go on hoping that you can carry me out to +life and my husband, and you plod determinedly on as if you were really +able to do it. Of course, you may, but it is entirely dependent upon +outside things." + +He was too tired to answer, even to think. Besides, that was exactly his +view of the situation. + +"You see," she went on, "here we are, two distinct groups of living +cells, each loving life and wanting it. Our pasts have been very +different, our futures would have been; but here we are. I am resentful, +because you are blind, because you are not stronger, because I cannot +walk. You are probably resenting the same things. Perhaps you resent my +saying what I do. You want me to reassure you and to promise success. If +I did, you would know in your real mind that I was lying to you for the +sake of getting you to do more. Yet both of us would feel happier if I +could do it. I can't." + +He stood up and took her in his arms without a word. + +"We are going a few yards farther," she laughed. "Well, if ever any +animal deserved life, you do." + +He bit his lip and climbed on up the hill. In his mind he was saying +over and over: "Just a mere intellect, nothing more. That's all she is." +Yet in his arms she felt very feminine. The sense of her body so close +to him seemed strangely out of keeping with her talk. + +He remembered a few other women of her type; he wondered what the end of +their daily association would be. Then gradually his thinking ceased to +be clear. His thirst more and more wove itself into his consciousness +until his mind was a blurred fantasmagoria, in which, repeating itself +over and over in the midst of strange ideas, would come the flashing +sound of unattainable water. He did not talk, he did not think. Through +the trees he wound his way with the grim determination of a beast +fighting against death. + +The sun passed its zenith and sank slowly. It grew cooler in the forest +through which he lurched, but he was hardly aware of it. Claire, too, +was rapidly losing control over herself. She had ceased to talk, save to +utter dull, monosyllabic commands to him. The pain from her ankle and +her own thirst were blending into a dizzying maze of torture. + +As darkness settled over the forest, she grew afraid. Ordinarily it +would have been a delight to her, here among the trees, but now the +shadowing night filled her with ideas of horror. She forgot her +theories, and clung to him so that he was the more hampered. She grew +afraid lest he should drop her, lest he should give up the fight, and +with that came an overwhelming desire to urge him on. She thought of +wild tales that she might tell to spur his faltering strength. At first +she resisted, then as her desire for life grew within her, she began to +lie to him. "It isn't far, just a little way to water," she whispered. + +He struggled unsteadily forward. They had passed the top of the ridge +and were descending the other side. He was scarcely aware of his own +motion. He did not hear her directions, and stumbled against the trees. +When her ankle struck a bough, she realized in a flash of pain that he +was not listening to her. Then she felt him sinking down. + +Gripping his shoulder, she shouted: "Go on! Water ahead!" He heard her, +his mouth opened, and he gathered himself up to stumble a few steps +farther through the darkness. They seemed to be deep in a wooded ravine. +He staggered again and fell. + +She was thrown violently forward, and flung out a hand to save herself. +As she lay there, half-dazed, suddenly she felt her fingers grow cold +and wet. Water! A small stream, no larger than that from a hydrant, was +trickling over the rock. + +Dragging herself to it, she drank greedily. She dipped her hands in it. +She laughed joyously and splashed. For a few minutes she played like a +child. Then she remembered Lawrence. + +Lifting her hands full of water, she threw it on his face. His mouth was +open, and a few drops fell upon his black tongue. She threw another +handful, then took her skirt and, wetting it, wrung it into his mouth. +He twisted over on his side and muttered: "Water." + +She gave him more, and as he sat up, she said eagerly: "Here, Lawrence, +here." + +Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the stream. He drank ravenously, +plunging his face and hands into the little line of water, making queer +noises over it. + +Claire began to grow cold, and her ankle pained her till she shook like +a fevered person. He turned and sat up. + +"You cold?" he managed to mutter. + +She wanted to say "No," but her will was worn out. "Yes," she answered, +"very cold." + +He laughed a little guttural laugh as he drew off his coat. "Take it," +he said, dropping it near her hand. + +She took the coat and drew it on. Lawrence was drinking again from the +stream. She listened to him for a time, as she lay there in the +darkness, then gradually her suffering and the strain under which she +had been, won the victory over her consciousness, and she heard no more. + +He lay where he was, half unconscious. At last he began to feel the +chill of the place and drew himself up toward Claire. She did not move. +"We've got to do the best we can," he thought, and moved close to her so +that their bodies might warm each other. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE. + + +Claire was the first to wake. She sat up and gazed around her. The +morning sun was just breaking through a heavy fog that had drifted in +from the ocean. Her clothes were damp, and she was chilled through, +while her swollen and discolored ankle throbbed with steady pain. She +looked down at the sleeping man beside her, and her forehead gathered in +a little thoughtful frown. Then she looked around her again. Despite the +knowledge of their desperate situation, she could not help noticing the +beauty of the scene. + +Great trees grew in massive profusion all about them. Heavy tropical +moss hung from the branches and trailed its green mat over the stones. +Birds were beginning to sing, their notes breaking the silence of the +place in sharp thrills. Then she studied her companion. Finally, she +laughed aloud. + +"Lawrence," she said gaily. + +He turned and sat up, yawning drowsily. "What is it?" he demanded. + +"We are certainly the primitive pair." + +"H-m, I suppose. Anyhow, I feel better for my sleep." + +"It's beastly cold," returned Claire, "and my ankle is playing fits and +jerks with me." + +"We'll have to do something about it," he said earnestly. She did not +answer. + +"We can bind it up, I presume," he went on. "But it's a frightful +inconvenience." + +"Admitted," she said quickly. "It can't be helped, however." + +"I'm very much for a fire," he suggested, as though he had not noticed +the hints of hardness in her voice. + +"Some twenty feet ahead is a flat rock. We might build one there. Have +you matches?" + +He shook his head. "We'll have to go it primeval." + +"But I don't see how," she began. + +"Never mind," he answered, with a malicious grin. "I do know some few +things." + +"Perhaps you also know how to find food when there isn't any," she +retorted. + +He rose without replying. + +"Well," she continued, "I see plenty of roots and stuff. We may as well +prepare to eat them. It's unbelievable that I should be here, and with +you. It's a horrible nightmare, this being stranded and lame out here +somewhere with a blind man." + +He winced, but answered quietly: "I'm not especially charmed myself. I +could prefer other things." + +She looked at him and smiled. "Don't ever let me repeat those +sentiments," she said, simply. "I'm sorry. Of course you aren't to +blame, and I shouldn't have said that." + +He stepped forward timidly. "Will you suggest the best means of finding +dry wood?" he asked, as though the matter were forgotten. + +She pursed her lips and looked around her. "This moss seems to be feet +deep," she said at last. "You might dig up some that is dry, and with +that as a starter you can add twigs." + +He stopped and began to tear away the moss. His hands were stiff, but he +worked rapidly and before long he had a heap of the brown, dry stuff +from underneath. + +She watched him silently. When he stopped, she said: "Straight to your +left is the rock. Get the fire started. Then you can move the invalid." + +He took the moss and felt his way to the rock, which was eight or ten +feet square and practically flat, standing up almost a foot from the +ground. + +"Now, for a dry stick or two," he said, cheerily. + +She directed him, and at last he found what he thought would do. Then +began the age-old procedure of twisting a pointed stick between one's +hands, the point resting on another piece of wood, until friction +brought a flame. It was a long, hard experiment; several times he +stopped to rest; but the consciousness of the skeptical expression he +knew to be on her face sent him quickly back again to his task. At last +the moss began to burn. True, it smoked much and flamed little, but he +gathered twigs from the shrubs near by and in time had a good fire. Then +he carried Claire to the rock and set her down beside it. She leaned her +elbow on the edge and said, happily: "It's quite a success, Lawrence. I +really feel as though we were progressing." + +"Our woodcraft will doubtless improve with experience," he answered. + +"Next, I guess we had better bathe your ankle," he observed, as though +giving due care to the order of procedure. + +"Very well," she replied. + +At her suggestion he gathered moss and wet it in the tiny stream. She +wound it about her ankle and held it tightly. + +"Now the surgeon orders splints and bandages," she said. + +He brought several sticks, and with a strip which she tore from the +lining of his coat, she bound them fast. + +"There," she said, sighing, for the pain was wearing. "That ought to +help. I wonder what our distant grandparents did in such cases." + +"Made the best of it," he said cheerfully. "Many of them died, I +suppose." + +"And we are back again at their game. Whether we can outwit the master +strategist and survive, is at least interesting to try." + +"In any event, we'll have to eat to do it," he said shortly. + +She studied the greenery about her, meditatively. "It's probable that +most any of these things are edible, but are they nourishing?" + +"We'll try them. Which shall I get?" he asked. + +"I hate to start in on roots or leaves. If we only had some berries!" + +He got up determinedly. "I'll go down the ravine and hunt. If I get +mixed in directions, I'll shout." + +She watched him go, and when he had disappeared through the trees she +felt strangely sadder and very much alone. She fell to wondering if he +were really so necessary to her. Sooner or later would come the +inevitable problem between them. Would he fall in love with her, and +would she, in the days that they might be alone together, find his +companionship growing into any really vital proportion in her life? That +she, Claire Barkley, rich and independent, whose life had been selfish +to a marked degree and who had never considered anything except from the +point of view of vigor, perfection, or beauty, should ever love a blind +man was incredible. + +"No," she thought, "not even the closest of daily relationships with him +could ever make me really care. He is not of my life." She wondered how +much she would sacrifice for him if it were necessary in their +pilgrimage toward civilization, and she answered herself, frankly: "No +more than I must to maintain a balance in our forced business +partnership." She knew that was all this meant to her. + +From down the ravine she heard him shouting lustily, and she answered, +her clear, rich voice waking pleasant echoes as she called. She waited +for some time before he came. In his arms he carried a bundle of +branches loaded with red berries, while in one hand was a clump of large +mushrooms. + +Claire watched him as he approached, and was surprised at the ease with +which he walked. There was less hesitation in his stride than she had +thought, and he came briskly through the trees, dodging as though by +instinct. + +When he reached the rock, it was characteristic of her that she said: +"You came through those trees remarkably well." + +He laughed. "I have an uncanny way of feeling things on my face before +they touch me. I experimented somewhat with it in the laboratory at +college. It's a sort of tropism, perhaps, such as bugs have, that +enables them to keep between two planks or that turns plant-roots toward +the sun. Anyway, I've brought some breakfast. These berries may be good, +and these other things may be toadstools. I brought them along." + +"How does one tell?" she asked. + +"Oh, mushrooms are pink underneath and ribbed like a fan." + +She examined them and said they might be mushrooms, they looked it. He +sat down again, but not until he had replenished the fire. + +"They may be poison, both of them," he hazarded. "That's our sporting +chance. Will you try them?" + +Claire took some of the berries and ate them. "I don't feel anything +yet," she announced after a minute's solemn munching. + +"Oh, you probably won't for several hours anyway," he said lightly. Then +he continued: "If we could devise a way, we might heat water and cook +the mushrooms. Then, too, I've been thinking we might even catch a +bird." + +"Neither sounds very simple." + +"Nothing in life is simple," he replied. "At home, in America, where we +leave food-getting to the farmer, dress from a store, and go to heaven +by way of a minister, things are fairly well arranged, but here we +aren't even sure of salvation unless we mind the business of thinking." +He continued after a pause. "Of course, I don't especially remember that +I counted on heaven. It always seemed a bit distant in the face of +living and working. Perhaps, however, you counted it as vital." + +"I was fairly occupied with more immediate things," she answered. +"However, that is a different world from this. What we did then can't +especially matter to us here. This is our place of business, so to +speak, and social life doesn't factor." + +"I see." He accepted the snub thoughtfully. "But this business of ours +will grow exceedingly irksome without talk. I doubt if we can find the +means of escape an all-sufficient topic." + +"We haven't boiled our water yet," she said. "And the bird is still free +to roam." + +He did not carry on his line of thought aloud. If she had known what was +going on in his mind, she might have been angered. He was wondering just +how much thinking she was capable of. Certain that she was beautiful, he +had scarcely allowed that to occupy him. His experience had led him to +estimate people almost wholly by their ability to be open-minded. In his +struggle against blindness, he had concluded that open minds were rare +indeed, and persons who limited his freedom of action or tended to baby +him he had grown to dismiss with a shrug. Claire did not belong to that +class. "She has shown remarkable willingness to let me go my own pace," +he thought, "but is this due to her mind or to mere indifference?" He +decided at last that the relationship would be tiresome for both of +them, and that she was not especially eager to prevent it from being so. +This conclusion led him to adopt a definite attitude toward her. She +could do as she pleased; he, for his part, would treat her simply as an +uninteresting person, a machine that furnished the eyes which he could +use in his travel to liberty. + +He recalled how, when he had been displeased with convention, he had +thought of life in the wild as the best possible means of liberty, and +he laughed. + +Claire looked up. "What is there amusing just now?" + +"Myself, and you." + +"Why, pray, am I amusing?" Then she was sorry she had said it. + +"Because you are you." + +"And are you other than yourself?" she asked scornfully. + +"Not at all, but my own particular interests seem infinitely more +important to me than there is any possibility of yours doing." + +"You mean to say that you are an egotist." + +"Frankly, I am," he agreed. "One is an egotist, I suppose, when he finds +himself and his needs and whims essentially worth while. I'll admit I +find mine so. Perhaps you feel the same about yours. One scarcely knows +where egotism and vanity meet or end in a woman." He smiled, for he +meant that to provoke, and it did. + +Claire's voice was edged when she replied. "A very penetrating remark. +With men generally, vanity seems to be a widely extended cloak to spread +over all things in a woman that they cannot dispose of in any other way. +If I find you dull, or if I am not struck with your ability, or if you +do not seem to me sufficiently fascinating, I am possessed of feminine +vanity." + +"Precisely. And why not? If I choose to regard myself as all those +things which you deny, why shouldn't I find the fault in you rather than +in myself?" + +"Because it may be in you," suggested Claire. + +"It may, but that doesn't alter the case. I quite agree that you are +right, but none the less you are at fault, because I, Lawrence, am the +most important of all things to me." + +She did not answer. The conversation seemed to her useless. She saw no +reason for arguing the matter, and she half suspected that he was simply +teasing her. Besides, she could not but feel that to sit here in his +coat and discuss egotism was a trifle ridiculous. He was merely trying +to establish a friendship in talk which she did not care to encourage. +That was her conclusion. + +As he rose to gather more sticks, he asked: "Do you happen to see a rock +that flattens to an edge?" + +Told where he might find one, he brought it and struck it hard against +their boulder. It did not break. "It may do," he said thoughtfully, and +began to grind it against the side of the other rock. He worked steadily +and long, and the result was a fairly good edge, which was nicked and +toothed, but still an edge. He laid it down with a sigh of contentment. + +"My first tool," he commented. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +MUTUAL DISLIKE. + + +All day Lawrence worked, and when night came he had hollowed out a piece +of log to a depth of some eighteen inches, leaving six inches of solid +wood in the bottom. Both were very well pleased with the result. With +the coming of darkness, he gathered more berries, and heated water in +his log kettle. They were able to cook the mushrooms and to bind her +ankle in moss soaked in hot water. The building of a shelter was +discussed, but both decided to resume their journey on the following +day, so they slept again in the heavy moss. + +In the morning, Claire was glad indeed of the hot water, for it warmed +her, and her ankle felt much better. They decided to follow the little +stream which would doubtless wind its way somehow around the present +ridge back to the ocean. Accordingly, they kept down the ravine, which +cut across the ridge in a southerly direction. + +For the whole of that day and the next they followed the stream, which +grew to a small creek. At noon of the third day they dropped suddenly +down a steep slope to find themselves at the juncture of their stream, +with a river which flowed through a deep gorge out to the ocean. They +determined to follow it up toward its head. + +"Somewhere inland must be a town," argued Claire. "At any rate, it's the +only way we can go." + +After living for four days on berries, they were beginning to feel +acutely the need of other food, but they discussed the problem at length +without arriving at any feasible solution. Two days later fortune +temporarily relieved their difficulty. + +They were following along the side of a steep ridge overlooking the +river, when Claire suddenly stopped him and gave a cry of delight. Near +them a small, furry animal, caught in a tangled mass of wirelike +creepers, was struggling to free itself. He killed the creature with his +stone-edged tool, and after barbecuing it on the end of a stick, they +ate it ravenously. Each of them would have disliked the whole scene at +any other time, but now neither thought anything of it until after they +were satisfied. + +Leaning back against a rock, Lawrence stroked his chin, rapidly becoming +invisible under a heavy beard. "I hadn't known I was so hungry for real +food," he laughed. + +Brown as a gipsy, her hair filled with tiny green leaves, Claire looked +at him, her eyes shining with the warm light of satisfied hunger. "We +ate like two beasts," she remarked languidly, and laughed. "It was +simply disgraceful." + +"I know," he began to muse, "it doesn't take long for the most polished +man--not that I ever was that--to become a savage." + +"You look the part," she laughed. "I suppose I do, too. My hair is +matted hopelessly; the curliness makes it worse. My face, too, is +rapidly hardening under this sun. If only I had a few more clothes--" +She stopped and looked at him. "I feel the need of them," she finished +lamely. + +Claire had worn his coat continuously from the first night, and his +undershirt was tearing from contact with bush and tree. He grinned +contentedly, however. + +"If you approach nakedness as rapidly as I," he chuckled, "I fear we +both will have to avoid civilization. Undisguised humanity isn't +tolerated there." + +She flushed warmly, then laughed. + +"I wonder why people are so afraid of being seen," Lawrence went on. "Of +course, there's the warmth and natural protection of clothing, but one +would feel so much freer without the encumbrance of shirt-stud and +feathered plume." + +"We need them to complete a personality," said Claire. "I know few +people who would inspire respect in their elemental state. Stripped of +advertising silk and diamond, they wouldn't be so suggestive of +wealth." + +"But why be so eager to impress others with your power?" + +She turned toward him with a faint smile. "If you didn't ask that as +mere conversation, I would think you childish. You know very well why. +It probably goes back to the days when the possession of a fish-hook, +more or less, meant surer life. It has come to mean, now, that the +decoration of an extra feather or white flannel trousers means +advantageous position, the place of more power, more pleasure; in short, +greater fulness of living." + +"But we are living fully, goodness knows," he interrupted. "This last +week we have had to exert our wits and bodies in more ways than we ever +did before in all our lives. True, I do miss my modeling somewhat." He +spoke the last with a soft mellowness in his voice and a wistfulness +that made her look at him quickly. + +"Modeling?" she asked. + +He nodded slowly. + +"What sort of modeling?" she insisted. + +"Oh, probably poor, for the most part. I did some work that was +beginning to make its way, though." + +"You mean sculpture?" + +He nodded again. + +She looked at him earnestly. Here was a new revelation. She had wondered +at this man's apparent keen sense of form, and his imaginative power +when he spoke of color or mentioned line, and she had been sure from his +occasional word that he was a wide student of literature. + +"What did you do at home?" she asked abruptly. + +"Oh, played with living," he said indifferently. + +She felt irritated that he would not tell her more of his life, yet she +remembered that she had practically refused to discuss her own with him. + +"See here, Lawrence," she said suddenly, "we aren't quite fair with each +other, are we?" + +"Why not?" he answered quietly. "I carry you toward your old life, you +guide me toward mine. It's a fair business, with equal investment. I'm +not complaining." + +She was silent and watched him as he lay on his back, dreaming of days +at home with his work. As he lay there, she studied his hands. They +were practically healed, and she noticed they were well-shaped, the +fingers long and tapering, yet with an appearance of unusual strength. +She knew already that they were sensitive; when he had cut out a piece +of wood to heat water in, she had seen that. So they were sculptor's +hands. What a revelation, and what a pity that he was blind! She fell to +wondering if he really was good at his work, or whether he merely +fancied he was and hewed away without real artistry, deceived by his +blindness. She studied his face in repose. Then her mind came back to +his hands, and she felt a sudden sense of displeasure, a little chagrin, +and some wonder, accompanied by the feeling that she wished he had not +carried her. She did not quite know why, yet the dependence on him made +her restless. Suddenly she wondered poignantly what he thought of her. +The more she wondered, the more she wanted to know, and at last she +ventured, "Are you asleep?" + +"No, dreaming." + +"Lawrence." + +"What is it?" He sat up and waited. + +"What do you think of me?" She was surprised to find herself waiting +eagerly for his answer. + +He laughed outright, a gay, hearty laugh. + +"Claire," he said merrily, "you embarrass me dreadfully. You see, I +haven't thought much about you. However, if you like, I'll study you for +a week and report." + +Hot anger surged up in her. "You needn't bother," she said dryly. "Our +lives are so utterly different in every phase that nothing could be +gained." + +He lay back carelessly. "So I had decided," he replied, and lapsed into +silence again. + +She could have cried with vexation. For the first time in her life +Claire was utterly humiliated, and there grew within her an aggressive +dislike for this man, a determination to make him feel her power and to +punish him for his indifference. She did not want him to love her, by +any means, but he had never even shown her the courteous deference, the +admiration or regard that she was accustomed to receive from men. Her +mind went back over the past week, and she grew more humiliated, more +angry. Tears of vexation came to her eyes, but she brushed them away +fiercely. + +"Shall we take the remains of our meat and move on toward the habitats +of men?" said Lawrence, sitting up. + +She controlled herself to answer, "As you please." + +He stooped to lift her into his arms. She flushed warm as his hands +slipped under her, and he straightened up. She hesitated, and wanted not +to do it, but realized the necessity, and put her arm around his neck. + +"I shall be grateful when I can walk," was her comment. + +"It will make our progress more rapid," he agreed, and she was angry +again. She knew that he thought only in terms of the most efficient +means of getting ahead. A longing possessed her to make him realize that +he was physically distasteful to her. + +"We are so vastly different," she said, "it is disagreeable to be +carried this way." + +Lawrence flushed, and she was pleased. At least he understood now. + +"Of course," he admitted calmly, "it isn't pleasant, but I suppose one +must make the best of a bad bargain." + +There was silence for a while, then he said suddenly, "I think I +realize, Claire, that a blind man is at best a poor companion for a +woman who is accustomed to being amused, and whose interests are those +of the society glow-worm." + +Claire resented the picture, but she kept her voice steady. "Surely at +home you had your own social group," she said pleasantly. + +"Of a sort, yes. We were all workers, not going in much for form, +entertainment, and that sort of thing. We generally sat in the gallery +at the opera, and did mostly as we pleased everywhere. None of us were +rolling in wealth. We worked for the love of it, and looked to the +future for pay." + +"I see." She was thinking fast. "You were struggling young artists." Her +voice was sugar-coated. + +"We were struggling young artizans," he answered, seemingly indifferent +to her irony. + +As he made slower progress when he talked, she did not attempt to carry +on the conversation. The stops for rest were gradually lengthening out, +and he was getting hard and wiry so that his endurance was greater. He +was quicker at catching himself when he stumbled, and he did not puff so +hard between grades. Claire felt the easier swing of his body when he +walked, and noticed that he was growing surer of foot and more graceful +in movement, and she realized that except for his eyes he was a splendid +specimen of manhood. She now admitted all these things to herself, but +they only added to her feeling against him. She wondered if he had been +as indifferent to all women as he was to her, and was displeased that +she wondered. + +Suddenly Lawrence stopped and put her down by his side. Claire looked up +at him and saw his forehead gathering in a frown. + +"What is it?" she asked anxiously. + +"You are letting your thoughts obstruct your eyes," he said simply. "I +have walked into three boulders without your knowing it." + +"I am sorry," she said earnestly. "It was silly of me." + +He laughed and sat down. "You see, as eyes you can't afford to think. At +other times perhaps I, too, should wander into abstractions, but at +present it won't work." + +"I know it," she admitted contritely. "I won't repeat it." + +"What," he asked, "is the subject of all this meditation?" + +She blushed, and her eyes darkened. She wondered whether she should tell +the truth, started to do so, then changed her mind. "I was asking myself +what my husband was probably doing and thinking." + +"Poor fellow!" Lawrence was sincerely thoughtful. "I can imagine what it +must be to him, supposing you lost at sea. Yes, he must be suffering +badly. I don't believe I would change places with him." + +Claire started at Lawrence. "Are you flattering me?" she asked coldly. + +"Not at all," he replied. "I am merely stating the truth. I have an +imagination, my dear lady. I can quite grasp your husband's position. +You would certainly be a loss to a man who loved you, and I shouldn't +care to be that man." + +"Shouldn't you?" she said instinctively, and bit her lip for saying it. + +"Not under the circumstances," answered Lawrence. "I never did fancy the +idea of death visiting my loved ones. I have never got over its having +done so." + +"Oh"--her voice softened--"then you have lost your--" She waited. + +"I am an orphan," he said bruskly. + +She was ashamed of her relief. How ridiculous it was to have imagined +him, even for an instant, as a married man! He was so cold, so +impersonal; of course, he had never married, and never would. Well, that +was best; a blind man had no right to marry. He owed it to himself and +to any woman not to place her in the position of caring for him, +handicapped as he was, and so unable to give her the companionship, the +comradeship a woman deserved. She could see how he would treat a wife: +feed her well, clothe her, care for her comfort, and talk to her if she +desired, but he would never be tender, loving, sympathetic, or +understanding. No, he could not be; he was too self-centered, too much +the artist. That last seemed to her a correct estimate of him, and she +settled her mind on it as being final. + +"So you are alone in the world?" Claire said, renewing the conversation. + +"Quite," answered Lawrence. "I am as free from family hindrances as a +young wolf that runs his first season's hunt alone." + +She thought how apt a comparison he had made. "So you regard the family +as a hindrance?" + +"Oh--no and yes. One can never do quite as he pleases while a family and +its wishes, aims, and loves are concerned. They always hold him down to +some extent. He is an equal hindrance to them. They love each other, and +as a result they have to sacrifice their individual wishes. But the +family keeps man more social, more gregarious, and less selfish. If we +were as free from family love as is the wolf I mentioned, we would be +able to live our lives more completely, and, on the other hand, we would +die in greater numbers. The love of man and woman for each other and +their children lifts humanity out of its serfdom, but it also places +limitations. You ought to know more about that than I, however," he +laughed. "I merely theorize." + +"So I noticed," Claire observed. "One can easily gather that you aren't +experienced." + +"No. My parents died when I was small. I had to work my way through +school. The accident made it somewhat harder, but I got along." He was +plainly matter of fact. + +"Oh!" She exclaimed at his words more forcefully than she had intended. + +He smiled a little, comprehendingly. "Yes, it explains a lot, doesn't +it?" He spoke carelessly. "You doubtless can now understand my lack of +social grace." + +She thought to deny it, but that seemed foolish. He was silent, and +there seemed little use in talking. Claire knew she understood him well +enough. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE FACE OF DEATH. + + +In the days that followed they talked but little. Lawrence had fallen +into the habit of speaking only when she seemed to desire conversation, +and his mind was occupied with planning their escape. If he thought of +her in any other way than merely as his eyes, he never showed it. Though +watchful of her comfort, in every act and word, he was markedly +impersonal. + +Following the river, they had progressed steadily north and east over +increasingly higher and rougher ground. The tropical vegetation of +intertwining crimson was now changing to a faint gold. There were days +when they were forced to make long detours over broken ridges to get +around some deep gorge through which the gray-green stream dashed its +foamy way downward. They were well into the mountains, and above them +the higher Andes raised their snowy peaks in forbidding austerity. It +was daily growing colder, and their clothes were now only ragged strips. +Then came days when sharp, biting winds whipped through the canyon they +followed, or headed against them on some plateau, and they were forced +to face new issues. Food was less plentiful, and winter was at hand. To +be sure they were in the tropics, but on the mountains the air was cold, +and warmer clothes became imperative. + +Claire's ankle was almost well. After weeks of pain, which she had borne +bravely, it was healing, and the time was near when she would be able to +walk. Shoes were absolutely essential for her. Furthermore, Lawrence's +own shoes were worn through, and his walking was becoming a continual +pain. In spite of Claire's increasingly careful guidance, he stepped on +small, sharp rocks that dug into his flesh. He did not complain, but +Claire knew that he was suffering. The times when he stepped out freely +became more and more seldom, and his face was usually taut. + +They were, indeed, a pitiable couple. Lawrence's thin face was shaggy +with hair. Claire's once soft skin was now brown and hard. Both were +thin and wiry, with the gaunt lines of the undernourished showing +plainly. + +One morning, to fight the frost that bit into them, they were forced to +build a fire long before dawn. As they sat huddled together over it, +Lawrence finally broached the subject that had been engrossing both +their minds for days. + +"Claire," he said thoughtfully, "we can't make it through. We'll have to +find a place somewhere and prepare for winter. It's tough, but it's +inevitable. I hate to give up now, but it will be even worse for us if +we don't get meat, fur, and a house against the snow that will soon be +covering everything." + +"I know," she said sadly, her thin hands supporting her chin. "It seems +as though we had played our long farce to its end. Death is as +inexorable in its demands as life." The circles under her eyes were +great half-moons. + +"We have done well, though," he argued. "We've done better than well. +Who would have believed that a blind man and a crippled woman could have +come as far as this?" + +"I didn't believe it, Lawrence," she said, and her voice and eyes were +full of a warmth that had grown of late to be fairly constant. "I +didn't believe it, and I wouldn't believe it now if I were told the +story back home." + +"I'm not sure; I might have," Lawrence said proudly. "I know the blind +and their capabilities." + +"I'm learning to know them," she admitted, and lapsed into silence. + +"Shall we go into camp, then," he asked, as if they had not mentioned +anything else. + +Claire hesitated, then said slowly: "It's our only chance. Are you +willing to spend a winter with me?" Her eyes glanced amusedly at him. + +Catching the note in her voice, Lawrence laughed. "It seems inevitable," +he said, "and, anyway, I couldn't ask for a better companion. You don't +disturb me, and I don't irritate you--that is, not especially." + +She looked at him impatiently. "Don't you?" she said, meditatively. +"Well, I'm glad I don't bother you." + +"Yes," he assented seriously. "You've been mighty open-minded, Claire, +and you haven't hampered me with incredulities." + +"Oh, that is what you mean." + +He moved uneasily, his muscles drawing a little. Claire saw and +wondered. + +"Yes," Lawrence said shortly. "When morning comes, we'll hunt for a +location." + +They ceased speaking, each occupied with his own thoughts. + +Claire was asking herself what the winter would mean to her, spent with +this silent man, and he was questioning how long she would continue to +regard him as a mere imperfect carrier, devoid of the stuff that men are +made of. Sometimes when her body was in his arms, he had wondered if she +was capable of love, but always he had remembered her husband, her +social life, her assumption of superior reserve, and had forced himself +into a habitual attitude of indifference. The strain was telling on his +will, however, and often he longed to make this woman see him as he was. +He thought of the old days in his studio when he had proved himself +master of blindness in his power to imagine and carry the sense of form +into the carved stone. He recalled the praise of his comrades, and over +all else there surged in him the swift, warm blood of the artist. + +"Lawrence," said Claire suddenly, "at what do you value human life?" + +"That depends," he answered, "on whose life it is." + +"Well, at what would you value mine?" she demanded. + +"From varying points of view, at varying prices. From your husband's +point of view, it is invaluable. From your own, it is worth more than +anything else. From my point of view, it is worth as much as my own, +since without you mine ceases." + +"Then your care of me and all your trouble is merely because you value +your own life." + +"What else?" He moved uneasily. + +She ignored that question. "If you could get through without me, would +you do it?" + +"That depends on circumstances. If I could get through without you, and +do it quickly, and could not get through with you"--he paused--"I should +leave you behind." + +"And suppose, when I can walk, I do that myself?" + +He smiled. "As you please," he said quietly. "I advise you to make your +estimate well, however. My hands and strength are assets which you might +have trouble in doing without." + +"And do you estimate the whole of our relationship on a carefully +itemized basis of material gain and loss?" + +"Claire, isn't that your understanding, stated by yourself, of our +partnership?" + +"Yes, but--well, it's hard to estimate human companionship." + +"I know it." He shifted nearer the fire. "I've tried to estimate yours." + +"Indeed?" Her voice was full of interest. + +"I've failed. You are worth a great deal, potentially." + +"Exactly what do you mean?" + +"I mean just this"--he stood up suddenly and faced her, his shadow +covering her like an ominous cloud--"that as Mrs. Claire Barkley you are +worth nothing to me except eyes, and, therefore, your personality and +conversation are of value only as time-fillers." + +"Go on," she said steadily. + +"But as Claire, the almost starved, ragged human being who is living +with me through a prolonged war with death, you are worth everything to +me--everything that I value." + +"But isn't that what I have been from the beginning?" she flashed. + +He answered slowly. "Yes--in a way." + +Once more they lapsed into silence. In turn she tried to estimate his +worth to her, but failed. She began to recall the men she knew, and +concluded that she was without a standard of measurement. One by one she +pictured them and cast them aside, as somehow not the scale by which to +evaluate this man. At last, she began to think of her husband. It had +not occurred to her to think of him in comparison with Lawrence before, +and it made her wonder at her doing so now. + +She fell to dreaming of the man who had been her lover in girlhood, and +her husband and dear companion these past six years. He was surely at +home, aching, yearning for the little girl he had lost. She could see +him sitting before the fireplace in their big living-room, his head on +his hands, his tired face in repose, while he gazed into the flames and +longed and longed for her. The picture grew in clearness. She saw the +joy that would be his when they met again, and she felt around her those +dear arms, crushing her against him in a rapture of reunion. In sudden +contrast, she was again conscious of the cold, impersonal arms of the +man beside her. As she thought of the difference she hated Lawrence +wildly. At least, her husband knew her worth. He knew her golden +treasure-house of love; he knew her as she was. + +This blind man before her there, unkempt, hard, expressionless, what did +he know of her? What could he know, born of poor people, and working his +way among inferiors? She almost laughed aloud. Why, at home this man, +who had carried her in his arms, would have been one of her wards, an +object of her charities. But would he? Lawrence was an artist. She +considered that. + +"Isn't it light enough to get moving, Claire?" His rich, warm tones +broke in upon her thought like a shattering cataract. How musical and +vibrant his voice was! + +"I think so." She stood up unsteadily. + +"Good. We'd better go down nearer the river. We will want a sheltered +ravine for our winter camp." + +"Very well." She threw her arm over his shoulder. "It isn't far down, +and it's clear going. When we start again, I'll be able to walk. And +then I'll lead you, Mr. Lawrence." She spoke half in jest. + +"And if we are alive, I shall make it possible for you to do so +comfortably. I hope for something to make shoes of." He answered with a +frank, sincere joy at her being able to walk, and she was ashamed of her +anger. He was not to blame for being anxious to have her well, to have +felt otherwise would certainly have been to be a fool indeed. She should +rejoice with him, for then they could get home that much sooner, home to +her husband and her old life. She warmed at the idea, and felt a sense +of gratitude toward Lawrence that was good and wholesome. "I have been +silly," she thought. "He is really not to be expected to fall and adore +me, and certainly I ought not to blame him for being blind. He couldn't +help that, either." + +"Lawrence," she said aloud, "I am a beastly unjust wretch." + +"I don't see it," he protested. + +"But you ought to see it. I don't play fair with you." + +"You said that once before, I believe. I don't agree any more now that I +did then." + +"But I think all sorts of beastly things." She could not understand her +frankness. + +"Oh"--he paused. "So do I. But as I am not a Puritan, I scarcely hold +myself responsible to you for my thoughts. One's thoughts are his own, +and, as long as he keeps them to himself, he is entitled to as many as +he pleases, of whatever variety he prefers." + +"Do you think so?" + +"Of course, and so do you." + +"Yes, I did--but it seemed to me," she faltered, "that in the present +case--oh, well, let it go." She laughed nervously, and said no more. + +Lawrence wondered at her silence, and wanted to know very much what she +thought, but he told himself that after all it was none of his +business. + +They had reached the river. The water rushed from the mouth of a gorge +in rapids that sent its every drop sparkling and flashing over a great +rock into a mass of white foam below. + +"Oh," cried Claire, "it's beautiful, beautiful!" + +He put her down and laughed. "It sounds as if it were leaping from +points of light into cloud-banked foam." + +She stared at him in amazement. "It is," she said in a subdued tone. +"How did you know?" + +"One learns," he said carelessly. "And how about a camp?" + +Her admiration of him vanished into the commonplace. + +"We can't find it here," she said, hiding her appreciation of the scene +under her professional-guide tone. + +He frowned. "Nowhere close?" + +"No. And what is worse, we'll have to go over a mountain. The stream +here is rushing right out from between cliff walls." + +Lawrence's spirit sank, but he did not show it. "We'd better eat what +little we have left and then be off," he suggested simply. + +That morning was the beginning of their hardest experience since they +first left the beach. Scarcely had they started to climb over the great +ridge, which broke into sheer precipice at the river, when a sharp wind +rose and cut through their unprotected bodies. Claire drew in against +him as close as she could, while he tried to give her more protection +with his arms. The slope was steep and filled with loose rocks so that +he lost ground at every step. They were forced to stop often, and by +noon he was worn out, and they were both bitterly cold. Claire thought +they were near the top, so Lawrence nerved himself to press on. + +Night found them standing on the crest of the ridge, in the face of a +bitter wind; before them, across a small plateau, rose a still higher +mountain around the northern side of which a ravine cut its jagged gash +away from the river. Claire stared at the scene until her courage broke +down. + +"We can never do it, Lawrence," she moaned, and her head sank wearily +against his shoulder. Her cry was the aching moan of a heart-broken +child. The proud, self-contained Claire was gone. It stirred Lawrence +strangely, and for the first time a warm tenderness for her came over +him. He drew her to him, and tried to comfort her. Her poor +undernourished body shook with the sobs that despair and the cold wrung +from her, and, though his own hands and body were blue, he tried to warm +her. Had he seen the ground ahead of them, he, too, might have given up, +but blindness was the barring wall of black which shut out even defeat. +He clenched his teeth firmly, and lifted Claire in his arms again +resolutely. + +"We've got to do it, Claire," he said, "and we will." + +She attempted to paint the scene before him in graphic detail, her words +broken by sobs. When she finished he started forward. + +"We'll follow the gulf," he stated. "We must keep going, Claire. We +don't dare to stop." + +"We can't. It's dark, and will be black soon," she answered. + +"We've got to do it," Lawrence repeated. "It isn't the first night of my +life I've struggled against a black so dense its nothingness seemed +overpowering." + +She strained her eyes through the gathering night to turn him into the +smoothest way, lapsing into jerky, habitual words of guidance. + +In the darkness they entered the ravine and staggered down to its broken +bottom. The time soon came when she could see hardly anything until they +were almost upon it, and the white face of a boulder spotting the +endless black before her filled her with a vague dread. Often they +paused to rest, but the cold drove them on again. Claire almost ceased +to direct him, and Lawrence gritted his teeth till they hurt him and +forged ahead. + +Once he slipped and fell, but got to his feet again and went on. Claire +was not injured beyond a few bruises, but she noticed that he limped +more than before and her fear increased. + +How they ever fought that night through neither knew, but morning came +at last and found them still staggering down the ravine. They were +almost out of it now and were entering a rather heavy pine forest. +Fortunately the gulf they followed had turned around the mountain in the +direction of the river, and their desire for water drove them to keep +on. To their blue and shaking bodies all feeling had grown vague, +tingling, and uncertain. When Claire looked at Lawrence she could have +screamed. His lips were drawn back, and his hairy cheeks and sightless +eyes flashed before her the image of a dehumanized death mask. Her own +face must look like that, she thought, and buried her head on his +shoulder. Through that morning he struggled on, faltering, lurching, +resting a little, girding himself against the death now so surely at +hand. In his mind thought had ceased to be coherent; his starved body, +whipped by the cold, was beginning to play with the imagery. + +He gurgled a grim little laugh, and all clear thought was at an end. +Claire heard and looked at him wonderingly. She knew that she was +freezing, and she had resigned herself, but this man, what was he doing? +He still lunged through the trees, where, at all events it seemed a +little warmer. She heard him muttering incoherent jargon that gradually +cleared to speech. "We'll go on, Claire. We'll go on to the end. I've +got to do it. I need my life. I need you!" + +She started and listened, though even in her present state she grew +resentful. "So that was it," she thought; "he's waiting to get me out +before he breaks into his love. He wants his rescue as an argument." +Then her thinking was broken into detached images. She saw her husband +and cried aloud to him. She had pictures flashing in her mind of him, of +old scenes, parties, places they had been together, tenements she had +visited in her charity work, the beach that morning when Lawrence had +found her, and in and through it all she heard words falling from his +lips that recalled later, stung her to wrath. + +"I need you, Claire," she heard him again, and then, "I shall use you, +Claire. You will be my masterpiece. It is you, proud, superior, human, +social, intellectual, sexed, vital, you, carrying in your being the +whole tumultuous riot of the ages gone, and hiding it under a guarded +social exterior, not knowing when in a sentence it breaks through, you, +you, Claire, you, the woman!" + +He stumbled, regained his balance, and plunged through a fringe of +pines, staggered against one, then another, cursed, and went again +forward and out into a clearing. She saw it vaguely before them. At +first she doubted, then, as he let his hold on her slip, she gripped his +neck with arms that scarcely felt the body they closed around. + +"Lawrence," she screamed in a voice that was shrill--"Lawrence, a cabin, +a cabin!" + +He sank down with her clinging to him still. "I know," he muttered, +"I've got to find one." Then he lay quiet. + +She freed herself and crept toward the house. She was at the back of it, +and she was obliged to crawl slowly on hands and knees around to the +front. There was a door, she pushed on it, but it did not open. She grew +angry at it, and beat against it with her fists, abusing it for its +obstinacy. When at last it opened she laughed wildly. + +Before her, his tall body, clad in warm, heavy clothes, stood a man +whose dark eyes grew wet with tears of pity the instant they saw her. He +lifted her in his arms like a child and carried her inside. She had a +fleeting sense of being at home, she thought he was her husband and +threw her arms around him passionately, then, remembering Lawrence, she +murmured as he laid her down, "Out there--behind the cabin!" and was +unconscious. + +The man turned and hurried out. In a few minutes he came back, carrying +Lawrence, and his face was lined with pity at the state of these two +human beings. + +He laid them together on a wide berth at the side of the cabin and began +to work over them alternately. Swiftly and deftly he heated blankets and +prepared food. He wound them in the hot cloth, chafed their hands and +arms, and forced brandy down their throats. + +Lawrence's eyelids drew back. + +"The man is blind," muttered the stranger in Spanish. + +Claire was looking at him dazedly and reaching greedily toward the +kettle that simmered over a great open fireplace. + +He brought a bowl of hot savory soup and started feeding them. Lawrence +swallowed mechanically, but he could hardly get the spoon out of +Claire's mouth. + +"Not too much, _senora_," he said, turning away. + +When he looked again toward them they were both asleep. The utter +exhaustion of their long night claimed rest. He walked over to Claire +and stood looking down at her. + +"She was beautiful," he thought. "And he is blind. Ah, well, for her, +beauty is again possible, but for him"--he shrugged his shoulders--"it +is bad, bad!" he said softly, and, turning to a shelf of books that +stood against the wall, he drew out a volume and sat down before the +fire to read. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE STONE THREAT. + + +When Claire awoke she stared around her for a few minutes before the +events of their frantic struggle came back to her. Her eyes strayed to +the figure before the fireplace. Idly she noted the lustrous, wavy black +hair and deep brown eyes protected by unusually heavy lashes. It was +clearly the face of a thinker, a dreamer, yet there was something +sensual about the mouth, potentially voluptuous, abandoned, and +suggestive of tremendous passion that slumbered close beneath the brain +that was so actively awake. Claire ached, and her body tingled with the +unaccustomed warmth. She lay quiet, looking at the fire, her mind still +uncertain in its action, weaving sharp, dynamic images about this new +personality. While his appearance gripped and awed her strangely, at the +same time she felt drawn to him. She turned and threw out her hand. Her +host closed his book and looked up, smiling. + +"Ah, _la senora se siente mejor_?" His deep, rich voice, although +lighter than Lawrence's, was full of music, but she did not understand +his words. Her blank expression told him, and he smiled again. + +"I remember, you spoke English," he said with only the slightest accent. +"Are you better, _madame_?" + +She answered his warm smile and said weakly: "Much better, thank you!" + +"And your husband?" Claire saw that he was looking beyond her, and she +turned to find Lawrence at her side. Instinctively she resented his +being there. The warm blood rushed to her face. + +"He--oh--he will be all right, I trust!" she stammered falteringly, and +her host looked puzzled. Her impulse was to tell him that Lawrence was +not her husband, but she thought better of it and said nothing about the +relationship. + +"He had a long, desperate struggle to bring me here," she said instead. +"You see, I broke my ankle and he had to carry me." + +"Oh!" The man rose, his face filled with respect as he looked at +Lawrence asleep beside her. + +"From where did he carry you?" he asked. + +"From the coast," she shuddered. "It has been terrible!" + +His face expressed utter amazement as he repeated: "From the coast? It +is a miracle!" + +She made no reply, for Lawrence stirred and tried to sit up. + +"You'd better lie still," the stranger said kindly. "You deserve rest, +my friend." Then, as to himself, he added: "It is the first miracle in +which I can believe." + +Claire stared at him, and he laughed softly. "Pardon, _madame_! I am an +unhappy seeker after truth," he apologized, throwing a log on the fire. + +For Lawrence and Claire the days that followed were uneventful days of +recovery from their hardship. Slowly both of them grew stronger and +resumed their normal habits of thought and speech. Their host was a +gentle nurse, kindly and considerate. Claire assumed her wonted attitude +of the cultured woman, a guest in the house of a friend, and the +Spaniard met her with the polished courtesy of a cosmopolitan. Lawrence, +too, became the usual man that he was, careless of little niceties, +indifferent to form, but a charming companion and a delightful guest. + +From the first he and Philip became intensely interested in each other. +They discovered early that each was a thinker and a searcher in his own +way for the one great solution of life. + +During the first half-hour Claire had demanded of their rescuer where +they were and how soon they could get back to civilization. Philip had +laughed gently. + +"You are on the borders of Bolivia," he told her, "and the nearest +railroad is two hundred miles away. It is impossible to get out until +spring. Long ere this snow will have barred the way through the one pass +that leads out and we are prisoners--the three of us. You will have to +accept the hospitality of Philip Ortez until the spring." + +Lawrence had accepted the verdict with calm indifference. + +"Oh, well," he said, "it's hard on you, but as far as I'm concerned, one +place is as good as another." + +"I shall enjoy your company," their host laughed. + +After voicing polite thanks, Claire, in her own thought, had rebelled +against the situation vehemently. She wanted to get home, she wanted to +get away from everything that suggested her last weeks of suffering, she +wanted to get away from these men. Her heart leaped to the +ever-recurring dream of the husband, whose arms should take her up and +hold her warmly against the memory of their separation. + +"Then there is no way out?" she asked again. + +"None, _madame_," and Philip Ortez bowed. "You will have to be the guest +of a humble mountaineer." + +"I shall enjoy it, I am sure," she answered. "It is simply a woman's +natural desire for home which leads me to ask again." + +His eyes clouded. Claire somehow found herself fancying a tragic mystery +in the life of this man, and then rebuked herself for romancing. +Certainly, such fancies were not her habit, and she wondered why they +were occurring to her. + +The cabin stood on the very edge of the forest through which Lawrence +had carried Claire the last morning of their long march. Protected by +its pines, the little house fronted on a small lake, a place where the +river which they had followed widened to a half-mile, and stayed thus +with scarcely any current save directly through the center. All around +the lake the forest stretched its massed green, and here Philip trapped. +The lake, in its turn, provided him with fish. + +The week after their arrival snow had heaped itself into the ravine and +piled up high around the cabin. Ice was beginning to form on the edge of +the lake, and their host was preparing for his winter's work. They were +too weak to go with him, and he left them in possession of the cabin. + +At first there had been an unaccountable awkwardness between Lawrence +and Claire, and it had left a reserve which was difficult to overcome. +Lawrence had explained their situation to Philip; the Spaniard had been +apologetically gracious, but there was something in Claire's nature that +made her wish that Lawrence had never been thought of as her husband. +Dressed in Philip's clothes, and in the presence of a roof and fire, she +felt a desire to be free from the memory of the days when she had clung +about Lawrence's neck, and, above all, she felt that she was not able to +meet him with understanding. His blindness in these surroundings seemed +to set a sudden and impassable barrier between them, and made her ill at +ease when she was alone with him. + +Lawrence was irritated that she should so immediately react into what he +called the old conventional habit toward blind people, and keep it +standing like a stupid but solid wall between all their talk. Now that +she was no longer dependent on him, she appeared to him more attractive. +He thought of her husband, and wondered if Claire's attitude toward +himself was tempered with the thought of the man at home. "Surely," he +told himself, "she can't be allowing that to come between us, for it is +so obviously quite unnecessary." Then he began to wonder how much of her +life was centered about her husband. What sort of man was he, and did +she love him devotedly? As he thought, there crept into his feeling a +sense of irritation against the unknown man who was obstructing his +friendship with the woman he had carried half through the Andes +Mountains. + +Then the longing for his work came over him, and there were times when +he felt he must do something. He spoke needlessly sharp words to +Claire. Though she concealed her anger, there grew between them a +continuous straining born out of mutual misunderstanding and a great +submerged tangle of emotions. + +One morning when Ortez in snow-shoes and fur had gone for the day to +look after his traps, Claire washed up the tin dishes they used, and sat +down before the fire opposite Lawrence. His head was in his hands and +his face was somber. + +"You look sad this morning," she said casually. + +"Do I?" he answered. "I'm not--especially. I was just planning a piece +of work, dreaming it out in outline." + +She looked at him thoughtfully. His forehead was high and broad, she +thought, and his hands-- Their days in the wilderness rushed back over +her. She was angry at the memories they brought her, and doubly angry at +Lawrence, as if he only were responsible. + +"It's inconceivable," she said calmly, "that you, without seeing, can +really carve anything true to form and line." In her voice was +incredulity and unbelief. + +He rose suddenly, his face white, and said, with an intensity that +startled her: "That sentiment is as familiar to me as my name. I have +heard it from sight-bigoted people from the days when I made my first +attempt to go back to my school work. I am rather weary of it." + +She sat staring at him for a moment, then she laughed. She could not +have told why she did it, and she was instantly sorry. The blood rushed +to his face. + +"I shall create that which will forever assure you that I can carve true +to the most familiar form and line you know," he said fiercely. + +Her face was as crimson as his now, though she felt ice cold. + +"What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice unsteady. + +He laughed bitterly. In his own heart a fierce volcanic surge was raging +which he did not attempt to control. + +"Do you think that I, trained as I am to gather fact from touch, could +carry you through weeks of hell in my arms, against my breast, and not +know you, you as you are, Claire Barkley? I shall carve you, you with +your cold reserve suppressing the emotional chaos within you, and you +will not fail to recognize yourself." + +Claire gripped the chair arms. Anger, fear, doubt, then the knowledge +that he could do as he said, swept over her in rapidly succeeding waves, +and gathered at last into a steel hate that she felt must last through +eternity. + +"You, you would do that, after I guided you here! You would take +advantage of what I could not help, and--and--" she choked, and then +said swiftly--"so, under your indifferent exterior you used your touch +that way these days! Oh, you--you beast!" + +Lawrence laughed coolly. "I could no more help it than I can avoid being +here." + +"Lies!" she exclaimed. "A gentleman could help it!" + +"Perhaps, but not an artist." + +"And what of beauty, of your boasted purity of art, is there in that?" + +"All," he said calmly. "If you knew, oh, if I could make you see what +every artist knows"--he was talking passionately now, his face illumined +in spite of his blind eyes--"you would realize, that I could not help +it, that I glory in it, and that it was and is the way of art." + +He rose and walked the floor, pouring out his creed in a stream of +burning words. "I am a machine, a sensitive thing that registers what it +feels and knows, that is all. You touch me, my brain registers that +touch, and something in me, the will to live, the desire to create, the +insistent shout for expression says, 'Take that and carve it in stone.' +If I could see, if I were not blind, I would have been a painter. I +would have painted you, almost naked as you were, your eyes filled with +the hunger for life, your face tense with racing thoughts, I would have +painted you fully, all of you, as you were in night-gown and skirt there +in that forest, and you would have shouted to all the world from my +canvas, 'Look at me, I am the primitive, the wild, the passionate, the +tender, the selfish and unselfish living woman. See me as I am, +cultured, refined, educated, elemental withal, and the emblem of +humanity as it is, still stained with the traditional mud of +superstition and blood that marks its origin. Oh, I would have painted +you so, and now I shall carve you so!" + +He stopped, and Claire looked at him wildly, her eyes aflame with hate +and admiration. + +"You would use another human being that way?" she gasped. + +"I would use any one, I would, I will, at any cost to them, to me, if +the outcome be a piece of art, a work that in its truth, its immortal +beauty, shall stand a lasting testimony that I, Lawrence Gordon, have +mastered blindness and registered life correctly." + +A great light swept over her mind; that was the key to him. He would +sacrifice himself to conquer blindness--but would he, she wondered, and +instantly her thought found expression. + +"Would you crush yourself to create that mastery of blindness?" + +He laughed. "I have, I am doing it," he said. "I would go through all +the torment of the world if I might create something lasting, true, and +beautiful." + +Claire leaned forward, her lips apart, her eyes bright. That she hated +this man she was sure, yet all her woman's soul was awed by what she now +saw behind his mask of blindness. Then a new thought came to her. + +"Might it not be," she asked subtly, "if you hold suffering to be the +key to beauty that you would profit more at last by denying the impulse +to create the thing you are planning?" + +He laughed again. "I hold that pain is only the spur to progress. I care +nothing for the sentimentalism you are talking now. I carried you +through the wilderness, I suffered and bore it, I staggered through +nights and days with your warm body against mine that I might live, and +now--now I know the value of life, I understand as never before the pain +our fathers paid. I know the bitter animal war against environment, +evolution whipped into action by pain, hunger, fear of death, and I +shall carve that, all that, into the statue of one woman." + +"And what of me, me and you as such, Claire and Lawrence, who were there +through that struggle in the wilderness?" The speech leaped from +somewhere in her being before she knew it, and with it came knowledge +that stung her into tearful self-hate. + +"We shall go back to our old lives, I suppose, and live them out." + +It was what she had expected him to say, yet the calm matter-of-fact +statement hurt her as nothing he had ever said before. + +Lawrence dropped into the arm-chair again, and rested his head on his +hand. He was calmer now, and, reviewing in his mind what he had said, he +was beginning to ask himself why had he given way to this sudden +resentment against Claire. If she doubted him because he was blind, was +that any more than others had done? He had never burst out against them. +What was the matter with him? He surveyed the whole trend of his life up +to this minute: how he had broken at late adolescence from a glowing +idealist to a wanderer through varying paths of thought; always stirred, +stimulated, and swept on by contact with other people, books he had +read, women for whom he had occasional fancies of love, until gradually +he settled into his assured manner. It was exercise he needed, that and +work. + +He asked himself if he seriously loved Claire, and answered +unequivocally that he did not. He wanted her friendship very much, +indeed, but love, not at all. If she had been single, perhaps--but no, +he did not care about her that way, that was all. He had been too long +shut up here in the cabin with her and without work. He must get some +wood and amuse himself carving things with Ortez's knife; it would be +good practise, and, at the same time, relieve his nerves. He was sorry +he had let himself go; Claire must not be hurt. + +"Claire," he said quietly, "if I wounded you, if I said things I ought +not, pardon me! I am getting nervous doing nothing, and I am not myself +these days." + +She laughed calmly. "Oh, very well!" she said. "I wonder that we don't +come to blows, cooped up here as we are. I think next time Philip makes +his rounds I'll go with him." + +"It would be a good thing," answered Lawrence. "I'd like it myself." + +Claire did not keep up the talk. She, too, was thinking fast, and facing +new problems that demanded her attention. She was surprised to find that +her resentment toward Lawrence was completely gone. What would her +husband think of him? What would he do when she returned, when she told +him of her journey with this blind man through weeks and weeks of +wilderness when they were almost naked. She stopped, that was what +Lawrence had said, 'almost naked.' Her flesh tingled as she saw the +picture which he said he would like to paint of her. + +What would she, Claire Barkley, do if such a picture were painted? She +buried her face deep in her hands, but in her heart she knew that she +would respect the man who painted it. And if Lawrence carved her so in +stone, and did it as he thought he could--she pondered over that for +some time. + +"I think," she said aloud, and Lawrence raised his head, "that if I were +to stay shut up here alone as Philip does, I should go crazy before +spring." + +"It all depends on how your mind is occupied," he laughed. + +She blushed guiltily, and was glad he could not see her face. + + +TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK. Don't forget this magazine +is issued weekly, and that you will get the +continuation of this story without waiting a month. + + +WHAT LIBERTY BONDS MEAN + +PATRIOTISM, VICTORY, THE SOUNDEST INVESTMENT IN THE +WORLD, A PERFECT MEANS OF SAVING + +BUY ALL YOU CAN + + + + +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 VII. + +PLAYING WITH FIRE. + + +In the late afternoon, Philip returned to find Lawrence still sitting +before the fire, his mind centered on ideas for his future work. Claire +had disappeared behind the canvas curtain which was stretched before her +bed. + +"It is almost Christmas," announced Philip, as he entered. + +Lawrence straightened up. "Back again?" he said, carelessly. "It's been +a beastly day." + +Claire came out from her partition, laughing. "If you don't take one of +us with you next time," she said, "I won't answer for the tragedy that +may follow." + +Philip laughed, and shook the snow from his big coat. + +"Too much of your own continuous company?" he asked. + +"Yes"--her tone was light, but he saw that she was in earnest--"we are +so accustomed to each other that we both need a rest." She drew up a +chair for Philip before the fire. + +His dark eyes looked searchingly at her. + +"If you knew the path to peace," he said, "you would be happier. I see +that I must take you out with me and teach you the hidden entrance to +that mystic roadway." + +"You know one, then?" Lawrence's voice was amusedly skeptical. + +"It lies through the heart of man into the heart of"--Philip +paused--"shall I say God?" + +"You may as well, though it isn't especially clear." Lawrence smiled. +"God is a big, but vague, term." + +"I find it so," Philip answered, seriously. "There are days, however, +and this was one of them, when I am sure of the meaning of that term. +Claire must go forth with me and see." + +"Yes, do let me go," she said, eagerly. Then, with a little laugh: "If +your mystery out there is as discomforting as the Lawrence mystery in +here, I sha'n't worship him, however." + +"He isn't." Philip arose and crossed to his books. "He is the mighty God +who speaks in solitude." He drew down a volume, and returned to his +chair. + +"I find here in these mountains the medicine that _Hamlet_ should have +had. He would have been no _Hamlet_ had he ranged this plateau for a day +in winter." + +"And the world would be the loser," Lawrence interposed. + +Claire rose and started to prepare their evening meal. She had taken +over the duties of housekeeping from the time her ankle had allowed her +to walk. + +"If you two are going to plunge the house into an argument such as that +one promises to be," she said gaily, "I am going to reenforce the inner +man so that at least you won't suffer from physical exhaustion." + +Both men laughed, and one of them listened to her thoughtfully as she +moved about, while the other watched her, his dark eyes full of a keen +appreciation of her grace and her concise, accurate movements. + +"How good it is to have her here," thought Philip. Aloud, he said, +seriously: "I do not think the world gains enough from _Hamlet_ to make +it worth the price he paid." + +"Why not?" Lawrence was quick to respond. "Whatever his agony, whatever +his failures and his death, he left the world a picture of man's heroic +struggles to solve the riddle of the universe, his wisdom, his +strength--and his weakness." + +"But that is just what we don't want--the picture of man's weakness. It +is made all the worse when it is presented with the power of a sublime +work." + +Claire turned from the stove, and looked at Philip. His eyes were +burning with a deep, earnest fire that held her fascinated. She thought +him the most beautiful of all the men she knew. It was not his face, not +his appearance generally, but his eyes. Oh, the loss of such eyes! she +thought--yes, they are what makes him a finer man than Lawrence. Why +hasn't Lawrence such eyes? + +"Believe me, friend," Philip was speaking again, "if I could erase from +my knowledge the weakness of man, I would not need to trail my feet +through these snow-buried forests to find an hour's rest from life." + +Claire saw his fingers move nervously on the arms of his chair, and +thought: "That is it, then; I was right; he has his tragedy." She looked +at him again, and as she met his eyes she felt that she was sorrier for +him than she had ever been for Lawrence. Yes, she was sorrier for this +man whose soul burned out of his eyes than for that other whose soul was +always curtained by the expressionless mask that hid him. + +"I can't quite agree with you," Lawrence was saying; "I, too, know the +weakness of man, but there is, nevertheless, the glory of sublime beauty +which alone stands, immortal. I should indeed mourn for man if he were +unable to be truly immortal even in his created work. That, it seems to +me, saves him." + +"Or loses him," Philip added. "One golden life of unbroken sunshine, +dead at last and laid away in the memory of friends is worth more than +your greatest poem." + +"I should call that sentimentality," Lawrence laughed. + +"So it is," Philip flashed, "and why not? Must we kill sentiment and go +about with hearts of ice because our world is hard?" + +"Is there no way to keep ourselves warm without poultices?" retorted +Lawrence. + +Claire sat down at the table. "Come on and enjoy your venison, you two, +and have done with the ills of the universe." + +The two men joined her. It was a strange trio: Claire, a dashing boy in +Philip's made-over corduroys; Lawrence wearing his host's summer serge +as though it were his own, and Philip looking at them, amusedly. + +"I never quite recover from the charm of you in male attire," Ortez +remarked, looking into her face. + +"I've tried at times since our fortunate misfortune to imagine her in +evening gowns and furs," said Lawrence; "but I always fail and end by +getting her into some sort of barbaric costume belonging to the distant +past." + +"You are both flattering and both foolish," she told them. "It's my +business to look well in clothes, you know, and it's masculine to admit +my efficiency in a particularly feminine line." + +"You were scarcely fascinatingly efficient in the garb in which you +first appeared to me." Philip laughed at the recollection. + +"That isn't fair. I would have been if I had had enough to eat." + +She looked at him, and her eyes sparkled gaily. + +"I surrender," he said. "You would have been. Too fascinating!" + +"That also depends on circumstances," said Lawrence. "She wouldn't be +fascinatingly efficient in that back-to-nature garb if she were doing +charity work at home or if she were taking a trip in an airplane." + +"You carry your point," she agreed. "I shouldn't care to try." + +"Which leads me," Lawrence went on, "to observe that our friend, +Shakespeare, was, after all, right in bequeathing _Hamlet_ to us. He +might not look well in our own castle, but as a portrait viewed in our +neighbor's house, or in a house unspecified, he is the high point of +subjective tragedy." + +Ortez did not answer for a moment, then he said, quietly: "I had rather +lose my winter's work than lost _Hamlet_ from my memory, yet when I +think of what there is in life for a man, did he not have _Hamlet's_ +doubt to face, I think perhaps we would all be better off for no +knowledge of that subjective war. Man has too much to do to lift himself +out of the still clinging primordial slough to dally with +subjectiveness. We should be acting, aggressive, strident in the +strength of the war we wage toward freedom." + +"Of course," agreed Lawrence, "but that requires only one thing, the +master passion to do, because for us, doing is life. I cannot regret +_Hamlet's_ hesitating failure. It was his life. To every man there is +but one way, his way, and whether it be failure or success does not +depend upon an avenged wrong, a successful marriage, or even a great +work done for humanity. The test is, is his life worth the price he pays +to live it? I imagine _Hamlet's_ was." + +"Fallacies!" interrupted Claire. "Why, then, the tragedy?" + +"Because _Hamlet_ did not know that the governing laws to which he +strove to hold himself were not laws, not true, not necessary." + +"You mean," Ortez inquired, "that he was not bound to avenge his father +and punish his mother?" + +"I mean just that. Why should he? She was satisfied, his father was +dead, and _Hamlet_ gained nothing by his moral strutting and raving +against his own hesitating hand." + +"But you have swept aside all moral law," protested Philip. + +"What moral law is there that is external to me? What, indeed, is moral +law?" + +"That which makes for life, perhaps, as some one has said," offered +Claire. + +"For my life, yes. That which to me means life, is good. That which to +me means less life, is bad." + +"Yet you carried Claire through the mountains," Philip's voice was hard. + +"Because I needed her, because she was essential to my life." + +"Then you would have left her, had she been a hindrance?" + +"That depends," answered Lawrence slowly. "Had she made my life +uncertain when otherwise I might have lived, I think I would. Of course, +if her being there merely increased my trouble, I should have brought +her." + +Claire was watching Philip's face. It was a study. On it there was +something that made her heart beat faster, she found herself unable to +tell why. She glanced at Lawrence. There he sat, his strong, stern face, +calm and soulless. She wondered why blindness robbed this man of his +rightful appearance. He had a soul, and it was a wild, beauty-loving +soul, she knew, but blindness quite mantled it. On the other hand, +Philip's was a mighty fire within, which shone in beauty through his +eyes. Lawrence had quietly spoken of how he would have left her under +other circumstances. Philip would have died at her side, she knew it. +What a difference between them! + +"But if you feel as you declare, why take that extra trouble to save +her?" Philip asked. + +"Because I have a certain dislike of death and don't care to cause it +myself if I can help it." + +Claire laughed. "But death, you said once, is a mere stopping of animal +action. Why dread that?" + +"Because I myself do not care to die, I would not care to cause your +death." + +Philip rose and went to the fire. "I do not believe you could live by +your theory," he asserted. + +"I do live by it. There is but one thing I dread worse than death. I +would die rather than give up my creative impulse." + +"And he would sacrifice your life or mine for art's sake," merrily added +Claire. "It's a good thing he doesn't think we are hindrances to art." + +Philip also laughed. "Well," he said, "there might come a time when I, +too, would want a thing enough to kill in order to obtain it." + +"What, for example?" asked Lawrence. "That is the best way to determine +your value of life." + +Philip did not answer for a few minutes, then his voice vibrated. + +"The things that mean more than life to me. I know that one holds his +own life dear, but there are things, love, courage, honor, for example, +that he holds even above life." + +"Would you kill me, for instance," asked Lawrence pleasantly, "if I +stood between you and Claire?" + +"That is scarcely answerable," nervously interposed Claire. "You see, +you don't and the man who does--though it's all absurd, since we none of +us here are the least in love--is my husband." + +"I had almost forgotten him," said Lawrence, his voice lingering softly +on the word "almost." + +Philip laughed. "Why, yes, in the abstract, I should say that if +anything would make me kill you, it would be your standing between me +and the woman I loved. Of course, the case is fair, but scarcely +probable enough to make any of us worry." + +"True"--Lawrence joined him at the fire--"and by the way, while I think +of it, I want a knife and a block of soft wood. I'm going to entertain +myself these days." + +Quickly Claire looked up. + +"And you shall entertain me, Philip," she said gaily. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE TIGHTENING NET. + + +Christmas was upon them. They gathered before the big fireplace in +silent meditation, while outside the wind whipped sheeted snow against +the walls and wailed dismally its endless journeying. They could not +help but feel the something melancholy in the air. The little cabin, +standing so far away from civilization and all the things they were +accustomed to know seemed somehow to set them apart from the rest of the +world and leave them stranded as it were, upon a barren stretch of +thought. + +In keeping with the setting, solemn questions of destiny, death, and the +meaning of things took the place of the usual Christmas festival and +glitter. + +In Lawrence's mind, Claire was growing more and more predominant. He +found her constant association weaving itself into his life until, when +he looked ahead toward the day when they must part, he discovered +himself asking what he could find that would take her place. Her voice, +her little habits of speech, the unexpected question that showed her +deep interest in him, in his work, and in his attitude toward her, these +had gradually stirred in him the desire to establish in his own mind a +definite relation toward her which he could maintain. + +When Claire went out for a while with Philip, Lawrence spent the interim +in trying to reason out his problem. He told himself that he would feel +differently in his old environment with friends and work, but the answer +was not satisfactory. He knew that even there, he would miss the quick +sound of movement, the quick phrase that was Claire. + +Did he love her then? He asked himself that, and could not answer. What +was love to him, anyway? He sought to think out a scheme of love that +would fit into his system of utter selfishness, and failed. The memory +of her in his arms came to him now with a warm, emotional coloring that +had been absent during the days of their journey. + +Had he been so impersonal then at first? He remembered his first wild +joy at finding her there in the surf, and he admitted that even then +there had been a subtle heightening of his pleasure, because it was a +woman. Since his blindness he had been separated from the other sex even +more than from his own, and now he was to live with one daily, having +her alone to talk to, to watch, to be interested in, and to know--yes, +that had been a part of his feeling that morning. He remembered that he +had been slightly irritated at her when he had first decided that she +was cold and intellectual. He had wanted her to be warm, colorful, +vivid, and feminine. He had found later that she was all these things, +but not toward him. It was a man whom he had never known, her husband, +Howard Barkley, for whom she was wholly woman. Always when she spoke of +him her voice had warmed, grown softer, subtly shaded with color. + +Claire opened the cabin door. + +"Hello, Mr. Dreamer! Still in the land of to-morrow?" she called, taking +off her heavy wraps. + +"Where's Philip?" Lawrence demanded gruffly, without moving. + +"Working over a trap in the ravine. I was a little tired, so I didn't +wait." + +Lawrence could hear her brushing her hair. He was glad she had returned +without Philip. Now at least they would have a few minutes alone. + +"Snow bad?" he asked. If he could only have run his hands through that +curly mass! The memory of her hair brushing against his face made his +temples throb dully. + +"Yes, my hair is filled with it. I caught my cap on a branch, and the +whole load of snow came down on top of me." + +"How old are you, Claire?" he demanded suddenly. + +She laughed. "Guess! Don't you know it isn't good form to ask a lady her +age?" + +"Sometimes you are quite thirty, and other times--" + +"Well, go on." Claire was standing at the opposite side of the fireplace +with her back to the flame. + +"Other times, you are two," Lawrence continued calmly. + +"I thought that was coming. Well, just to prove what a really nice +person I am, I'll tell you. I'm twenty-six." + +"When were you married, Claire?" Her breath tightened at his question. + +"Curiosity is a wonderful thing, and the impudence of man passeth all +understanding. I have been married exactly six years, three months, and +twenty-four days." The last sentence brought the catch into her voice +that Lawrence had expected. + +"I know you miss your husband," he forced himself to say formally. + +"Yes, you see"--Claire hesitated--"ours wasn't like some marriages one +hears about. Howard and I were both very much in love." She realized too +late the past tense. Had Lawrence noticed it? "I miss him dreadfully," +she added desperately. + +Lawrence said nothing. He had noticed Claire's slip, and the verb had +sent him into a thousand realized dreams. The next instant he was +cursing himself for a fool. "Fools, all of us," he thought. "Philip, +too, warming himself with dreams of Claire." Before the nearness of the +Spaniard's personality, Howard Barkley faded into the background. +Lawrence reviewed his own position moodily. + +Blind, unable to do the work that Philip did, certainly unable to use +the million little ways of courtesy-building as Philip did, his chances +were unequal. + +Did he want Claire for Claire, or was it only the fighting instinct, the +desire to overcome men not handicapped as he was? Would he still want +Claire after he had won her? After the intimacies of home life had made +her familiar as nothing else could, and had dispelled all romance, all +the alluring appeal that sprang from the deepest sex-prompted desire yet +unattained, would he still want her? That was the question, and he could +not say. The experience alone could tell him--and would that experience +ever come? + +Claire watched Lawrence's face, the while her own thoughts raced on. It +had been love she felt for her husband. She was sure of that. Of course, +in the years of their life together, the old, wild passion had gradually +retired into its normal proportion, leaving them free to go about calmly +and untroubled. But it was there, as she well knew in the hours when +they became lovers again. Certainly those hours had been joyous, happy +ones, unclouded by any suspicion of mere gratification of impulse or +desire. Yes, they had been hours of love claiming its rightful +expression over the more constant hours of daily living. + +Then she recalled her experience of the night before. She had been +dreaming of her husband, but he possessed Lawrence's features, illumined +with the glow of Philip's eyes, and she had started into full +wakefulness with a sudden sense of her position. Now she sat before the +fire, and resolved grimly that no matter what happened she would be +faithful to Howard. Of course, she would go with Philip to look after +his traps, the exercise was the best antidote to such morbid thoughts, +and he would never make advances to her, of that she was sure. As for +the days that she might spend alone with Lawrence, he was too +self-centered, too much wrapped up in his wood-carving, to think of a +woman--and she disregarded the little pang of discontent that +accompanied her thought. + +Philip was hanging the skins over the door. Claire realized that she had +been too engrossed to notice his entrance. + +"I break a six weeks' fast to-day"--and he turned toward Lawrence. "Do +you smoke?" + +"Man!" said Lawrence, springing up, "if I'd known you had tobacco in +store I'd have murdered you long ago to get it. I would be a more +agreeable companion if I could taste tobacco now and then." + +"Pardon me for not thinking to ask you. I was declaring a six months' +course in self-discipline for the good of my soul." + +"Bring forth the smoke," said Lawrence joyously. + +"Unfortunately"--Philip turned to Claire--"a bachelor's storehouse +contains no treat for a lady. Your visit was unexpected." + +"I shall gain my pleasure through watching you two sink back into a +beloved vice," she answered. + +"Horrible!" Lawrence sat down, and took the cigarette which Philip +produced. "To enjoy seeing one succumb to vice." + +"Isn't it characteristic of scandal-loving humanity?" she rejoined. + +"And on Christmas Day!" Philip chided her lightly. Then he went on, +seriously: "But one should really be above all things save love and +gratitude to God on this day." + +"I suppose so," said Lawrence, "but it's difficult to determine just +where this object of gratitude abides and what He is." + +"Is it necessary to locate Him?" asked Claire. + +Lawrence breathed deeply with the satisfaction in his cigarette. "I +should hate to direct my gratitude toward some one who missed it, and +thus have it lost in desert space," he answered. + +"It isn't that we need God so much as it is simply the good we gain +ourselves," said Philip slowly. "I still follow the old trail for my own +heart's sake." + +"And does it get you anywhere?" Lawrence's question was characteristic. + +"Yes, I think so. I find myself nearer to the source of that which is +worth while." + +"What is worth while?" Claire asked. + +The answers she obtained were the two men revealed. + +"The fullest life possible for me," said Lawrence. + +"The fullest heart possible for me," followed Philip. + +"But you both mean the same thing, don't you?" asked Claire. + +"I mean the fullest number of my own desires gratified," Lawrence +avowed. + +Philip leaned back in his chair and looked at Claire, meditatively. + +"If he did as he says, we should have to lock him up," he observed. + +They all laughed. + +"Not at all." Lawrence was amiably argumentative. "To be sure, if my +desires were gratified at your expense, as this smoke, for example"--he +laughed--"and on an all-inclusive scale, you might have to resort to +personal violence. But, in fact, many of my desires would bring you joy +in their gratification, you know." + +"I do know," said Philip cordially, "but the danger in your point of +view is that it allows for no check. You would sacrifice both of us if +it were necessary to gratify your desires--that is, if you lived true to +your assertion." + +"Perhaps I would. I don't know. There is the weak point in my whole +scheme. I evade it by failing to sacrifice you, but I support my theory +by saying there is no occasion to do so." + +"I don't like your principles," Philip rejoined, "though I admit that my +own fail me more often than not." + +"Exactly. We humans do fail, and the conclusion to which it brings me +is, why hold principles that you find unworkable? I prefer a standard to +which I can at least be true, in the main, and avoid self-condemnation, +pricks of conscience, and other little inconveniences." + +"Such as a sense of duty?" interrupted Claire. + +"That above all, Claire," he laughed. + +"And obligation?" + +"Yes, that too, if you mean a sense of being bound to one because of +something he has done in the past. For instance, I am obliged to Philip +for his food, his house, my life, and this cigarette, but I scarcely +feel that that would imply that I must sacrifice my greatest desire in +life as payment if necessary. Of course, it isn't necessary, but if it +were, I should refuse." + +"I think you would not," asserted Philip. + +"I know I would. I rather believe you would also, though it might be +that you would not." + +"I would sacrifice anything to pay a debt of gratitude." Philip spoke +warmly. + +"You would--perhaps--but in so doing would you not feel that gratitude +was the thing of supreme worth to yourself?" + +"Not necessarily. I might even suffer all my life for having done so." + +"Impossible. You would either redeem your sense of life's value by a new +belief, or you would die." + +"Then you think a man can do as he pleases and maintain his +self-respect, his personal integrity?" + +"He will find some way to make himself feel worth while, or he will +cease to be." + +"You think that a criminal, or perhaps better, a person abandoned to +vice, feels justified?" + +"Yes. He creates a belief by which his abandonment is not destructive to +himself, or he is converted, which is simply a convulsion of nature for +the same end, to preserve his life and make it seem valuable to him." + +"Could you, for instance, murder a man, and do it believing that +afterward you would somehow make it seem right, or at least so necessary +that you would feel as self-respecting and sin-free as before?" Philip +was speaking earnestly. + +"I should not do so unless I were forced to it, but if I were, I know +that I would somehow reconstruct my mental life so that I would still +feel existence worth the price." + +Claire leaned forward. "Lawrence," she said jestingly, "you have swept +away the bulwark of the home, made infidelity easy, and numberless +separated families inevitable with your bold, bad talk. Aren't you sorry +for all those tragedies?" + +He laughed. "Very," he said, "though it was watching such proceedings +take place so frequently that led me to accept my theory. Think of the +men and women who are unfaithful, who leave their wedded partner for +another, and still find life worth while." + +"But that is their failure to live true to their principles," said +Philip. "It is commonly called sin, my friend." + +"It may be, according to their light, but they generally get a new light +afterward. You see, I do not believe that God joins men and women. I am +persuaded that a very natural physical desire does so, and it doesn't +follow that the first is the only or best union." + +"My husband would simply dread me if I held your view, and I should feel +very wary if I were your wife, Lawrence," remarked Claire. + +That was the central point in the whole discussion, though none of them +were aware of it. Vaguely they felt that they were groping their way +toward the future, but they did not allow the feeling to reach a +conscious state, and Philip laughingly broke up the talk. + +"Here we are," he said, yawning, "the fire is making us all sleepy, +we're talking foolishness, and we need exercise. Why not get it? I think +we might all of us go out and face the wind for a quarter of an hour, +then let it blow us back to camp like three children. I have the skis +for us all." + +"Great!" Claire clapped her hands in applause. + +"It's a splendid idea," agreed Lawrence, and they set forth. + +It was hard going against the wind; Philip was the only one who managed +his skis very satisfactorily, and Lawrence, of course, had to be +assisted, but the crust was smooth and clear, and they made great sport +of it. The two men placed Claire between them and crossed hands in front +of her, like skaters. The fresh snow-filled air blew into their lungs, +and they laughed like boys on a holiday. Claire glanced at the two and +thought: "What a pair to be between!" Then laughed again. All the +morbidity was gone, she was not thinking follies now, and neither of +them was more than a good friend. Philip was thinking that Claire was +good to see as she moved along between them, her graceful stroke +carrying her over the snow, her cheeks stung red in the wind. Lawrence +was not thinking at all. He was simply moving, deeply enjoying the wind +and the exercise and the soft, strong little hand upon his own, helping +to guide him through his darkness. + +When they turned and stood close together, the wind caught them like a +sail and sent them skimming before it. The sense of tobogganing was +keenly exhilarating. Home, problems, worries, the future, all seemed +very simply, very easy, and not at all a matter for long conversations +before a hot fire. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +CLAIRE'S ABASEMENT. + + +The following days and even weeks passed quickly, carried on the wave of +light-hearted play which Philip had so wisely started that Christmas +night. February came with clear sun that set the snow glittering like a +field of crystal under the dark pines, and they laughed with exuberance +of spirit as they swept over it on their skis. Even Lawrence became an +adept as long as he had one of their guiding hands to hold. All +speculation was gone for the time being. Lawrence and Claire gave +themselves up to a frank comradeship, in which Philip formed a splendid +third, so that they seemed a trio of happy, healthy animals whose lives +flowed without a break in the mere pleasure of living. + +But one morning early in the month, Philip said after breakfast, over +his coffee and cigarette, "I'm going for the day to my farthest traps +across the river. Claire, would you care to go? We'll get back late this +evening." + +"I would," she said promptly. "I'll be ready in a few minutes." + +Lawrence did not say anything, but to his sudden surprise he felt his +heart sink. An insistent inner voice was saying, "I wish she wouldn't +go." + +He heard her, back of the curtain, dressing for the trip, and his little +petulant thought grew into gloom at the prospect of her being away. He +felt irritated at Philip for suggesting that she go. + +"You'll have to leave me a good spread, Claire," he said finally when +she emerged into the room. + +"I'll fix you up a great meal," she laughed. "You can eat all day, if +you like." In her voice there was an unusual warmth, for at his words +she felt suddenly as though she were thoughtless of him in going. For a +minute she pondered giving up the trip, then concluded that to do so +would seem ridiculous, and set about preparing his lunch. + +Philip rose and, putting on his heavy coat, said carelessly, "You can +carve us a new wooden image, Lawrence." + +The words were casual and without intention, but they angered. Lawrence +felt as though both of them were trying to make amends to him for their +going, as though, being blind, he must of course stay at home, but ought +to have something to occupy his time. His resentment grew stronger as he +continued to think of their supposed condescension. + +When the lunches were ready Claire and Philip started. At the door she +paused and said gaily: "Keep the house warm for our returning, +Lawrence." + +He was sullenly angry and made no reply. The frank way in which she +spoke of herself and Philip somehow recalled to his mind other couples, +married lovers starting out somewhere, and his heart tightened +perceptibly. After they were gone he sat thinking for a long time, and +his impulsive feeling clarified into certainty. Claire and Philip were +in love. Perhaps they did not know it yet themselves, and had not +spoken, perhaps they had; at any rate, they were in love. It had grown +between them in his very presence, and he, doubly blind fool, had not +known. If he could have seen, it would have been clear to him, of +course. + +He thought of Claire's husband, and grew virtuously angry at Claire. +Howard Barkley would mourn his days out, never knowing that his beloved +wife was living in Bolivia with a Spanish trapper! He saw Claire going +about the cabin as Philip's wife and doing for love the things she now +did out of a desire to be of use, and his rage grew. Was it not for love +that she did them now? But she was just as thoughtful of him as she was +of Philip. "Of course, idiot," he muttered, "she pities you; you poor, +abandoned, blind man, you are to be cared for, don't you see?" He strove +to shake himself into a different mood by self-ridicule. Was this the +philosopher who made life a matter of calm acceptance of circumstances +which he knew to be his master? He laughed at himself, but the laugh was +bitter, and he knew that he was not willing to accept this particular +turn of circumstances. + +But what right had he to judge what she did? She was not his wife nor +the woman who would be his wife. She could never be his wife. There was +her husband. No, it was not her husband that counted, but Philip! +Suddenly Lawrence realized the point that he had reached. + +He loved Claire Barkley. + +The admission of that at last in frank, utter avowal set him dreaming of +the joys she might have been to him. He thought of a thousand little +intimacies, cares, thoughtfulnesses, that she might have given him and +received from him, and they were all made vital, real, by the now ardent +memory of her in his arms, of the hands he had held in his own so often +of late in the open. + +In the afternoon he grew disgusted with himself. He had moped all day in +his chair, moving only to replenish the fire or get a cigarette, and he +now shook himself vigorously free from his thoughts. "You love her, yes, +and she obviously does not love you," he told himself. "Why, then, make +the best of it, if you can't do better, and at least don't be a beast in +your treatment of your host when he comes back to his own hearth." + +With that he dragged out a block of wood, took his knife, and went to +work. As was his way, he was soon unconscious of everything but the +piece of wood beneath his hand. He had never done wood-carving before, +and he was learning the technique that made it very different from clay. +He had gone at this piece without any special intent and was shaping it +into a cherub merely out of whim, but he was giving to the task every +atom of his skill, and his hands worked with every nerve strained to +detect and keep line and proportion. + +Swiftly under his knife the child's body grew in shape, and he caressed +the rough form tenderly. He would polish it later, and then what +pleasure it would represent! It would make a great decoration for the +cabin--for her cabin. He winced--yes, for hers and Philip's cabin. +"Fool!" he ejaculated. "Forget it!" He bent again to his work, but it +did not go so smoothly. Out there she and Philip would be laughing +merrily together, skimming over the snow in long, sweeping strides, hand +in hand. Would they think of him? Probably not, or if they did it would +be to say, "Poor Lawrence! It's a pity he's blind. He has real talent." + +He gritted his teeth. Well, he had real talent, and they should know it. +She should know it. He would show her such carving as she had never +thought possible. After all, was her love to him, Lawrence the artist, +the capable, blindness-conquering artist? "I am reconstructing my life," +he thought, "so that I can still find it valuable without the woman I +want." He again laughed bitterly and said to himself, "You poor, blind, +groveling beast, you, what a poor excuse for life you have, and what a +tawdry substitute you would offer Claire for the vast joy that is hers! +Oh, it is contemptible!" + +He bent over his work again, and the door opened. + +Claire came across the room and leaned over him, her body radiating a +cool, healthy perfume as she laid her hand on his shoulder. + +"Oh, what a splendid piece of work, Lawrence!" + +Her voice was joyous, triumphant, and his heart beat desperately against +his chest. "They've declared their love," he thought, and then he said +simply, his voice vibrant with the emotion he did not otherwise show, +"It's been beastly lonesome to-day, Claire." + +She laughed gaily, while her eyes clouded. Then she noticed the +untouched food on the table. + +"Why, Lawrence, didn't you like the lunch I fixed for you?" + +"It was bully, Claire," he answered quickly, "but I wasn't very hungry +to-day--I don't know why." + +The emotional coloring in his voice set her whole being atremble. She +had come in, radiant with the day's pleasure, and he had met her with +his need. He had been too blue even to eat. She was suddenly seized with +pity for him, as she thought of his long day alone. But more than that, +over and over in her heart she kept saying, with a joy she could not +conceal from herself, "He loves me! He loves me!" + +Philip came in and bent over them both to look at the wooden child. + +"_Caramba!_ it is a marvelous thing!" he exclaimed. The unconscious use +of the Spanish word showed the genuineness of his admiration. + +Claire laughed joyously. She was glad that Philip knew the power of this +blind man who loved her, and a vague feeling came over her that she was +now somehow safe from Philip. Instantly she wondered at her feeling the +need of safety from him. Glancing back over Lawrence's head, she met +Ortez's eyes and read in their look a tenderness that he did not know +was there. Her heart leaped unsteadily, and her lashes dropped. She was +saying to herself, "How wonderful he is!" + +Then she turned and almost ran behind the curtain that walled her room. +On the edge of her bed she sat, her face in her hands, hot tears burning +her eyes, while over and over the blood rushed into her cheeks and out +again. + +"Claire! Claire! What sort of a woman are you?" she moaned. + +Her heart beat irregularly under the surge of emotion that shook her. +She was glad, glad that Lawrence loved her. She had looked into the eyes +of Philip Ortez, and her own had dropped, while her mind had leaped into +admiration of him, warm, yielding admiration. What was it that had swept +her on the discovery of one man's love to a deep, vibrant gladness--that +another man's eyes had been filled with tenderness for her? Was she so +changed from the Claire of old? Was she utterly degraded? Did she want +both men to love her? Did she love either of them? What of her husband? +She sank down on the bed and wept silently. + +They were talking out there in the cabin. She heard Lawrence say +laughingly: "One gets accustomed to hearing your voices around, and to +hearing Claire do things, so that a day alone seems endless." + +"Hearing Claire do things"--that was it--and suppose he knew what she +was, would he want to hear her then? + +"Oh, I know," Philip was answering. "It gets to be a sort of necessity, +doesn't it, when we have so many associations and memories all among +ourselves? I shall find the place dreary next winter, I am afraid, when +you are back among your friends, and Claire"--he paused slightly--"will +be going about as ever, doing things for her husband somewhere up there +in the States." + +Would her husband ever imagine or discover what she was? If he did, he +would leave her. She remembered a girl in the slums at home who had +refused to be uplifted. "Aw, one fellow ain't enough. A plain ham is all +right for some, but I want a club-sandwich." She shuddered now at the +memory of the girl's words, and shrank together on her bed. Was she +another of that sort, abnormal, degenerate, whose life must find its +level at last in the sordid riot of promiscuity, disguising itself as +love? If Claire had never touched the bed-rock of self-abasement before, +she was doing it now, there in that cabin. + +She heard Ortez starting to get supper, and she sat up quickly. With +stern control she forced herself to seem composed and quiet, while +within her passions raged like a tornado. Self-contempt, wonder, +amazement, pity for her husband, for Lawrence, and hatred for Philip +Ortez swept round and round in her brain like a maelstrom. + +She stepped through her curtain and said gaily: "You're preempting my +privilege, Philip." + +He laughed. "I thought perhaps you were tired," he said. + +"She ought to be," remarked Lawrence from his chair, and in her present +state she imagined in his voice a tenderness, a worry for her, and a +distrust of her. + +She took up the kettle, and hung it on its hook in the fireplace. "I +never in my life imagined myself cooking over an open fire in this way," +she said as she turned toward the little storeroom adjoining. + +"You like it?" Philip asked carelessly. + +She felt sure that his eyes had read her heart and that he was looking +toward the future, his future with the wanton mistress he had found. + +She could have screamed, "I hate you! I hate you!" but she said only, +"It's great fun for a while; I wouldn't fancy it as a permanent thing." + +"It surely must be different from the conveniences of your home." + +"Rather," she laughed as she began cutting from the smoked meat that +hung in the storeroom. + +Now it was Lawrence who was speaking. "I guess she'd surprise us if we +could supply her with a chafing-dish. I'd like to see her at work over +one in my studio with the bunch around waiting hungrily for results." + +Would these men never stop saying things that made her want to scream? +What was the matter, that all at once the beauty of her day should be +smashed into a discolored memory of self-hatred? Was there nothing in +all the world but sordid thoughts of oneself and of men who, causing +them, said things to make them worse? + +After they had eaten she went to bed as soon as possible, leaving the +men to smoke before the fire. She had pleaded weariness, and they had +laughingly told her to get to sleep. They were out there now, talking in +subdued tones so as not to disturb her--as if their voices did not ring +through her suffering mind like clarions of evil! What should they say +if she should suddenly spring before them and shout out her mad fancies? +For a moment she had the wildest of impulses to laugh aloud, then +suddenly she turned on her face as she recalled the emotion that had +swept her when she saw Philip looking at her over Lawrence's head. Sleep +finally stopped her tears. + +The two men went to bed, and there was silence in the cabin. Lawrence +was smiling, as he felt Philip's body there beside him in the darkness. +"I could kill you now," he was thinking ironically, "and end all +question of your loving Claire." + +Philip, too, was awake. He had seen the hot flush that came into +Claire's face that evening, and he knew that she had been troubled +during the supper. He wondered if she were ill. Then suddenly he asked +himself, "Is she in love with one of us?" He immediately tried to +dismiss the thought as unworthy of her. She was not the kind of woman +to forget her marriage vows. But what a home she could make for the man +she loved! If he had only known her in time! + +But there was still friendship--yes, surely she could give that. +Complete understanding and perfect sympathy would be the basis of a +lasting attachment. "Who knows?" he pondered. "It may be that fate has +sent her to me to teach me what a great self-denying love can be. In +Claire I may find my dream-star again." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +HOW SIMPLE THE SOLUTION! + + +When Claire awoke the next morning her whole being seemed gathered into +a tense strain that made her feel as though the least thing might snap +the taut nerves in her body and leave her broken and stranded on some +far, emotional shoal. Her heart beat unevenly, while her lips and hands +felt dry and hot, as if she had spent hours in a desert wind. She did +not experience the bitter anguish of the night before; such storms are +too wild to last, but it had left her deadly heavy within, and she was +unable to recover her usual calm. + +One great determination dominated her, to prevent these men, at any +cost, from knowing her real feelings. It was a determination born out of +the sheer force that was carrying her on, a struggle that came from the +very strength of the tide she sought to resist. + +She had been awakened by a sudden and clear image, the result of her +unsettled mind. Her husband was beside her, leaning over the bed and +looking down at her with a great love and a greater pity shining in his +eyes. She thought that she had thrown up her arms to close about him +with the frantic joy of a rescued person, only to have them meet in +empty air and fall listless at her sides again. + +Beyond the curtain she heard Philip saying cheerfully: "It is a great +day outside, one of Claire's days for play." + +"Good!" Lawrence answered. "We'll go out, then, and play." + +A rush of self-pity, anger against her situation, fear of she knew not +what, and a gnawing desire to escape blended in her thoughts, while her +heart warmed at the sound of Lawrence's words. + +"Oh," she thought, "I can never, never stand this day!" + +She got out of bed and began to dress, her nervous hands fumbling at the +buttons on her clothes. Her eyes, deeper and shadowed in dark rings, +stared vacantly at the white canvas before her. Lawrence was talking +again, and she listened. Presently he started across the room and bumped +into a chair. The incident was one which had become long familiar to +her, and ordinarily she would have thought nothing of it, but this +morning she flushed with sudden anger that a chair should have been left +in his way. Then she realized that she was foolish, stepped through the +curtain, and said before she thought: + +"Lawrence, I do wish that you'd look where you are going!" + +He laughed merrily. "So do I," he rejoined. "For some years failure to +do so has kept me with at least one skinned shin. But just think of the +cost of stockings had I been blind as a boy!" + +Suddenly she had a vivid picture of him as a ragged, little fellow, +stumbling about through his unfathomable darkness, bumping into things +and leaving jagged holes in his child's black stockings. Whether she +wanted to laugh or cry she did not know, but a great, warm surge of +motherliness came over her for the child she imaged, and she said aloud, +"Poor little urchin!" + +Philip turned and looked at her, smiling. "It would have been a picture +indeed," he said. + +"I had enough troubles during my rebellious childhood at the orphanage +without adding imaginary woes," Lawrence went on, amusedly +retrospective. "I remember one day when I was at the awkward stage. I +was all dressed for church and happened to stumble over another boy +lying in the grass. I fell against a bench, my trousers caught on a +projecting nail, and ripped dreadfully. The matron gave me a scolding +and sent me to bed for the day." + +"Brought up in an orphanage!" thought Claire. "No wonder he is +pessimistic." + +"I didn't mind missing church," Lawrence continued; "but it struck me as +a piece of gross injustice that I should be punished for a boy's lack of +muscular coordination. I've experienced the same fate over my blindness. +It seems to be a special trick people have, and they play it +incessantly. I should think it would get as tiresome to them by and by +as it did to me some years ago." + +Claire felt as if she were included in his casual criticism of mankind, +and wondered just how she had been addicted to the practise. A dozen +different instances came to her, and she felt very penitent. + +"It's because we're all so thoughtless," she said. + +"Perhaps. I rather choose to state it differently. It's for the same +reason that I do thousands of things, because I'm more interested in +myself than I am in any one else. I'm selfish, and so is the rest of +humanity." + +"But we aren't deliberately so," Philip protested. "Isn't it rather that +we are short-sighted and unimaginative?" + +"It may be. The end is the same. If I am too short-sighted, too +unimaginative to know how a fellow being feels, I can do nothing but +blunder along. He may be hurt by me. I may do him an injustice, I may +even cheat him of his chance at life, but it can't be helped, and again +the result amounts to my being selfish." + +As she worked over her biscuit dough, Claire listened to their talk +resentfully. She wished they would keep still, but she said nothing. +They went ahead, demonstrating, she thought bitterly, the truth of +Lawrence's argument. + +"I suppose mankind generally does the best it can," Philip said +thoughtfully. "If you ask a man, if you really talk with him, you will +find him kindly, inclined to be generous, and willing to do what he can +for another. I have always found that true." + +"So have I, in a way. He is kindly, he is inclined to be generous, and +he is willing to do what he can for another. The trouble is, he makes a +maudlin sentiment of his kindliness, a self-flattering charity of his +generous inclinations, and is unable to do what he can for another +because he is quite sincerely persuaded that he can't do anything." + +"My friend, I have had men help me when it cost them trouble to do it. +We all have. Without it, we would none of us accomplish anything of +value." + +"I, too, have had them help me, from the lending of money down to +guiding me across a traffic-blurred street, but I have never yet found +more than three or four whose imagination was keen enough and whose +judgment clear enough to give me a square deal at living." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that the same man who will help me across the street, lend me +money, and be a splendid comrade, stops short when he comes to the field +of self-support. He will say sympathetically, 'I don't see how you can +do it,' or 'I admire your grit, old man, and I'd like to see you do it,' +and then begin scheming around to direct my interests, aspirations, and +efforts into some other channel from where I want them, as though, out +of his own great wisdom, he knew much better than I what a blind man +could do. If you want to learn just how small the imagination of mankind +is and how obstructive to progress is their fool good-heartedness, go +among them as a capable mind with a physical handicap. You'll size them +up, yourself included, as the most blindly wall-butting set of +blundering organisms that ever felt their way through an endlessly +obstructed universe." + +"Breakfast!" Claire broke in with an unwonted sharpness in her tone. +"And do let the biscuits stop the argument." + +They laughed and sat down to a silent meal. When it was ended, and the +men took their cigarettes to the fireplace, she said: "I wish you would +both do me a favor to-day." + +"We will! Name it!" They spoke at the same time. + +She turned toward them with an earnestness which she had scarcely meant +to betray. + +"Go out, both of you, and leave me here alone a while." + +Lawrence was silent. Her words and her tone sent a sharp pain through +him, and he wondered if she were ill. He wanted to say something to her, +started to do so, checked himself, and laughed embarrassedly. + +Philip stared at her. He noticed the pale face and the dark rings under +her eyes. + +"Why, certainly," he said, and rose. "You aren't looking well, Claire. +Is anything seriously wrong?" He looked at her again with the same +unconsciously tender warmth in his eyes. + +She saw it, flushed angrily, wanted to scream at him, and said simply, +"No, I just want to think, and want it quiet. You two talk too much +about yourselves and about things that you don't understand." + +"Very true"--Lawrence also had risen--"if I did understand them, I'd +show humanity how to stop being animals and be men." + +"While as it is," she said nervously, "you allow them to blunder along +and help the good work out by making plenty of trouble for them by your +own blind shortness of vision." + +He stood, wondering at her. How had he unintentionally hurt her, and +what exactly did she mean? + +Philip laughed heartily. "A just judgment on him for his sorry view of +the world," he commented, opening the door. + +"We'll tramp back into the hills," he said to Lawrence when they were +both outside, "and see what there is of deficient imagination in them." + +"There isn't," Lawrence said quietly; "they and the ocean are +testimonials to the real potential power of an otherwise very faulty +artist." + +Left alone, Claire worked furiously at setting the house to rights. Her +nervous state led her to throw herself into the work with an energy that +kept her from thinking. She sought for things to do with the desperation +of a person whose only escape from the furies that followed him is utter +physical exhaustion. When the cabin had been arranged and rearranged +until there was no possible excuse for further effort, she took her +heavy man's coat from its place and stepped out upon the snow-covered +plateau before the house. + +Along its edges the lake shone milk-white in the sun, while farther out +the ice glinted a clear, watery blue that made a gleaming jewel set in +the sparkling snow around it. She stood gazing across the ice to the +forest beyond. Its still beauty crept over her, and she breathed deeply +of the cold, crisp air. Her head ached dully, and her chest felt tight +as though trying to expand beyond its limit to make room for the trouble +that filled her being. After standing motionless for a few moments, she +started briskly across the snow toward the far side of the lake. She +walked carefully over the ice and into the trees beyond. In her mind was +one thought, to escape--but escape from what? From herself, she +answered, and then suddenly, with a panicky bursting of the tension, she +thought that is done only through death. + +She stopped and let the word "death" fill her mind, as a word sometimes +does, growing and growing until its increasing weight oppresses the +brain with a sense of physical pressure. "Death"--is it an escape? She +tried to imagine herself dead, and failed. She could find no adequate +image to express oblivion, and she gave up trying, while she began to +wonder if she actually were immortal, and if she were, what would she +say to herself beyond the edge of life? + +She thought of herself as standing, naked of soul, unbodied, in some far +etherealized atmosphere, and she shuddered. "I would still be Claire, +loving these two men and fearing a third." Tears crept down her cheeks. +No, she did not want to be immortal and have no escape from herself. + +If she would only be able to endure the months still remaining before +she got home, then everything would be settled. But would it? Did she +want Lawrence to go out of her life, did she want to lose him? She could +have him still as a friend, her home open to him always, her husband as +glad to welcome him as she herself--yes, that would be best. + +She was walking again now, rapidly, thinking as she moved, and it all +seemed very clear to her. She would tell her husband how Lawrence had +suffered, how brave he had been, and how he had carried her on and on, +when death seemed inevitable. Howard would owe Lawrence a tremendous +debt of gratitude, and would make existence easier for him. Lawrence had +had a hard life, his bitter attitude showed that he deserved a less +obstructed road, and she would give it to him. In their home all three +would talk, laugh, and be, oh, so happy, while Lawrence could work +better with his studio near her, perhaps in her own house where care +could be taken of him. He would create great art there, and his +bitterness would end. She would show him that her husband was +understanding and imaginative. Again she stopped suddenly. + +But Lawrence--would he accept? He was so independent, so doggedly +determined to fight his life out while his very battling made him +ironical and darkly pessimistic. She tried to imagine him agreeing to +her plan, and instead she heard him say, "I'm sorry, Claire, but I can't +do it. I've got to go it alone and win or go under. I can't accept the +charity you offer me in place of love. Gratitude, I know, prompts you, +but you owe me nothing, you paid your debt by being eyes for me. No, if +we can't be lovers, we can't be anything else. I know my limitations." + +Why had she put in that about "lovers"? He had never said anything to +lead her to think he would say that. She answered herself that it was +because she would want him to say it. And if he did say it, what would +she answer? She would say--no, she couldn't do that--she would want to +say, "Then let us be lovers!" But that was impossible. In her own +husband's home! + +And what would she think of Philip when she was again in her old world? +He, also, was deserving of gratitude. She stamped her foot in the snow. +She hated him, hated him, and he would drop out of her life, utterly and +forever. She would be glad when she saw the last of him with his +seductive eyes. Those eyes--why did he, and not Lawrence, have them? +They should have been Lawrence's. It was one more instance of the +endless ironic humor of the universe. + +Lawrence--Lawrence and her husband! She turned wearily back toward the +cabin. + +It was nearly noon when she reached home again, and Lawrence, a worried +look on his face, was standing in the door of the cabin. + +"You beat me back," Claire said, as she approached, and her heart leaped +at the look of relief that came into his face. + +"Claire, you ought to be punished," he said in gay, tender tones. + +"What sentence would you pass, Mr. Judge?" she questioned. + +He stepped out toward her. + +"Perhaps your fate needs a good washing in cold snow," he laughed. + +"Perhaps it does," she said, caressingly. "Do you think you could +administer it?" + +"I know I could." + +He stooped and took up a handful of snow. + +She did the same and said gaily, "Two washed faces seem inevitable." + +Lawrence laughed and caught her around the waist. Her blood tingled, and +her throat hurt as if she would choke. She began to struggle +desperately, frightened at her own emotion. He laughed, and held her +tighter with one arm while he tried to reach her face with the other +hand. She was pressed against him, and they swayed back and forth, while +Philip laughed from the doorway. Her heart was beating trip-hammer blows +against her breast, she gasped for breath, and her eyes closed. His hand +reached her face, and she ducked against his shoulder. + +"Lawrence! Lawrence!" she sobbed. Her voice startled him. Its pleading, +yielding intensity sent his own blood racing. He let her go, and stepped +back quickly while his breath came short. + +"Pardon me, Claire," he muttered, and turned away. + +Claire saw Philip watching them, in his eyes a strange, new glitter. She +rushed past him to the cabin and into her little room. + +It was a silent dinner they ate that day. + +Claire was deeply, bitterly humiliated, and she kept seeing again and +again with exaggerated clearness that look in Philip's eyes when she had +staggered free from Lawrence's arms. It burned in her mind like an +unquenchable coal, and she revolted at it. She was utterly unable to +collect her thoughts. She fancied she could still feel the warm pressure +of Lawrence's body while she suffered untold agony of soul for having +been carried away by his touch. She reproached herself with a scorn that +seared for having ever allowed herself to engage in that silly scuffle. + +She could scarcely bear to sit at the table with Philip, and she did not +once look in his direction. In her heart there was no anger against +Lawrence, only a dull, aching dread, tempered with a longing she did not +attempt to analyze. + +Dominating her thought was the one phrase, "Why need Philip have seen?" + +That look in his eyes--oh, God! would she have to go on day after day +facing those eyes that compelled her in spite of herself? Must she feel +his glances burning through her when her soul was filled with hatred for +him? But was it hatred? Surely his eyes, those lights that made her +marvel, were the windows to a high and noble soul. Yes, he was fine, yet +she wished he was not there, that she had never known him. She asked +herself if she would rather have perished, and she knew she would not. +Better to have lived forever with Philip's eyes piercing into her than +to give up life when Lawrence was with her, needing her, and--she +stopped--loving her, yes, loving her. It was true. She remembered his +voice when he had released her, and thrilled again at the tense note. + +He did love her! And Philip? She felt her heart sink, and then a +strange, subtle warmth came over her. It was good to be loved by two men +so powerful, so worth while, each in his own way. + +Of course, she could never care for Philip. He was beyond her power to +love; besides her heart was filled with Lawrence. But her husband, yes, +she had loved her husband. Her many days of happiness with him proved +that. She could never have lived with him as she had if love had not +been between them. She must remember that, and be true to him. It would +be hard to see Lawrence go out of her life, but it was her duty, she +owed it to herself, to her husband, and to society. + +If she could only get through the remaining months without allowing +Lawrence to hope! She must not give him another opportunity to want her +or to discuss his feelings with her. She would be very, very careful. + +She must plan it as easily for him as possible. The way to accomplish +that was not to be with him. This would necessitate her associating more +with Philip. After all, why shouldn't she? He was good and strong, and +not really in love with her. Of course, he might be, if she allowed it, +but she would stop that. She would show him by word, look, and act that +any such love was inconceivable. He would understand and forget his +earlier feeling, for after all he was not yet alive to the situation. It +was merely circumstances that had brought that look into his eyes. + +Disliking him as she did, it would be hard to associate with him. She +studied this last problem carefully, and at last arrived at a new state +of mind. She did not dislike him, it was merely the natural unconscious +trend of male and female that she hated. He was not to blame, neither +was she, and they were, fortunately, beings with mind and will. They +could use their God-given power to talk it out and face the situation. +Then Philip's natural nobility would make the solution easy. They would +be on a splendid footing of frank understanding; their foresight would +have saved them from a ridiculous and criminal mistake. + +In these mountains she would have found two real friends and a higher +ground of life. After the first painful talk with Philip they would go +out from the cabin, warm comrades, with nothing to regret. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE MAKING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. + + +Silently, Lawrence rose and went to his work-chair. The zeal with which +he began to cut his wood showed more clearly than any of them quite +knew, the turbulent state of his mind. He was carried far into +speculative possibilities that shook him with their power. He was +absolutely in love with Claire, that was undoubted. He knew it, and he +was determined to tell her so. To continue living in this uncertainty, +with the memory of her pressed against him always compelling him to put +out his arms and draw her again to himself, was intolerable. He would +speak, and settle it once for all, nor would he take any compromising +negative as a reply. That tone she had used could indicate but one +thing, she loved him, and whether she knew it or not, whether she wanted +to know it or not, should not matter. He would argue it out with her, +showing her with the inexorable logic back of their whole experience how +she was his, his in spite of her husband, in spite of blindness, in +spite of everything. Without her, life was useless, barren, and dead. He +must have her! + +He carved viciously but accurately, while his mind and body yearned +toward the hour when she would be in his arms, yielding, abandoned, +loving. + +Claire watched him from her place at the table in calmness of mind that, +following her day of tumult, she could not understand. Peace, the peace +that comes when one thinks he has settled something forever, was hers. + +"Philip," she said, "our artist has buried himself in his work. Shall we +go forth on a chance adventure?" + +Lawrence choked back a whirl of jealous suspicion that swept to his +lips, and said from his corner, "Do! I'll have a surprise for your +return." + +He wanted to say, "No, stay here, Claire. I wish to tell you something, +to make you see that I love you, that this Philip is not for you, that +he is outside our real lives," but his tongue refused to obey his will. + +"It sounds inviting," said Philip, rising. "Suppose we do." + +They were gone. + +Lawrence worked savagely, his mind grasping at impossible thoughts which +kept struggling for expression. He was afraid, afraid till it chilled +him, lest, after all, she loved Philip. If her voice had sounded so +intense that noon, it had been because she resented his holding her +while her real lover looked on. + +Meanwhile Claire and Philip tramped through the pines in silence. She +was wondering why she had come. She hesitated before speaking to him as +she had determined. Perhaps he would be hurt at her imagining he could +think of making any advances to a married woman, he would feel that she +had suspected and accused him of a thing of which he was incapable. + +Speech was difficult, so she trudged along, feeling very uncomfortable. +Her heart ached as she saw again the lonely look on Lawrence's face +bending over his work back there in the cabin. + +"The adventure is slow in coming," Philip said, genially. + +"Perhaps we don't know how to find it," she answered, not heeding her +words especially. "To find adventure, one must be awake to +possibilities." + +"True," he mused, looking at her. "So much depends on a man's +experience, knowledge, and imagination." + +"I suppose life itself may set us, even calmly walking here, in the +heart of an adventure." + +"I have no doubt it does," he said. + +Claire looked at him in faint alarm. + +"Why," she stammered, "I didn't imagine it was true when I spoke." + +"To him who has faith, the wildest dreams are always possibilities." + +"Do you believe that, Philip?" + +"I have found it to be quite true. I often dreamed of good company here +in my wilderness and a charming woman about my cabin. It has happened." + +"But even that has its very strong drawbacks, hasn't it?" + +"What, for example?" He looked at her, earnestly. + +"Oh," she hesitated, laughed, and said, "the rapidly depleted food +supply, your time for thought broken, and all the rest." + +"One sometimes finds a relief from thought very agreeable." + +She wanted to laugh at the force with which his words struck her. "I'm +sure that depends on the thought, as Lawrence would say," she answered, +smiling. + +"It does. And there is nothing I would not give to escape from my +present thoughts." His voice was pitched low. + +Her heart failed her, but she said bravely, "Perhaps you need a +confessor, Sir Philip." + +"I do, a gracious one, who can listen well." + +"Then a woman would never serve," Claire laughed. "She would want to +talk, you know." + +Philip stopped, and looked at her. As far as he could see, she was calm, +indifferent, the lady making talk. + +"Perhaps," he said, lightly. "They have that reputation, I know." + +"Now, I"--she laughed--"I, also, need a confessor." + +"You?" His look searched her, incredulously. "What in the name of all +the saints have you to confess?" + +"Oh! Many things. Misunderstandings, social follies, mistakes in +character reading, mean thoughts, lots of things." + +"Absurd!" His tone was amused. "Who of us is not a sinner in those +things?" + +"But suppose," she ventured, hesitant--"suppose I had misjudged you? +Suppose I had suspected you of things you were not at all guilty of?" + +"I should be sorry if you told me of them." + +It was impossible, she thought, to go on. He would indeed be sorry, and +how foolish she had been! But what had he meant a moment before? + +"Is your confession worse?" she asked. + +"I think so. A man is so apt to be a mad fool," he said, and lapsed into +silence. + +They walked some distance before either spoke. Then Claire laughed +suddenly. "Philip," she said, "we all three need a change of scene." + +He turned, and his face was crimson as he looked at her. "It will be +here soon. We can go out in April." + +He had answered her dully, with a heavy sadness in his voice. It was her +golden opportunity; and she took it. + +"Splendid!" she cried--"splendid! I so want to get back to my husband. I +am scarcely able to wait at all." + +"I suppose," he said, "it seems a long time that you have been +separated." + +"Oh, so long," she answered, softly. "And I do so want him." + +He walked on, slowly. "I shall miss you very much." + +Her manner and expression were those of a pleased, frank child when she +answered. "Really, I was so afraid I had been stupid company, and I owe +so much to you. My husband will want to come clear back here to thank +you for your winter's hospitality." + +"It would hardly be worth his while. The debt is more than paid." + +"I shall be sorry--in a way," she went on. "We have become such good +friends, such good comrades with not the least bit of unpleasantness to +remember. I shall always be glad of that." + +"Yes," he said. "I am glad, indeed, that you feel so." + +"If any one had ever told me that I should find so rare a gentleman +here"--she laughed--"I would have thought they were talking medieval +gallantry." + +"Thank you. A gentleman is always himself when a lady is a lady." + +Claire flushed a little, and said nothing. + +"I shall remember you with pleasure and regret," continued Philip, his +head high. + +Her eyes opened wide, like a child's. "Oh, with regret, too?" + +"Yes. Regret that you did not come to my cabin sooner, freer, and to +stay longer." + +"You are a consummate flatterer, Philip," she chided. + +"I suppose it seems artificial; one can scarcely imagine that I should +be in earnest," he said, a little bitterly. + +Her conscience hurt her, though she did not know why. She could have +said those things before and thought nothing of them. Why did she feel +sorry now? + +"I didn't mean that," she said, earnestly. "Believe me, I did not." + +"No," he replied, "you answered out of mere indifference." + +"But I am not indifferent to you, Philip. I like you very much." She was +afraid she had hurt his feelings, and she, herself, was so tense, so +troubled, that she was uncertain of her emotional attitudes these days. +She felt that somehow she had been cruel and very ungracious toward the +man to whom she owed so much. + +"I know," he said, "one is interested, of course, in a novel, foreign +mountaineer." + +She was beginning to feel achy, and tears were near the surface. + +"Philip, why do you misunderstand me?" she cried. "It isn't that at all. +I like you for the man you are." + +He smiled sadly. "And did it ever occur to you that I might love you for +the woman you are?" he said suddenly, his good resolutions all gone. + +She stopped and her breath quickened. Over her rushed a tide of fear, +regret, sorrow. Even then she wondered that it was pity and not anger +which moved her. + +"I do not believe that. How could you?" she said swiftly. + +"You cannot even conceive of my loving you?" + +"I--I can, Philip--it isn't that, I--I"--she was floundering among her +own emotions--"I can under other circumstances, different conditions. +Oh, don't you see--think of"--she had almost said "Lawrence," but +hastily substituted--"my husband." + +"I have thought of him. From the day you came, he has haunted my +footsteps. But after all, he thinks you are dead." + +"But I love him. Think of that, too." + +"Oh, Claire, Claire, I have seen you when I felt perhaps you +might--might learn to love me." + +"Philip, it is impossible!" she cried. "Please don't let's spoil +everything now. I so wanted to be just friends." + +His faced kindled and his deep eyes glowed with a fire that both +terrorized and fascinated her. + +"We cannot be that, Claire." His voice vibrated with growing passion. +They stood, facing each other, and she trembled like a reed in the wind. + +"I saw you this morning in his arms," he was tense and speaking rapidly, +"and I knew then that I loved you. Loved you with all the soul of me. I +could have killed him, I tell you. Claire, Claire, I love you! You must +not deny me love." + +She did not, could not answer, her tongue refused to move, and her dry, +hot mouth felt as if she would smother. She looked into his eyes and +said nothing, while she shook violently. + +"Claire!" he cried. "Claire! I love you!" His arms closed around her +and he held her tightly. His eyes burned into her own with a flame that +was contagious in its intensity. She gasped, trembled, and did not +struggle, though in her mind she was crying, anguished, "Lawrence! +Lawrence!" + +He pressed her more tightly, and his body against her own stirred in her +a passion beyond the control of will. Her eyes lighted warmly and then +closed. She felt suffocated, weak, and her senses reeled. His head bent, +and his lips were pressed fiercely against her own parted ones, stopping +the cry that rose to her throat. He held her fast, keeping his lips +against her own until she felt her strength giving. She half leaned +against him, letting the weight of her body sink into his arms. + +A savage joy sprang into his eyes. She opened her own and saw. Throwing +up her hands wildly, she struck his face, twisted her body free, and +shoving him from her, stood, white, defiant, and determined. + +She was not angry with Philip, only with herself, but the storm of +self-reproach that swept over her burst into bitter, scorching words +against him. + +"You, you coward! You dare to touch me, to take me that way! If I had +only known what sort of a thing you were, you, you viper! Oh, to be here +with you!" + +His dark eyes flashed with sudden rage, and he moved to seize her. She +stood defiantly before him, her white face cold as outraged chastity +itself, and his anger died. Into his face came the dejected, suffering +look of a man whose passion ebbs before the compelling force of a +woman's scorn. + +"Forgive me, Claire," he moaned, "forgive me. I was mad, mad." + +She knew he was sincere, and she smiled sadly. + +"I know, Philip," she said. "I understand, but you must realize that it +is impossible. Won't you see that? It was, perhaps, partly my fault. +Forgive me if it was, and let us be friends. Philip, I want a friend," +she continued. "I need one, a big, strong man whom I can trust, whom I +know to be my loyal friend and my husband's friend." + +He put out his hand, shame and love mingling in his face. + +"I will be that friend, Claire," he said, earnestly. + +She took his hand, her mind breaking with relief. She felt she was going +to cry, and she leaned forward to hide her filling eyes. + +"Oh, Philip, God bless you! You do not know what this means to me! You +will never know. I thank you, I thank you!" + +The tears rushed down her cheeks and dropped upon their clasped hands. + +"Claire, don't, please--please don't," Philip pleaded, anguish in his +tone. + +She stopped, forced back her sobs, and smiled at him. + +"Philip Ortez," she said, "I shall make you glad of this." + +Deep in his heart, the words gave him hope. He grasped at them as a +drowning man at a life-belt, but he did not voice the hope. + +"I want to spend much of my time with you, Philip, in the out-of-doors. +I must do it, and it is such a relief to know that I can do it +without--without fear. You will be just my friend, won't you?" + +"If it is in my power, I will." He spoke as a knight of old, taking a +holy vow, and in his heart was the deep, sacred sense of the spirit that +still moved in his idealistic soul. + +Claire laughed joyously, almost hysterically, with the peace that came +over her at the sound of his words. She was sure that all was well. If +she had known that already he was building on the promise of frequent +days alone, she would have been more afraid than ever. But she did not +know that, neither did she know that in her very promise she was +preparing a more difficult situation for her own struggle with herself +than any she had ever faced in her life. She was only aware of the +crisis passed and the peace that was now hers. + +"Let us go back," she said gaily. + +They found Lawrence smoothing his little carved child with a stone. +Claire was effervescent with joy. Her great plan seemed sure of +success, and she greeted him with a gaiety that was as abnormal as her +despondency had been before. + +"Lawrence," she cried, "we have had such a walk! And here you have +finished for us this beautiful cherub as the symbol of our little home." + +Her words stung him with savage pain, filling him with a great fear born +of love and jealousy. For a minute he did not know what he was doing or +saying, and he was scarcely aware of the words that fell from him. + +"Cherubs are said to be symbols of the greatest love." He laughed +tonelessly. "It belongs to you, Claire. Take it." + +The child was carved standing upon a stump with wings outspread. In the +form and face of the figure there was so much of benevolence, love, and +charity that the imaginative power of this blind artist filled Claire +with awe. She stood reverently before it, her heart singing with pride +in the handiwork of the man she loved. She interpreted his words as a +confession that he had carved it for her as a symbol of his love, and +she was humbled before him, before his work. She wanted to throw herself +in his arms and to tell him with the gift of her unreserved self how +grateful she was for his gift, but she only said, very softly, taking +both his hands: "Thank you, Lawrence." + +The words struck his ear with a strangely mixed power in their sound. He +wanted to laugh at the bitter mockery that swept into him. He had made +the image for love of her, and he presented it to her as a symbol of her +love for Philip. It was cruel, but he could endure it. Oh, yes, he was +accustomed to life's little jokes. He did not answer her thanks, only +gripped her hands in his own capable ones till he hurt her. + +To Philip, the child brought still other suggestions. Moved by his +present feeling of great, chivalrous guardianship of the woman who had +said she needed him, he felt that it was a symbol of the great +sacrificial love which he was privileged to know, and at the same time +he felt that it was a symbol of hope. + + +TO BE CONTINUED 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 XII. + +THE UNHORSING OF A KNIGHT ERRANT. + + +Between men and women who have established what they believe to be an +unemotional friendship there nearly always springs up a relation +franker than any which is otherwise possible. Such was the experience +of Philip and Claire during the days that followed. They took many walks +together, and their conversation grew daily more exclusive and more +personal. + +Lawrence, through ignorance of their situation and jealousy of Philip, +grew daily more dissatisfied. He would hear the intimate ring in their +voices and writhe within. The artist felt keenly that he was being set +aside, and his eager determination to live and be in the front rank of +warring manhood made him determine to win Claire against this man who, +it seemed to him, was taking her from him by mere advantage of sight. He +felt that they were shelving him as a blind man, a very nice fellow, but +quite outside the possibility of any relation with their real lives. He +now thought that Claire was kind to him as one is to those whose +situation makes them objects of pity. + +There were days when he sat alone before the fire in the cabin brooding +until he was filled with savage hatred of Philip. He would think of all +sorts of impossible means of eliminating this Spaniard from Claire's +life; then Philip would come in, talk to him, seem so very normally +friendly as man to man, that his reason mastered his fancies and he +laughed at himself. He ridiculed his own thoughts with an irony that +inwardly grew in bitterness with his growing love for Claire, and he +would end by admitting that Philip was only doing what he himself would +like to do. + +In his fair-minded moments he did not blame his friend. "I should be a +fool to expect him to act differently," he told himself. "In this +struggle for meat and mate which we all wage, he is doing what any one +would do. I who am losing must at least be just to him." He resolved to +be just, and in a little while was again ensnaring himself in his own +notions. "She is throwing herself away upon this Spaniard," he thought, +"while I sit by. If I were not blind, she would see that after all I am +the better man. I put all my power into the carving of that little +statue, and she knows it is good, better than anything he has done or +can do, and yet--she loves him." + +He would rise and walk the floor in his tension, knocking into the +chairs recklessly. His thoughts would gain speed from his bodily +movement, and soon he would rage against the man whose guest he was, +against Claire, against life, fate, and blindness. Then suddenly his +ever self-questioning mind would demand of him, "Why are you doing +nothing, then?" He did nothing because he could do nothing. That was +his answer, no sooner made than contradicted, no sooner contradicted +than to be restated, "I do nothing because I will do nothing." + +Several times he refused to go with them on tramps or skiing trips. When +they were gone he would revile himself for his stubbornness and ache +because Claire could not see that he had refused with a petulant boy's +hope that she would stay with him. "Why should she stay with me?" There +was no reason, he told himself, and again he would be off on a mental +whirlwind that carried him still farther from reason. He became +perpetually sullen, irritable, and discontented. He realized it, thought +that Claire would certainly grow to dislike him if he continued so +disagreeable, and with the thought became even more disagreeable. + +Claire, however, was not growing to dislike him. She avoided him in +pursuance of her settled policy, but she thought of him all the more. + +One morning when she and Philip were out in the pines together, she +observed, casually, "Lawrence doesn't seem to be doing any work these +days." + +Philip glanced at her carelessly. "Yes. I'm very sorry for the poor +fellow." + +His pity angered her a little. Lawrence did not need his sympathy. "I +think he must be feeling badly," she replied. + +"I believe he is moody by nature." + +"Oh, do you? I hadn't thought so," she objected. + +"It is not strange," Philip went on; "he is so limited by his blindness +and so ambitious that the effect is almost sure to be a disgruntled +mind. He cannot hope to overcome his blindness, and he ought to realize +it. I think that is the cause of his odd philosophy. He certainly would +be happier if he could get a more sunlit view of things. He needs +optimism, and he ought to practise it." + +For a moment, Claire was silent. She was not willing to admit that +Lawrence was unable to conquer blindness or even that his beliefs were +altogether wrong. She had more often disagreed with him than not, but +now for some reason she found herself desiring to support his +convictions. + +"I don't agree with you," she answered Philip, a little shortly. + +"Well then, what is my lady's diagnosis?" He had not noticed her curt +reply, for he was thinking of something else and was not really +interested in Lawrence as a topic of conversation. + +Claire was unable to answer; she disliked both his tone and his +expression, but she had nothing to substitute for his explanation. + +They walked on in silence for a few minutes through the trees before she +ventured a little lamely, "I don't know what to say." + +Philip looked up, smilingly. "To say about what, Claire?" Then he +remembered, and continued hastily, "Oh, pardon me. I know, of course. +About Lawrence. If I could suggest anything to do, I would. He is an +interesting friend, but I have nothing to offer. It seems to me that we +can do no more than to let him alone. He will work it out for himself. +If he does not, we cannot help. He would not expect us to do so." + +"That's no reason we shouldn't try," she flashed, "unless, of course, +you quite agree with his argument after all." + +Philip colored slightly and said, "I admit the fault, Claire, but what +can we do?" + +"Couldn't you get him to tell what's the matter?" she asked, groping for +something to say. + +"No more than you could. Perhaps even less easily. You know him better +than I and understand him better." + +She laughed, a little satisfaction warming her at his words. "Sometimes +I think I understand him, sometimes I know I don't. As he himself would +say, it is merely a matter of blind psychology, is it not?" + +"It is not," she answered positively. "It's more a matter of artist +psychology, I think." + +"Perhaps," he admitted; "certainly the combination is difficult." + +"I do wish we could do something for him." + +"He would be better off if he would come out with us, but since he will +not, he will not." Philip's tone showed clearly that he was inclined to +let the matter drop. + +But not so Claire. "You are willing to help me, aren't you, Philip?" + +"Why yes, if there is any way in which I can be of service." + +"We might stay and talk with him more." + +"That is useless, I fear," he said abruptly, his own wishes revolting +against sacrificing his companionship with Claire or against sharing it +with Lawrence. + +"He was unhesitating in his care for me those days we wandered," she +remarked simply. + +"Pardon me again. I forgot for the time that you owed him anything." + +"He doesn't consider that I owe him anything. It's simply that I want +him to be as happy as possible shut up here with us away from his own +kind of life." + +"Oh!" Philip looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you think he could be +happier with other people?" + +"I'm afraid so," she answered, a little regretfully. + +Philip's eyes searched her face. "I should think you could satisfy any +one's need for companionship," he said, quietly. + +"Don't flatter, Philip. That was a very silly speech." + +"Was it? It was not flattery at any rate. It is my feeling about you." + +"Please," she said, stopping, "let's not go into that again." + +"Very well, but why cannot my lady extend her charity? There are other +unfortunates besides Lawrence who have troubles to face." + +"Oh, Philip, you really haven't any troubles. You merely imagine you +have." + +He laughed, a little bitterly. "I suppose a life's happiness is a small +thing." + +"It isn't, Philip," she protested. "But you can get out and tramp and +trap and see things, and, after all, you don't really love me as you +thought you did. We've settled all that." + +"I know we have," he agreed. "That is, you have." + +She looked him over, angrily. "So this is the outcome! I ask you to +think of another person who needs our care, and you disregard him for +your own little troubles!" + +Philip looked down and flushed crimson. "Well, it does seem as if I +were selfish. I am afraid I am. But I do not mean to be. I can talk to +him if you wish." + +"You needn't," she said, angered still more. "It isn't charity I'm +asking you to bestow on him. He doesn't need that, and you ought to know +it." + +She had laid more emphasis than she intended on the word "he," and +Philip's face darkened. + +"I see," he said coldly. "It is I after all to whom you are charitable. +Thank you." + +Tears of vexation came to Claire's eyes. "Oh, I do wish you'd be +reasonable," she said, half angrily, half pleadingly. "Don't you +understand that I am giving you more frank friendship than ever I gave +any man in my life? Isn't that of any value to you? Don't you realize +how unfair you have been to Lawrence?" + +His face grew suddenly white, as he said, "Do you love him, Claire?" + +She did not look away from him. "If I did, would it concern you?" + +He took one step toward her, then stopped. + +"Yes, it would," he answered. + +Her anger almost mastered her, but she controlled herself. + +"Philip, are we two irrational animals going to spoil everything? I had +hoped you might at least allow our companionship to live." + +He looked at her without answering. Finally, he choked, "Don't--don't, +Claire, I have the right to know." + +"If I promise to tell you when there is anything to tell, will you be +satisfied?" She felt no scruple of conscience at her pretense of +indifference to Lawrence, only a sense of protection for him. She did +not know from what she was protecting him, but the feeling gave her a +strange pleasure. + +"I will," Philip returned, simply. + +"And in the mean time will you help me pull him out of his slough of +despond?" she asked, smiling with the old, frank, intimate manner. + +"Surely I will, though I confess I do not see the way." + +"Then shall we go at once and begin our cheering process, my friend?" +she said, as though she were conferring a favor by the use of the word. + +He winced at her immediate application of his promise. + +"Perhaps we would better," he answered sadly, and turned toward the +cabin. + +As she walked by his side she had already dismissed him from her +attention and was busy planning what she might do to make Lawrence +happy. + +When they entered the cabin, Claire looked eagerly about the room. As +she glanced around, her face clouded. Lawrence was gone. His coat and +hat were not on the rack, and the cane which he had carved one day from +a stick which she had brought him from the woods was also missing. + +Claire walked slowly into the room, her mind filled with an +unaccountable apprehension. + +"Why, how abandoned the place seems without Lawrence! Where is he, I +wonder?" She tried to appear casual. + +Philip followed her in and placed a chair for her. His mind, already +touched with the potential jealousy that Claire's talk had begun, leaped +ahead at her words and he felt more than ever doubtful of her attitude +toward Lawrence. Though he quickly dispelled his fear, the thought left +behind, as such things do, the readier soil for a stronger weed to +spring up in. + +"He has gone out for a walk, I suppose. Doubtless, he will be back +soon." His voice was indifferent. "Will you not sit down, Claire? You +stand there looking about you as though you had lost something." + +She was on the point of saying she had, but checked herself, and +accepted the chair. + +"It's so unusual. He never did this before." Claire forced a smile. + +"Well, he will be the better for it; I am glad that he has gone out," +Philip answered. + +"I know, but it is so difficult for him to find his way through the +snow," she said. "He told me it muffles sounds until he is almost +helpless in it. His feet can't feel the ground, and he doesn't know +which way to turn." + +"He cannot possibly go far, and he cannot get lost." Philip's tone was +becoming a little edged. + +"All the same, it worries me to have him out this way." + +Philip started toward the door. + +"Shall I go search for him?" His voice, unknown to himself, was heavy. + +Claire glanced at him quickly. Her intuition told her he was jealous, +and she saw he was angry. She wanted to shout at him, "Go find +Lawrence!" and she was surprised at the sudden panicky nervousness that +seized her. But she rose calmly and crossed to the fireplace, saying as +she sat down, "No, thank you; I think he is able to take care of +himself." + +Philip also seated himself. + +"I think he is," he said. "Certainly he thinks so, and comes near enough +to proving his assertion." + +She was both angry and pleased with his words. + +"I never saw a man less handicapped by misfortune," she remarked. + +"He does do very well." + +"Lawrence seems all capable sense-nerves, and he is so very efficient +with his touch. What a keen appreciation of beauty he has!" + +"I think he does remarkably well." + +"In the hills he used to describe scenes to me, and do it accurately +just from their sound; running water and wind in the trees," she went +on, not noticing Philip's short replies. + +"Yes, that is quite surprising." + +"He certainly has taught me a great deal about blindness." + +"Association with him does do that." + +"Do you know, I believe he is one of the most unusual men I have ever +known." + +Philip rose quickly. + +"Doubtless. He is not the only topic of conversation our friendship +permits, is he, Claire?" + +She looked up at him, and rose immediately, her eyes flashing. + +"I think you are more selfish with your theories of altruism than he +with his egoism." + +Philip looked quietly back at her. + +"Perhaps I am where the woman I love is concerned." + +Claire turned away and walked angrily toward her room. + +"I see you can't maintain a friendship," she exclaimed. + +"Meaning, you cannot." Philip's voice was bitter. + +She turned quickly and looked at him. + +"What do you mean?" she asked him, fearing. + +"I mean that you are unfair. You ask me not to talk of my love, you wish +to talk friendship, while you are forcing me by your every word and act +to think of my own misery." + +Claire stood aghast before him. His words seemed to her to be an +accusation so grossly false that she was stunned beyond anger. + +"I don't understand," she said anxiously. + +"You ought to understand. I love you, I cannot help but love you, fight +it as I will. You say you cannot love me because of your husband. Yet +your talk is not of your husband, but of this blind man. You say you +desire friendship, yet you allow me all that a woman allows her accepted +suitor." + +Claire was appalled. She stared at him in amazement, faltering. + +"Why, Philip, I--what is the matter? I don't do any such thing." + +He laughed. + +"Of course not," he replied. "You look at me with that warm light in +your eyes, because you think I am not human. I am a mere duenna, a +chaperon, perhaps." + +She sank into a chair and covered her face. "I didn't think," she +moaned, and could say no more. A thousand memories of her intimate +treatment of Philip swept through her mind. She had considered him as +one of her own family, without thought, without intent, because she had +believed so strongly in his assurance of friendship. After a pause, she +gathered her thoughts. + +"Philip, I may have done as you say," she spoke slowly, "but it was not +because I was not conscious of your manhood. It was because I thought +you stronger than you are. I believed you could be my friend and not ask +more." + +He stood quietly looking at her where she sat. + +"And what of him?" he asked, steadily. + +"I am worried about him because he is blind, nothing more." She lied, +looking straight into his eyes, then rose and stepped behind the +curtain. + +"Claire," he almost sang. "I am deeply, humbly, a thousand times sorry. +You cannot know how your talk of Lawrence made me wild. I am a fool, I +will admit, but I cannot think of your loving him, blind, selfish, +egoistic, intolerant of other people, I cannot." + +"You needn't," she returned, coldly. Her whole soul was filled with +rage. She was recalling that he had said her eyes were alight when she +looked at him, and she told herself that it was not true. + +"Won't you give me a chance to show myself as I am, Claire? I want to +prove to you that I am not a selfish beast." + +She thought of Lawrence's cynical view of Philip's sentiments, and she +laughed. + +Philip groaned, and then said again, "Aren't you fair enough to do that, +Claire?" + +"And what will you read in my eyes next?" she inquired icily. + +"Whatever is there?" he answered. + +"But your imagination spoils your sight," she returned. + +"Perhaps. I will not deny that I am not myself where you are concerned. +But I ask only for one more trial. And I will do my best." + +Claire was growing more and more worried about Lawrence. What could have +happened to him? + +"Then go and find Lawrence," she said suddenly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY. + + +Claire heard Philip leave the house, and she sat down on her bed to wait +and think. It seemed ages that she sat there, her imagination busy with +a hundred possible calamities. When she finally heard the door open she +was almost afraid to look. + +"Lawrence!" Her voice was full of warm gladness. + +He was hanging his hat in its place. + +"Hello, Claire. Back, are you?" His voice held the impersonal, sullen +note that he used of late. "Where is Philip?" + +"Why, didn't he find you?" + +Lawrence was immediately angry. He thought, "Why should Philip be +hunting for me? I don't need his care. Can't I even go out without a +guardian?" + +"I didn't see him," he returned, aloud. + +"I sent him to find you." She was standing looking at him, her whole +figure expressing love and relief at his return. + +He was too angry to catch the fine warmth of her voice, and his +inability to see handicapped him more at that moment than at any time in +his life. + +"I sent him to find you," she said again. + +"He didn't. I came back as I went, alone." + +"Lawrence, what is the matter with you?" she asked, pleadingly, with +tears in her voice. + +He felt the emotion in her words, and was suddenly contrite. If he had +known it, he was acting like the sentimentalists whom he ridiculed, but +he suffered from the egotist's fate, he did not recognize his own +failing. + +"I don't know that there is anything the matter, Claire. It angered me +to think that you still imagine that because I am blind I need a +guardian," he said, dropping into a chair. + +She came over toward him, impulsively. + +"That isn't the idea at all," she said, still very worried. "It was +simply that you told me yourself that you were helpless in the snow." + +"I didn't ask to be cared for," he snapped. + +"I wasn't caring for you--nor about you," she retorted, in sudden +irritation. "I didn't want you to be lost, that's all." + +"I should think you'd be glad to see me gone." He was a little ashamed +of his own words, but he did not try to remedy the speech. + +"What do you mean?" + +He smiled ironically. "Even a blind man sometimes sees too much of +lovers." + +Claire sank into a chair and struggled against the starting sobs. It +seemed to her that her whole life was becoming one continual argument +wherein she was accused and in return forced to demand explanations. + +"What in the world do you mean?" she faltered. "Are you saying that +Philip and I are lovers?" + +"Aren't you?" + +"Of course not! It isn't like you to say that. And what if we were?" + +"It wouldn't be any of my business, would it?" He was bitter. + +"I suppose not," she said, weakly. + +"You needn't be hesitant about admitting it. It's true," he went on. +"Why shouldn't it be? I am a mere piece of excess baggage which you are +too kind-hearted to eliminate. I know that, too. Why shouldn't you +eliminate me?" He smiled, satirically. "If I were Philip Ortez, loving +you and loved in return, I would feel like killing the blind man, whose +presence hampered." + +She stared at him, wondering if he were in earnest. + +"Then it's fortunate that you haven't the opportunity to feel that way." + +"Obviously." He laughed, sullenly. "I sha'n't, because you couldn't love +a blind man." + +Claire only sat and looked at him, thrilled with the knowledge that he +was about to tell her he loved her. She was trembling and desperately +afraid of herself. She moved uneasily, and against her will; her lips +said, "I could love a blind man, Lawrence." + +He sat up and clenched his hands together quickly. The tone of her voice +in itself was a direct confession. But his deep skepticism of blindness +would not let him believe that he was right. + +"Do you mean that you do love me?" he demanded. + +She wanted to say "Yes," but she thought of Philip and was afraid of +what he might do, should he learn of her lie. Then, too, there was her +resolution to go back to Howard. Strange that her long-planned friendly +explanation of her own attitude did not occur to her, but it did not. + +Lawrence rose and came toward her, his hands out. He was determined to +know, once and for all. The gathering emotion in his breast was growing +into an unbearable pain. + +"Claire," he said, coming nearer and nearer. "Could you love me?" + +His hands were almost to her. She saw them coming; terror, love, +happiness, anguish, and the desire to be his paralyzed her will. She did +not move. + +"Yes," she whispered, "I could." + +He put his arms around her and lifted her until she was crushed against +him. + +"Do you love me, Claire?" he asked, tensely. + +She did not answer, but her head sank against his shoulder. + +Outside the cabin, she heard Philip's step in the snow. + +"No!" she cried frantically, filled with dread. "No, no! Let me go!" + +Lawrence, too, heard, and released her, stepping back indifferently, as +though just going toward a chair. + +The door opened, and Philip entered. + +"Oh, you're back, I see." The artist was coldly cordial in his greeting. + +"And I see you, which is more important," Philip laughed. + +"I suppose so." Lawrence sat down, thoughtfully. "Claire has just +scolded me for going out. She doesn't like to have me add to the bother +I am already." + +Claire was still under the spell of her own emotion, and she resented +Lawrence's sang-froid. He was as cold as a block of stone. Her heart +cried out against him because he could not see why she had said "No" to +him, because he believed her! She wanted to cry, but did not dare. + +"I told him we were worried," she said, indifferently. + +"So we were." Philip was cheerful and friendly. + +Lawrence buried himself from them both, and sat brooding, clothed in the +blackness that blindness brought when it suddenly loomed before him as +the wall between him and his life's desires. The brief instant Claire +had been in his arms had made him feel that his life was intolerable +without her, and that blindness was the curse of a double living death. +She had told him that she did not love him. She had struggled to be +free. + +Lawrence failed to read Claire aright because he had not seen her, and +because his blindness made him uncertain of himself. + +That was the truth of it all, the awful truth of his life. + +He was always uncertain of himself because he was afraid of blindness. +He strutted, boasted, lied, and above all pretended to himself that he +believed his hard philosophy because he was afraid, afraid of failing to +do the things he wanted to do. He saw himself clearly now, he was a +coward, a deceiving ape, a monkey caught in the terror of tangling +roots, and denying it. He barked like a frightened dog, at the thing +that was his master. He was gripped by life, tortured by life, denied +death by life, and cheated by life of living. His imagination, fired by +his passion, leaped into play, and he felt himself a thousand times a +slave, a chained prisoner in the hand of circumstance. + +Philip was laughing gaily, and talking to Claire, who listened, +answered, and was all the while lost in her own thought. When he had +entered, Philip had looked quickly at the two to see if there was aught +between them, and had found Lawrence colder, more despondent than ever. +He told himself that Lawrence had evidently pleaded with Claire for her +love and been denied. At least, this blind man had not been successful, +and Philip could afford to be good-humored. The more agreeable he was, +the more Claire would turn to him from that dark, ungracious form +yonder. His would be the victory of pleasant manners. Therefore he +talked, gladly, smilingly, while Claire listened, or seemed to listen. + +She was rebellious at the fear which had made her cry "No" to Lawrence, +and at the same time glad that she had done so, afraid of the future, +exasperated with Philip for coming in at the supreme moment, and angry +with Lawrence for his stupidity. + +Perhaps these tangled relations might have been cleared had it not been +for a piece of folly more stupendous than any they had yet experienced. +This event occurred the day after Lawrence's walk in the snow. + +Philip had stepped out for a few minutes to look at a near-by trap, and +Claire and the artist were left alone for the first time since her +denial. She wanted him to renew his suit, feared that he would, and sat +waiting for him to speak. + +But he remained silent, and at last she said, "Lawrence." + +"Well?" He did not move. + +The psychology of woman has been too often commented upon and attempted +by those who thought they could explain. Why Claire was doing and saying +what she did, she herself could not tell. + +"Lawrence, don't you ever, ever act as you did yesterday again." + +He smiled. "It would be dangerous if your gallant should come in less +slowly." He was filled with a desire to hurt her. + +Claire was angry with him for saying what was so utterly far from her +mind and so different from what she wanted him to say. + +"If my gallant should come in," she thrust coldly, "he would scarcely +appreciate the melodrama you are playing." + +Lawrence sat up with a jerk, his rage near the boiling point. + +"What do you mean?" he demanded. "I have not interfered with your +delightful episode, have I?" + +"No, and you couldn't. I mean that my husband--he is my lover--for I +know that is what you intend by 'gallant'--would scarcely appreciate the +type of man who mopes and abuses the woman who does not care to lie in +his arms." + +Lawrence sat still, while a fierce, uncontrollable rage consumed him. He +felt that to take this woman and whip her into submission would be a +pleasure. He thought of the lash he had in his studio at home and wished +it were in his hand. With the thought he rose and stepped swiftly toward +Claire, his teeth set. + +She saw him, and rose. + +"I have one way of showing you who is master," he began, and stopped. + +She had stepped forward and was standing almost against him. + +"Even blindness does not allow you the freedom to threaten." + +He shrank back and dropped once more into his chair. + +Claire was talking rapidly, savagely. Later she was to be thrown into a +despairing self-hate that kept her many a night in tears, but now she +went on. + +"Do you think I will overlook everything in you because I pity you? +There have been times when your impositions, so carelessly thrust upon +me, because you were selfish, because you knew I must accept them from +you, were almost unbearable. The touch of your thief-trained hands to +steal from everything its beauty and self-respect has galled me beyond +all endurance. My body has received its last vile grasp from you." + +She stopped, appalled at his expression. She did not know, neither of +them knew, that love, the ever-changing impulse of creation within men +and women, speaks its desire through bitter scorn and abuse, when softer +words are too slow in finding their way. + +He was sitting there, white, anguished, cowering under her tongue, his +whole life shaken. Her words made him feel that the thing she said was +true. He had always feared it, realizing that in a measure it was +inevitable, and his great strength was now turned against himself, +against his bitter handicap, and he was in that tremendous upheaval that +requires a rebuilding of one's faith. His belief in himself was broken. +His belief in his power was gone. Coming after weeks of thought and fear +about blindness, Claire's words tore him asunder and made him feel that +there was nothing for him but abject misery and dependence upon charity. + +Instinctively, his hand went up as if to shield him from a blow, and he +murmured, "For God's sake, Claire!" + +There was to come a time, later, when experience would have taught him +that there is a wild strain in the nature of human hearts which abuses +out of a desire to be conquered. He did not yet realize that he had +spoken truly when he said that this woman had hidden in her the savage +warring sexed tumult of all the struggling ages. + +She saw him there, his hand up, and suddenly her emotion changed. It was +love, still love crying out for expression, but now she was all +compassion, tenderness, and fear. She read in his face what she had +done, and her heart was gray with the pain at her own failure. + +Now all love for her was buried, perhaps dead, under his shattered +selfhood, slain in the wrecking earthquake that she had brought to pass +with the ardor of her passion. She had meant to sting him into taking +her in his arms and forcing her to love him, and instead--"Oh, God!" she +whispered, and slipped behind the curtain to throw herself on her bed +and weep with heart wrung by self-condemnation and loving pity for the +man whom she had clubbed with his own dread weakness. She had shattered +into chaos the strong soul of the man she loved, with the only weapon he +would have felt, and she realized now that it was her love, her desire +to be his, to be his utterly, that had led her to do it. + +Lawrence was too hurt to move. His mind repeated again and again the +words she had spoken. He kept saying to himself: "Blindness has made me +that, an egotist beggar." He did not reproach Claire. She had swept him +too far from his habitual moorings for that. There was no rebellion +against her, none, indeed, against life. Over him rolled wave after wave +of self-contempt, distrust, and anguish that shook him with an agony +that only the assured man knows when the one he loves most of all on +earth strikes dead his faith in himself. He thought of a multitude of +things that stabbed anew, but not once did he move in the interminable +period that passed before Philip returned. + +When he did come, the Spaniard was amazed at the crouching, white-faced +man whom he found before a dying fire. There was something so sad in the +blind face that Philip felt no suspicion and no anger. He looked for +Claire, but she was not visible. He stirred the fire and set about +preparing supper while his mind began digging at the problem which he +saw in the attitude of the man there in the chair. Claire did not come +out to help. She was too exhausted from the storm that had swept over +her. In her bed she could hardly smother the scream that kept rising to +her lips. She wanted to spring up and cry aloud to Lawrence for +forgiveness. She was scarcely aware of Philip as he moved about. + +She could have thrown herself at Lawrence's feet and pleaded with him. +She was discovering that her whole wild outbreak was a strange +expression of her physical desire for this man whom she loved, and the +discovery made her as self-detesting as she had been violent in her +outbreak. It seemed to her that there was nothing, nothing she would not +do to make amends to Lawrence for what she had said. She wanted to tell +him what it had been that prompted her, but she dared not lest in +revulsion at her viciousness he turn on her and kill her. + +"God, God," she muttered, "what have I done!" + +Philip was calling her to supper. She steadied her voice, and said +humbly: "I can't come out. I'm not feeling very well. Go on without me, +please." + +She heard him speak to Lawrence, and she strained her ears to catch the +answering movement toward the table, but there was none. At last Philip +spoke again in a voice that was full of anxiety: "Lawrence, what in +God's name has happened?" + +Lawrence was moving now, and she waited with bated breath for his +answer. He walked to the table and sat down. His voice was heavy. "I've +found myself out, Philip. That's all. I know what I am." + +There was a moment of silence. Claire covered her mouth with her hand to +suppress a cry. She wanted to shout: "No, no, no, not that, but what I +am, my beloved, my adored one." + +"What do you mean?" Philip's voice seemed stern. + +"I mean that I am indebted to you and Claire for the truth I needed." + +Behind the curtain Claire turned on her face and burst into sobs. + +Philip arose abruptly. "Lawrence," he said quietly, "I do not know what +has happened to you this afternoon; I do not know what you mean; but +this I do know: I am deeply sorry if anything I have done or said has +made you feel that you are an unwelcome guest in my home." + +Lawrence stood up and gathered his scattered senses. + +"Philip, I beg your pardon, old man. It isn't that at all. The truth +is"--and his voice broke--"I have lied to myself and to the world these +many years. Much of it hasn't been my fault, but I must pay the price +just the same. I am blind. That has led me to a sort of clamorous egoism +which carried me on and on until I came to feel that I was really doing +something. At last, I know that I am a narrow human parasite, worthless, +utterly worthless. A blind, clinging, grasping, vagrant beast, fed upon +the mercy of too kind-hearted humanity. I am sorry. It isn't my fault, +but it is so." + +Philip stood for a few minutes in silence. "You're ill, Lawrence," he +said finally. "Get back to yourself if you can. Things do not stay at +this point in human abasement. I know of what I speak. I have been +through that myself. I cannot say anything comforting. No one can." + +They went to bed with but a few commonplace remarks, and the cabin +became silent. Lawrence lay awake through that night. Claire, unknown to +him, spent her vigil in a great readjustment of her life. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +PHILIP TO THE RESCUE. + + +It is always the little things in human relations that have the most +far-reaching results. Claire might have avoided much trouble with a few +well-chosen words to Lawrence, but her own mental state prevented her +from speaking. + +On his part, Lawrence was so shaken by her outburst that his love for +her was driven deep into his subconscious self, and for the time it lay +there dormant. After the sudden volcanic upheaval of his entire +universe, he was utterly absorbed in the immediate task of +reconstructing his faith in himself. The primitive stages of his +thinking did not allow for any relation between himself and the woman +who had released the dam of self-abasement. She was unavoidably at hand, +reminding him of her speech, and that alone delayed what otherwise would +have been an unconscious process. + +Claire was not able to forget the intense desire which, she now +realized, had prompted her terrible diatribe. Humiliation held her in +its throes, and she was reserved, distant, and unnatural toward him. + +Philip saw it all, and his mind was filled with conjectures which made +him less and less charitable toward Lawrence, more jealous, and more +hopeful of a happy issue of his love for Claire. She turned to him +eagerly for companionship. Instinctively she sought refuge from her own +thoughts--and from Lawrence--by talking to Philip. + +The morning after the incident between Lawrence and Claire there had +been an austere reserve in the cabin. Claire had fled from the +oppressive gloom into the open. Outside Philip joined her, and they +walked together in silence. He was determined not to ask Claire what had +happened, although he was extending her a silent sympathy which she felt +and a little resented. + +Lawrence, left alone in the cabin, gave small heed to their departure. +He had risen with a frightful headache and a fever. He lay on the bed +and thought of his situation, his past life, and his future chances, in +bitter, heartrending, self-condemnatory sarcasm which made his condition +even less tolerable than it would have been otherwise. + +"I am a miserable groveler at the feet of humanity," he thought, +"clutching at shrinking shoestrings for a piece of bread in pity's name. +If I could see, God, if I only could!" + +He thought of all the little things which his blindness made it +absolutely necessary for others to do for him, and his excited mind +magnified them into colossal proportions. If his landlady in New York +had removed a spot from his clothes, as she had often done, that was a +proof of his despised state. He fell to imagining that he was unkempt, +dirty, disgustingly unclean, and that people had tolerated it because +they had pitied him. At last, with a cry of anguish, he thought: "And my +work, too, it is a botched mess which they are amused at and do not dare +to tell me the truth about. It, too, is a jest that the world is having +at my expense." He remembered praise and prizes that he had won in +contests with other students, and he was too excited to see the folly of +his answer: "That was charity, the award of kindness to me. I know now +what they thought--that for a blind man the thing was nearly enough +correct to be interesting and quite amusing." + +His body felt hot, and he went outside to prowl about in the wind and +snow, like a despairing beast. His mind kept up its terrible work, and +he did not notice the continual drop in temperature. Round and round the +cabin he walked, instead of going into the forest, as he would have done +the day before. In his mind was a sudden doubt of his own ability, and +he said that Claire had been right to keep him in. She was more aware of +his pitiable weakness than he. At last, however, from sheer weariness he +went inside. He was chilled through, but instead of rebuilding the fire +and warming himself, he rolled up in a blanket and lay on the bed, +chilling and burning by turns. + +In the mean time Claire and Philip were discussing the man in the cabin. +Philip had finally broken the silence by saying: "Claire, you needn't +feel so about whatever has happened. Remember he is blind and must be +treated less critically than other men." + +She knew that that was just what had made Lawrence so deadly white when +she had spoken, and it filled her with sickening pain. She answered +unsteadily: "That isn't true. It isn't Lawrence, anyway, it's myself who +should be condemned." + +Philip was thoughtful. "It is like you to take the blame on yourself. +You are so kind-hearted that way." + +In her present state, his words seemed like a reproach. "Philip, don't," +she said sadly. "I know better than that." + +He persisted. "No, you do not. You are too sympathetic, and you let your +heart get the better of you." + +"I wish you wouldn't talk that way," she repeated. "You wouldn't, if you +knew the truth." + +"Of course, I do not know what happened," he said, "but I do know +you--even better than you know yourself." + +"Do you know what I've done?" + +"No, and I do not care. It was right, I am sure. The queen can do no +wrong." He was intensely serious. + +"Isn't there any common sense left in you, Philip?" she railed. "Have +you gone clear back into medieval nonsense in your feeling toward me? I +tell you, you are indulging in foolishness." + +"Am I?" He smiled. "Well, if that is the best I have to give--" + +"I don't want you to give me anything." + +"But I cannot help it, neither can you." + +"I have killed a man's love before this," she answered bitterly. + +"But you cannot kill mine. I love you, whether you love me or not. I am +proud to acknowledge my unreturned love." + +"As you please." Claire stopped suddenly. "Are we apt to get anywhere +with this subject?" she asked ironically. + +"I don't know. I earnestly hope so." + +She looked at Philip thoughtfully. Perhaps the truth about her own +weakness might cure him. + +"Suppose I allowed you to love me, and you found that you had won a +woman whose passions were her whole life. Suppose she should prove to be +a mere bundle of sex, all polished over with other people's ideas, a +social manner, and a set of morals which she did not really feel, which +were deceiving ornaments hiding her soul. What would you think of your +prize?" + +"I should not love such a woman. I could not." + +"But suppose you were deceived and thought her other than she was." + +"I hardly expect such a thing to happen. Why suppose?" + +"Because if I were your wife you might find it to be true." + +Philip laughed aloud. "Claire, how preposterous! Are you trying to kill +my love for you with such terrifying pictures of depravity?" + +"I wasn't trying to do anything. I just wanted to know." + +"Have you been answered?" + +"Yes, you are like all of your type; you are in love with what your own +desire chooses as an ideal, and then you shout, 'Behold, I am not a +sensual lover!'" + +He stared at her in amazement. "What sort of a thing do you think I am?" + +She laughed carelessly. "A man. And what do you think I am?" + +"A very strange woman, but a dear one," he said earnestly. + +"Why strange, Philip?" + +"Because you talk of love as Lawrence might." + +She winced. "He would know," she said. "He does know, perhaps." She was +talking to herself, and her voice was pathetic. + +Philip's eyes grew fierce with anger. "What do you mean?" + +"Not what your very ideal mind thinks," she said coldly. + +He flamed scarlet, and looked away. "Claire," he said softly, "will you +never have done stirring up suspicions no man could avoid, and then +condemning them?" + +"I didn't stir them up," she mocked. + +"Who did, then?" + +Claire was undergoing a developing reconstruction, but that she did not +know. She thought she was degenerating, and the immediate result was to +make her careless and ironical. + +"Oh, the devil, perhaps," she hazarded. + +"What are you, Claire?" Philip demanded hoarsely. + +Suddenly her suffering broke into tears. To his utter amazement, she +began to cry unrestrainedly. + +Over and over she sobbed: "I don't know, I don't know." + +For a moment Philip stood motionless, bewildered, then his love and +natural tenderness swept over him, and he said tenderly, "Don't, Claire, +please." + +She only cried harder, weakened the more by his pity. He took her in his +arms as he would a child, and comforted her. She was tempted to +struggle, but her need for sympathy prevailed, and she did not resist +him. He held her in his arms, pouring out his love, his anxiety, his +tenderness, and in her momentary condition she listened and made no +protest. In her aching mind she kept repeating, "I have killed +Lawrence's love with my bestial talk"--and she wanted love. She did not +think of her husband. He was too far away. In her present attitude she +exalted Lawrence to the unattainable, and, without formulating the +thought, she was willing to lie in Philip's arms and take what he could +give. They were two of a kind, she thought scornfully. In her +bitterness, the bleak, snow-covered land, with its drooping pines, +seemed in its cold monotony a fitting background for two such worthless +derelicts. + +In the Spaniard's mind was but one thought--to comfort Claire and +restore her to her usual self. Vaguely he knew that love was already +promised by the unresisting body in his arms, but there was no thought +of immediately pressing his suit. He petted and talked until she stopped +crying, then he stood her on her feet, and said, with a tender laughter +in his words: "There, you are all right again. We would better go in. +You are cold." + +Silently she walked beside him back to the cabin. She was indifferent, +she thought, as to whether he did or did not continue his appeals for +love. She was under her own deep, unexplained, emotional control which +led her forward. She was finding herself, but before she would be safe +she would have to throw off a mass of traditional views, beliefs, and +teachings. If Philip chose to press his suit while her knowledge of +herself still seemed vile and abnormal, she would be surely his. Claire +thought herself lost. She had revealed her terrible state to Lawrence, +killed his love, filled him with abhorrence, and struck at his life's +source. + +With silent turmoil in her brain she entered the cabin beside Philip. +When she saw Lawrence, a sharp pain went through her. He was white as +death save for the red spots that marked his fever. She took off her +coat and snow-cap hurriedly. + +"Lawrence," she said softly, going toward him. + +He lifted his head slightly. + +"What is it, Claire?" + +"I want to do something for you. You're ill." + +His face clouded. "No, thanks," he said. "You've done too much for me +already." + +"Won't you do anything for yourself?" she begged. + +"I'll be all right. It's just a cold, I guess." + +Philip came and stood looking down at Lawrence scrutinizingly, while +Claire went to the fire and heated water. + +"I am going to fill you up with quinin," he announced. "It is never +missing from my medicine-chest." + +"All right," Lawrence laughed. "It isn't bitter compared to what I'm +filling myself with." + +"Are you not making a fool of yourself?" Philip asked plainly. + +"Yes. I know it. That doesn't keep me from doing it, though." + +Claire turned and looked at them, her eyes sternly reproachful toward +Philip. + +"One can't help thinking," she said. "I can't." + +"I shouldn't want you to," Lawrence returned. "Indeed, I'm grateful to +you for making me think, too." + +"She started you off, did she?" Philip smiled. + +Lawrence did not answer, and Philip sat down by the fire where he could +watch Claire as she worked. + +After a time Lawrence said thoughtfully: "If one could establish some +sort of a relation between himself and the ultimate first cause of all +this blind snowstorm we call life, things might get shaped with some +measure for perspectives." + +"Yes," Philip assented. "I manage to establish one, though I confess it +isn't clearly logical." + +"What is it?" Lawrence asked. + +"Simply having faith; hope, if you prefer it." + +"But faith in what, and what do you base it on?" + +"Oh, on my experience." + +"I wonder if we really matter at all to the rest of the scheme," Claire +voiced. + +"I am inclined to think not," replied Lawrence. "We matter only to +ourselves, and what we can do with the universe around us." + +"We matter to God, I think," said Philip. "I don't mean in the old +accepted sense; but we must matter to Him in some way, perhaps as your +statue here matters to you." + +Lawrence chuckled weakly. "It mattered tremendously when I was doing +it. Now it doesn't in the least matter. I shouldn't care if you burned +it as firewood." + +"But you must care," Claire protested, feeling that he was losing +interest in his work because of her. + +"I don't see why. I haven't any real assurance as to its value. It may +be good, more likely it isn't; in any case, I have turned it loose to +shift for itself. It can survive or not; its doing so is immaterial. +Perhaps as immaterial as my existence is to the Great Artist who +conceived the botched job called me." + +"But, Lawrence, why insist that you don't matter to Him?" + +"Oh, because I am scarcely aware of Him at all; indeed, I am not aware +of Him, and I am sure He isn't aware of me." + +"You have not any way to prove that," declared Philip. + +"True, except that I can imaginatively comprehend the size of time and +space, and all that is therein. I know my own size, and I can readily +imagine that the creator of the whole is no more aware of me than I am, +say, of a small worm that may be in the heart of my cherub there." + +"We do seem pretty small in the face of the stars," said Claire. + +"Yes, and so impossible," added Lawrence. "I didn't realize until to-day +how utterly impossible I really am." + +"But, impossible or not, here you are," Philip laughed. + +"Yes, here I am and there I may be, but in either place I am not +especially possible. You are; you can go out and make a definite, +independent impression on life; that makes you possible in that you are +forcing recognition of power and capability. I can't do that. The +impression I make is one of incapability. For myself I am impossible, +and for others more so." + +"Which has nothing to do with God," said Philip, in his tone a touch of +distaste. + +Lawrence recognized it and became silent. + +Claire made him take the quinin and heated bricks for his feet. Philip +went out to cut wood for the fire, leaving her alone with the sick man. +She was so full of her own wickedness, as she conceived it, that she +dared not tell him her thoughts. She wanted to explain that she loved +him, that she had loved him all along, but she could not. She looked at +him, and felt sure that he had now no love for her. + +Lawrence was trying to follow out in his mind a searching inquiry as to +his relation to life. "If I could only establish that," he thought, "I +could get myself straight and there would be something to start from. If +I knew which way to move!" But he was unable to do any coherent +thinking. His head ached, his lips burned with fever, and his body kept +him busy with the sensation of pain. It seemed to him that illness made +his state more detestable, but it also offered him a chance of escape +from the whole drab business. He was quite sure that he wanted to +escape, and he would not have believed it if any one had told him that +he would resist death to the uttermost; yet deep within him was that +will to live which had made him the creative artist. It was working, +unknown to him, now, toward the reconstruction he so needed. + +He turned restlessly, and muttered something about his foolishness. +Claire came and sat beside him silently. She was wondering what would +happen if she should tell him of her discovery of herself. + +"Claire!" Lawrence spoke. "Is it possible for any one to get his life +platform built so that it will stand without that first great plank?" + +"What plank?" + +"God." + +"I don't know." + +"It seems to me that you couldn't have shaken me so yesterday if I had +been built up right." + +"Lawrence," she said piteously, "I didn't mean to do that, to say that." + +He waved her words aside. "Never mind, Claire, it did me good. I was not +realizing, quite, just what I was. I'm finding it out, and when I get +right I'll be all the better for it." + +"But you don't know why I did it." + +"Yes, I do, but it doesn't matter, anyway. What was behind your words +doesn't count so long as you told the truth." + +"But it does count, and I didn't tell the truth." + +"I'm afraid you did. Please don't try to cover it with kind fibs now." + +"I sha'n't, but you don't understand." + +"Well, Claire, it doesn't matter, as I said. What is it to me what you +do or don't do, so long as you bring me face to face with more truth?" + +She thought he was telling her that he cared nothing for her. She did +not blame him, yet there was a tiny streak of pride that said, "At least +Philip finds me worth while." + +"It is simply my own salvation that is involved," Lawrence went on. + +"Well, I hope you find it," she said simply. + +"I must find it to live," he answered. + +"And how do you propose to find it?" + +"I don't know. I wish I did." + +"You might find it, as you once said, in creative work." + +"No, that isn't a salvation. I must have a platform from which to work. +Don't you see that, Claire?" + +"I don't understand anything about it." + +"Pardon me, I didn't intend to force this upon you." + +"That isn't what I mean, Lawrence." Her eyes were moist. "What I meant +was that you live above me entirely." + +"Nonsense," he said wrathfully. "You talk like a silly girl, Claire." + +"Do I? Well, I am perhaps less worth while than you think." + +"Oh, I guess not," he returned carelessly. + +She covered her face with her hands. + +"I know you are worth all that I think you are," he continued. "But I am +afraid that just now I am too interested in my own salvation to think of +you at all correctly." + +"Yes," she observed wearily. + +She was thinking of Philip as he had comforted her that morning, and his +tenderness, compared to this cold statement from Lawrence, seemed +attractive beyond measure. She admitted that all hope of Lawrence's +loving her was dead, and she said to herself: "It is what I wanted. I +can go back to my husband." But she did not want to go back to Howard. +She received this discovery calmly. She would never go back. But why +shouldn't she? She could not tell for certain. She thought it was +because she had found herself unworthy, but deep within her was the +knowledge that she no longer loved him. It would be useless to go back +to him in any event. He could never be the same to her after hearing of +her long months with this blind man in the wilderness. + +What months they had been! She thought them over, day by day, and she +saw what might have been a great joy sink, after a glimpse, into utter +darkness. Before her she saw the endless gray years beside Philip. Yes, +she would stay with him. At least he loved her, and she could help him. +If she did not love him, what of it? She would be an able wife to him. +She could keep him from ever knowing that her heart was away with +Lawrence, who would be back in the world at home and have forgotten her. + +"Claire!" Lawrence was speaking. "We have certainly reaped a strange +harvest from our months of sowing in the wilderness." + +"Yes." + +"Whatever brought it about?" + +"I don't know." + +"Perhaps it was fate, that you should teach me where I stand in life." + +"Perhaps." + +"And perhaps you, too, will find that I have been of some value when we +are separated." + +"It may be." + +"I wish things might have gone differently." + +"They didn't." + +"No, and they can't. Well, let them be as they are." + +"I guess we'll have to, Lawrence." + +A few minutes later, when she looked at him, he was asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +UTTER EXHAUSTION. + + +Claire rose and slipped quietly to her own bed. All the aching pain of +her proposed future came over her with its dirty sordidness. She could +never stand it, she thought, and clenched her teeth. Well, it was not +necessary. When Lawrence was gone, there was the lake. That would be her +way out of it all. No one need ever know. The thought of death seemed +very sweet to her. + +Philip came in, saw Lawrence asleep, and stole across the room to peep +in at her. She met his glance. + +"I beg your pardon," he murmured. + +"Never mind," she answered dully. "Come in if you like." + +He hesitated, then stepped through, and let the curtain fall behind him. + +"May I sit here?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. + +"Why not?" Her voice was colorless. "Only please speak softly. Don't +wake Lawrence." + +"He'll feel better after his sleep, I think." + +"I hope so." + +He sat looking down into her dark, clouded eyes. There was something so +tragic, so sad, and so submissive in them that he was filled with utter +tenderness. + +"Claire," he whispered, "what is the matter?" + +"Nothing. I'm quite well." + +"You look absolutely desolate." + +"I don't especially feel so." + +"Are you happy?" + +"I don't know." + +He stooped over her, studying her face. She did not move, only her deep, +dark eyes looked up coldly into his. He took the hand which she did not +draw away, and whispered: "Claire, let me make you happy." + +She did not answer. He bent nearer. Her eyes did not shift from his, she +saw that he was going to kiss her, but she did not move. If the whole +world had come crashing down upon her, she could not have made the +slightest effort to escape. + +He pressed his lips against hers. She did not return his kiss, but she +did not protest. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her up. +Still she made no objection. He held her more closely, kissing her again +and again. She remained impassive, unable to summon sufficient willpower +to resist. Besides, had she not decided to be this man's wife? + +He was pouring into her ears short, whispered words of endearment, +giving his love free rein. + +"Claire--Claire," he whispered passionately, "you do love me! Say you +love me!" + +"Oh, must I say that?" she asked languidly. + +He laid her head back on the pillow tenderly. + +"Why shouldn't you?" he demanded. "You do, or you wouldn't let me act +this way. Oh, Claire, isn't that true?" + +"Doesn't your own heart tell you, Philip?" She could not lie easily. + +"Yes, of course. I just wanted to hear you say it, dear." + +"Why?" + +"Because--because it means so much to me." + +"How does it mean any more than my unresisting lips?" She wanted to be +fair to Philip. Would he want a wife without love? + +He looked at her, puzzled by her calm question. + +"Because, dear, it would mean that you put your seal on our divine +betrothal." + +"I gave you my lips, you held me in your arms, doesn't that mean love to +you?" + +"Claire, why do you talk that way?" + +"Why shouldn't I? Isn't it true?" + +"Yes, but you--you seem so unlike the woman you are." + +"Oh, I see. But you haven't told me fully why you wanted me to say I +loved you." + +He stood up nervously and moved a few paces away, but the patient, +self-reproachful gaze in Claire's eyes brought him back again. + +"Why talk of that at all, dearest?" he whispered. "We have each other. +Isn't that enough?" + +"Perhaps not. You asked me to say it, you know." + +"Yes, but I don't care. I won't plague you. I know you do love, me." He +kissed her again and then looked at her. Her lips had been cold. + +"What is the matter, Claire? Don't you love me? Is that why you wouldn't +give me your word?" + +It was coming at last. How could she make Philip see, and yet be fair to +him, too? + +"I don't know what you mean by love." Her voice was carefully toneless. + +Philip's eyes lighted. "Don't you want me here beside you? Don't you +warm to my kisses? Isn't there an awakened tenderness in you at my +touch? Isn't there, dearest?" + +Claire's hands moved nervously up and down the edge of the comforter. +"If I should stay here with you, that would be the highest proof that I +loved you, wouldn't it?" + +"What else?" He looked at her, hope giving his face a renewed glow. + +Was that all that love meant to him? "Is that what your years of thought +have taught you?" she said aloud. + +"Why, yes, Claire, the return of passion for passion, of warmth for +warmth, of tenderness for tenderness, must be the last test, mustn't +it?" + +Despite her resolution her eyes narrowed ironically. + +Philip started, and stared at her. + +"Would you ever be jealous of my husband?" she asked, slowly. + +His head dropped. "No--and yes. Of course, I wish he hadn't been your +husband, but we can't help what fate has decreed." He raised his eyes, +and then suddenly he smiled. "Claire, is it because of him that you are +unwilling to tell me you love me?" he asked softly. "I think I can +understand. You'll have to be freed from him in some way, and we must be +married, of course." + +"I am free from him. To him, I am dead. Isn't that enough?" + +"Yes," he answered judiciously, "if your own conscience is satisfied." + +She smiled a little, her eyebrows lifting in amusement. "Oh, my own +conscience dictates my every act, Philip." + +"I know it does," he agreed, earnestly. "But your lips were cold to my +kiss." He bent over to test the truth of his remark. + +"Do you forget Lawrence so easily?" Claire raised a hand over her face. +"Certainly I cannot." + +"I beg your pardon," Philip said, rising hastily. "Of course he is to +be remembered. We will wait until we are alone to talk of our future." + +"Yes," she said. "I should prefer that greatly." + +He touched his lips to her forehead tenderly, then stepped silently into +the room beyond. + +She heard him as he moved quietly to replenish the fire, and it seemed +to her that he made enough noise to echo from the mountains across the +lake. She must think her situation through. She was studying the look +she had read on Philip's face, and was angry with herself, yet she could +not help thinking of it and its meaning. Suddenly she remembered the +same expression on her husband's face, and she shuddered. She had +thought it beautiful then, why not now? And why should she be so +contemptuous when probably the same look had been in her own eyes when +she had raged at Lawrence because he had not taken her in his arms. +Philip was sitting out there beyond the curtain dreaming ecstatically of +the days when they would be alone in the cabin, and she smiled +ironically. After all, there was but one way out. He would find little +comfort in her ghost, and her drowned body would scarcely fire him to +passion. + +She rose and slipped out into the room. Lawrence was still asleep. She +did not even glance toward Philip because she foresaw his look of +proprietorship. She went straight to Lawrence, and bending over him as +if to arrange something about his blanket, she whispered softly: +"Beloved, when I am alone with him, I shall be more with you." + +Philip came and stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on her +shoulder. + +"It looks like a serious fever," he said softly. + +Claire listened to Lawrence's breathing and felt his temperature. She +stood up, gray with anxiety. "I'm afraid for him," she said, and there +was that in her voice which Philip did not understand. + +They ate their supper in silence. Claire glanced at Philip occasionally +and found in his eyes the anticipated look of tender ownership. She let +him slip out of her mind while she thought again of the afternoon when +Lawrence had declared his creative principle. How dearly she would love +to help him, to have him model his statue of her. He had said that she +was savage and elemental underneath her polish. He had known, then, all +the time. What a man he was! If only she knew how to find his love, to +reawaken it. But no, he would never forget. Well, he would not have been +able to care for her, anyway, she was so utterly sensual despite all her +training in culture. He would want a more spiritual woman to fire his +imagination to do great work. She tried to imagine what sort of woman +would be best for his wife. + +Lawrence stirred restlessly. She rose and went quickly to the bed. He +was still asleep and she stood looking down at him. In her heart was a +great tenderness and a great fear. What if he should die? Memories of +their days in the woods swept over her in waves of love. + +Abruptly she turned to Philip and said quietly: "Philip, until I am your +wife you must not touch me again." + +He looked up, startled, then smiled. "I understand, my dear," he said, +"I will not." + +She sat down at the table to wait for Lawrence's waking. It was late +when he did, and immediately they realized that he was worse. Claire +gave him some hot soup made from dried meal and helped Philip get him +undressed and into bed. + +"I'll put some blankets here and sleep on the floor beside him," Philip +whispered. "I don't in the least mind, and I can help him if he wants +help during the night." + +"Thank you," Claire said gratefully. She felt indebted to this man for +every kindness shown Lawrence. + +Long before morning she was aroused by the sound of movements out there +in the room. + +"What is it?" she called softly. + +"I am looking for something in which to heat water," came Philip's +voice. + +She scrambled out of bed, drew on a few clothes, and went out. Lawrence +was tossing on his bed and breathing heavily. She set to work heating +the water herself, and sent Philip back to his blankets. There was a +pleasure in doing this nursing for Lawrence. She felt glad that hers +was the chance to care for him. + +"You're to have the best nursing a sick man ever got, Lawrence," she +said, stooping over him tenderly. + +He smiled faintly and whispered: "Good, Claire." + +"You'll be well so quick you won't remember being ill." + +"I know," he murmured huskily. + +"What do you know?" she asked eagerly. + +"I know, it's natural for you, this kindness." + +"Is that all you know, Lawrence?" + +"About all, Claire. About all, yet." + +"Why do you say 'yet'?" + +"I haven't thought it out yet." + +"What, Lawrence?" + +"My platform, my work-bench for the future." + +She laughed, a little sadly. "You would better stop thinking about that +for a day or so, wouldn't you?" + +"Perhaps. I can't, though." + +She drew up a chair and sat beside him. "I'm going to become a regular +guard, and if you don't sleep and let thinking wait, I'll scold +dreadfully." + +He tossed uneasily and turned toward her, his cheeks brilliant with +fever. + +"I like to hear you scold, Claire," he said. "I shall go my limit." + +She rubbed her cool hand across his forehead for answer. + +When he at last slept, she continued to watch by his side, rocking +slowly in her chair. It was peace for her to sit there and dream. There +was rest from her ceaseless questionings, and it was welcome rest. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE QUESTION ANSWERED. + + +During the days that followed Claire's attitude grew into one of +motherhood. She watched over Lawrence for the least thing she might do, +the least promise of returning health. There were times when he raved in +delirium, and she listened with a swelling heart. + +One morning he began suddenly talking of himself. In broken sentences, +shapeless phrases, half finished thoughts, he unfolded a strange tale. +Claire was glad that Philip was away at work with his traps. She sat +beside Lawrence, her hands clasped, and did not miss a word. + +"You see," he began one day without preliminaries, "you see, I wasn't +just given the best of chances. That was the beginning of it all. I +wasn't fairly treated." She tried to comfort him into sleep, but he did +not know she was talking to him and went on earnestly with his +unconscious revelation. + +"The whole business was a squalid sort of thing banked by mountains so +grand in their rugged strength that I never got used to the dirty, dusty +little half-civilized town there on the plateau. Even as a child I felt +the intolerable difference between the place and its surroundings. Men +ought to be better up there, but they aren't. They just magnify faults +with the bigness of the hills around. Lots of it was romantic, lots of +it ought never to be lost, the frank freedom, the vital living, the joy +of uncertain victory over the dirt of the mines. It made men wild, wild +to the last degree, that ever possible stumbling into gold, pure, +glittering gold. Why, I saw it as a kid, shining like stars all over the +side of the tunnel. It made even the children mad, I think. When I +modeled rude little figures out of the red clay, I was always on the +outlook for a possible gold-mine." + +He laughed, then went on seriously. "I didn't have the chance to grow up +learning things gradually. There was no dividing-line between vice and +virtue, all of it spread out there, street behind street, in a glow of +abandoned riot. Even virtue flashed with a loose frankness that deceived +a growing boy. It was a grand drama. Fifty thousand mad men and women!" + +She looked at him in amazement. This was something beyond her knowledge. +What was it all that he was talking about? + +"There was Josey; she didn't know. I didn't. We saw love played with in +hilarious open passion. We thought it was the thing to do. Children +oughtn't to see it quite that way." + +Claire felt guilty, but he stopped and when he began again he was on a +different line of old memories. + +"Why, when I sold papers down on the main street I could see the girls +of the district standing around, one block below, in their business +regalia. I thought at first they were angels." + +Claire sat in wonder and listened. + +"The first time I ever went down there I was eight. Eight years old, and +one of them called me from the open door of her house. When I stepped to +the door, she was coming down a stairway, her white dress open and +spread like wings at either side of her naked body. I was sure she was +an angel out of my Sunday-school book. I could scarcely take the dime +she gave me. I never forgot her kissing me and patting my head when I +stared so at her." + +Claire felt a strangely tender pity for the little chap she was seeing +now in her imagination. + +"And the fighting, dirty, freckled sons of those women--they kept me +hard at it, keeping the money I got. After that day, I went down there +often. Traded a paper with a golden-haired angel for a box of +cigarettes, the first I ever owned. It was great, wonderful, to have her +cigarettes. I smoked them with a sense of reverence. + +"Wright and I played hooky, and the girls hid us all day in their +shacks, played with us, teased us about sex, and taught us things we +oughtn't to have known. Poor old Wright! They sent him to the pen for +burglary after I had been gone years and was blind. I wonder if I'd have +followed him. Most likely would. + +"And, oh, the hills! There was old Pisga, pined to its cone point, and a +race-track, with a saloon, at its foot. I ran away out there once at a +big Fourth of July barbecue. It rained like the devil and I lounged in +the bar with jockeys and sporting girls, listening to their ribald talk. + +"I don't know--a street urchin in a camp, that was all I was. If I got +licked, and I did, I was a coward for years and had to give up my +pennies. I used strategy, cunning, because I was afraid to fight till I +whipped Red. That made a difference. If the old fellow I liked so hadn't +given Red a quarter to lick me, I'd have been a coward yet. It made me +so mad I licked Red." + +Lawrence laughed again merrily. + +"That started me fighting, and I fought daily without provocation. +Dirty, scaly fisted little rat, whose stockings sagged around his shoes, +fighting for money in the saloons! The men liked me, too. All of them +called me their kid. I used to stand big-eyed and watch the faro-table +stacked with gold. There were days, too, when I went out alone over the +hills. I was ashamed of my little figures and afraid lest the boys find +my mud-pies, as Red had called a tiny dog that fell out of my pocket in +a fight. + +"One day in an electric storm I saw a man and his horse killed by +lightning. I was awed, and electricity became my god. I worshiped it +like a little heathen. I even bought penny suckers and stuck them up in +the ground where the lightning played in stormy weather. + +"It always seemed that the only things about the whole camp that fitted +with the hills were that girl in white and an old mountaineer who fought +with his fists alone against a gang of drunks. I don't know why. They +just belonged." + +He stopped and lay a long time in silence. Claire thought over what he +had said, and her heart went out to this man as if he were still the +little gamin of the hills. + +"Poor little chap," she murmured aloud. + +Lawrence half raised himself in bed, talking again, and she was obliged +to push him back. + +"It was all paradise, though, compared to that school where the Women's +Club sent me. I didn't want an education. Freedom was taken from me. I +was chained with discipline. I had seen too much and I told the other +marveling boys. They talked, and I was punished as a degenerate little +villain. I couldn't see why. That first winter was hell. They all +misunderstood me, and I them. I ached for my mountains again, and when +they sent me to the camp for the summer I whooped for joy. + +"I must have been thirteen at that time. The men in camp paid the Widow +Morgan to keep me through the summer. She had a daughter seventeen or +thereabouts. Georgia had curly hair and blue eyes. She didn't pay much +attention to me at first. I didn't care. + +"Then one night the widow went off to a lodge-meeting and left us alone. +Pearly and the gang came around and began throwing rocks at the house +and demanding that Georgia let them in. I was furious, and she was +nearly scared to death. She got her mother's pistol and asked me to +shoot it. I took it and, opening the door, fired into the night. The +gang slunk off, but Georgia was still frightened. + +"We slipped out of our clothes in trembling silence and huddled together +in her mother's bed. She was crying, and I felt very brave. I put my +arms around her and comforted her. She became quiet by and by and +slipped her arms around me. After that we found ourselves. + +"She said we were in love, and I guess we were. That night was the +beginning of my rebellious manhood. Her mother abused us roundly for +immoral little whiffits. I was put out, and after that the county kept +me. Georgia hated me, for she said I was to blame. + +"I suppose that was all right, too, but it made me bitter against what +seemed to me an unjust world. I went back to school, hating. I never +stopped hating as long as I was there. It was misunderstanding from +first to last. I never ceased rebelling against punishment for +rebellion. + +"It was a hopeless snarl, but it made me what I was when I entered +college, distant, sullen, and ferocious. My only joy was in my work, and +I spent all my spare time in the studio. Then the second summer I shot +off the gunpowder, and blindness came." + +Lawrence lay back silent, then began again. + +"After the accident it was a thousand times worse. I thought people +didn't like me because I was blind. They only pitied and misunderstood. +Misunderstood--that word might be my epitaph. It could certainly be +placed over my childhood's grave. + +"It was in college that I started thinking. Thought out my plan of +militant egoism. It seemed to succeed, but all the time I was afraid it +was only pity that sold my work. You know, Claire, as you said, I've got +to do it all over again. All of it, building a new platform, a new +work-bench. I've got to allow for things. I've got to understand." + +In her tension, Claire walked the floor. Would he never stop? That +glimpse into his life at the widow's--who was Pearly?--and what a tough +little gang he must have grown up with! Poor boy! + +He did not talk much for a long time, then he kept repeating: "I must +build a new work-bench, Claire. That's the thing to do." + +She felt at times that she must scream at him, then she would be all +motherly tenderness. "Lawrence," she would whisper, "do it, my man. You +can, my laddie." + +He tossed, and chided an unseen man or woman for having helped him +through charity under the garb of admiration. He was misunderstanding +again. He thought everything was charity, pity for his blindness, and he +raved. She began to see that this sudden bitterness which poured from +his lips was the outcome of years of sorrow, the product of a +deep-burning fire to see the beauty his soul craved. + +"Lawrence," she cried, "God knows if I could I would give you my eyes!" + +She knew that he was consumed with the pain of his struggle to +comprehend more beauty. Even exaggerating his hunger for sight, she wept +beside him. Her whole soul yearned to help him, to give him more of the +beauty which seemed the prime need of his nature. + +Sometimes he prayed for it, addressing Fate, Nature, Chance, anything, +everything but God. + +After a silence that was beginning to frighten Claire, he began again. +At first his words were indistinct, but as she leaned closer, they +cleared of guttural sounds. She listened spellbound. + +"You see, I hadn't done my thinking with allowance for the whole of +human character, Claire. That was what was wrong with me. I'm doing that +now. I'm finding myself again. It is back with the beginning of things I +must start. Back with the first squirm of life in the primordial mud. +It's no use trying further back than that. No use at all. Back of that +lies only conjecture. + +"There was existence, perhaps, inert unconscious existence waiting to +become suddenly aware of itself, aware of its parts and its difference +from other things. Well, existence struggling, dreaming of +self-knowledge, found in a wriggling, oozing spot of protoplasm--that's +the start of it all. Feeding without hunger, moving without knowledge to +food, reproducing mechanically by division, living without instinct, +without emotion, without death. For me, that must be the beginning. + +"Whether death came, or what it was--a long period without food, +perhaps--that started this stuff to changing, I do not know. Maybe it +was existence following the way of greatest pressure toward selfhood. +Anyway, it started and began its journey. Up and up, out of the mud and +ooze, into light and dry dirt. + +"The glory of light must have been a great thing then. Think of it, +coming into light, out of wet, dark mud. I know what it would be better +than you. Light, the first great discovery of life! It must have +hastened growth--warmth, sunrays, heat, cold at night and dark again. +The glory of it breaking at dawn over the squirming, groping blind +existence of things! + +"God said let there be light, and there was light. + +"Existence demanding the thing it craved. Was that it, or existence +finding light and learning to crave it? No matter--light, a thousand +miracles of warmth and wonder! Growth was inevitable, Claire. + +"Then the craving learned by experience broke into new form. I don't +know what it was; a two-celled bug, perhaps--only that it was craving +that did it. Hunger and thirst after light. + +"Pain came at the very start of things. Wants unsatisfied drove with the +scourge of hell, forcing eyes, ears, stomach, sex into being, and out of +the squalor of it all, still goaded by incessant want, there heaved the +gigantic scaly carcass of the dinosaur. Still unaware of things, but +driven to move, to grow, to expand. Existence demanding more expression +of its awareness of self. + +"The beast didn't know what it was. He only grew and grew and grew, till +he spread his ugly, yearning life over hundreds of feet of ground. Eye +and ear and touch and a peace of filled belly lay basking in the light, +glorying in what they found. Life was good, riotously good, finding +things, finding itself out. They fought, fed, killed, bred, all in the +effort of existence to know. + +"What a blood-drenched chaotic struggle for self it was, Claire! + +"And so, on and on and on. Touch didn't satisfy the incessant taste for +more knowledge, more life. Bodies rising like hills out of the marshes +couldn't give the keen joy that existence craved for itself. + +"New things again: changed, altered products of the old, bearing in +their frames the history, the memory of the old--it all came, and out of +it at last, hunger-driven for more keen life, sprang a biped, hairy, +tusked, savage, bloody, lustful, eager to live, live, live! + +"He was a glorious beast. In his flattened head that held the little +bloodshot eyes were memory, products of the past, things that harked +back for confirmation of present things. He had instincts--that's what +they are, instincts, memories of past sufferings--that whipped the +organism to go on into keener living. He was sexed, he was hungry, he +was vicious, he slept and ate, he bred consciously, carrying on the +eager shout within his being for more, more of life. More of existence +aware of itself! + +"If he killed, he gloried in the hot blood that drenched his hairless +nose, and he learned to laugh through the pleasure of a filled belly. He +learned to cry when he went hungry. Tears came, and emotions, a more +specialized instinct. + +"He was learning something else, too. But pain still whipped him on, +filled him with fear of non-life, and he grew cowardly. Nature had +created a new thing, a brain, a specialized mass of cells that can +comment, realize, criticise, warn, appreciate, choose better food, get +it easier, help to conquer and promote life; the biped used this new +thing to understand why he ran from the fingers that clutched at him in +the dark and he became afraid. If it brought him new pain, it also +brought him new pleasure. It was a great toy that could be used to enjoy +oneself with. + +"It can have the joy of bodily sensations and then recall them, study +them, comment on them, on its own instincts, its own memories. It can +dream of ways for procuring fuller life, and put the dreams into any +desired shape. Man struts from his jungle, laughing aloud, with lust for +life and joy at his fulness thereof. But all the while, pain, the +darkness, the still inert unconsciousness in existence that oppresses +and drags back into its own dead inertness, is laughing still more +heartily. + +"Everywhere it checks, but man in his egotism forgets that he is a +slave, bound and hampered, and boasts himself master. Death sweeps in, +lightning kills, thunder crashes over him, and filled with fear, with +something bigger than he can grasp, he falls upon his knees, and cries, +'God!' + +"Then begins the mess, the tangled, detestable, bloody, dirty, riotously +glorious, sublime mystery that is me. Me and you, Claire. Here we are." + +Claire leaned over him, her breath suspended in her eagerness. + +"Me, the man, specialized, sex-specialized, made to record, to enjoy, to +remember, to create, and to die at last from sheer wearing out myself +seeking life. + +"And you, you the woman, deeper, more vitally sexed, 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, passion, 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 lust 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 sex, 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 assurance 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 passed 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 shore 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 assail 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 pass 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 passing 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. + +"A woman's whim!" she said, and hated herself for saying it. + +"I don't understand women," he laughed softly. + +"Neither do I." It was Lawrence's voice. He had come in, just in time to +hear the last words. "Nor men, either--except in one thing." + +"What is the one thing?" asked Claire eagerly. + +"That, given a normal, healthy mind, they will sacrifice all their idols +for life. Life is the one eternally insistent thing." + +Philip chuckled. "You are yourself again, I see." + +"Yes, and stronger than ever in my faith," said Lawrence, sitting down. +"I know the price I would pay for life. It is the price every human +being would pay, if demanded." + +"What is that price?" Philip asked. + +"The whole of one's faith in God and man!" + +"Nonsense!" Philip spoke curtly. "I would die before forfeiting a dozen +ideals I hold dear!" + +"Would you?" Lawrence looked at him quizzically. "Would you sacrifice +your own life before you would the love of your sweetheart, for +instance, if you had one?" + +The conversation was similar to those which they had had months before, +but the fire was nearer the surface now. + +"Yes." Philip's answer came swiftly. + +"Then you are a sex-maddened mountaineer!" + +"And you are talking like the beast you are not. I know you do not +believe that." + +"I know I do. I would only die for a woman if she were my life." + +"But any real love finds her so." + +"Folly! I find my work, my future, my dream of a single immortal statue +more my life than any woman!" Lawrence exclaimed. + +"I wonder if you really do," Claire mused, half to herself. + +"Yes," Lawrence insisted, "although she might be necessary to that +statue. At least I believe she might--and I would feel sure of it if I +wanted her badly enough," he ended amusedly. + +"That merely means that you are still utterly selfish!" said Claire. + +"Yes, I am." Lawrence was thoughtful. "It is a paradox, I am so selfish +that, although I would sacrifice myself to the last degree for a person +I loved, yet I would all the time feel that I was a fool, that I was +doing an absurd thing when life was so good." + +"I see," Claire observed. "And I know I would do the same." + +"I would do it," Philip said, "but I would not feel a fool. It would +seem to me right." + +Claire looked straight into his eyes. "You would not, Philip," she +declared softly. "Your own happiness would come first--and you know it." + +The Spaniard's gaze shifted, and there was silence in the cabin. When he +looked up his eyes had changed their expression. + +"Yes," he agreed steadily, "I admit it. Hereafter I mean to have what I +want from life at any cost." + +"Yet you will go on talking ideals," Lawrence mocked. + +"Yes--and thinking them, too." + +"While Lawrence will make the sacrifice and go on talking his +selfishness," Claire added. + +Both men laughed constrainedly. + +"And I," Claire continued, "if it is necessary, will lie to preserve my +will, and, having it secure, will use it to obtain what I want." + +"We are at last three delightfully frank, insufferable, unpleasant, and +very natural, likable human beings!" Lawrence laughed. + +"And on that basis we will work out our fates," murmured Claire. + +"We will do just that," Lawrence answered gaily. + +"Be they good or bad, we will meet our futures with perfect +self-knowledge," contributed Philip. + +"Then most likely they will be bad," Claire added with conviction. + +They gave up talking, and each abandoned himself to his own reflections. +In the minds of the two men these thoughts assumed widely differing +words, though they were the same thoughts. + +Philip was garbing his impulses, desires, and determinations in clothes +that furnished his habitual mental wardrobe. With their marriage, he +thought, Claire would learn the real Philip. He would treat her with +such deference, such tender respect, and such devotion that she would +see the wisdom of her choice. He would prove to her that sex mattered +little, was altogether secondary. It was her great companionship, her +dear thoughtfulness, her charming personality that he loved. Respect, +first of all: happy married life depended on respect; then, common +interest, friendship between two human beings, and, last and least +important, that wonderful emotion springing out of the divine God-given +reproductive life of both. + +Lawrence was thinking very different words to the same end. He thought +of her as his mate, his comrade, and his equal. He admired her brain, +smiled at the thought of their hours of intellectual pleasure, dreamed +of her as the stimulus to creation which her mind should help shape into +master work. + +He loved her beauty and her measureless well of bubbling energy. What a +help she could be to him! She was the greatest of all women; he wanted +her, needed her. Could he realize his dream? That was the point. Well, +no matter, or, at least, no use in speculating. He would try. If she +were willing, what a life of joy and accomplishment lay before them! If +not, he had lived alone until this time, and he could continue to live +alone. Meantime, was Philip the barrier that would keep him from her? He +hoped not. He did not believe that she loved Philip. If she did, he +would be a good loser and wish her joy. His heart ached at the thought. +But, after all, one doesn't die over such things, and he would recover. + +"I'm going to get the supper," said Claire somewhat abruptly. She rose +and set to work. + +Here the thoughts of the two men flowed into an identical channel. It +was certainly good to sit and listen to her. That sound would be very +agreeable, indeed, at the end of a day, in one's own home. As for her +husband, he was out of the question. If Claire went back to him, she +might find him married or in love again, unwilling to receive her after +her long months with two men in the wilderness, suspicious of such a +thing being possible without more intimacies than he would care to +overlook. No, her husband did not matter. She would be justified and +safe in remarrying. Of course, not safe if she returned to America, but +that she would not do. + +At this point their thoughts diverged. Philip was seeing Claire as the +continued inmate of his cabin. Lawrence was painting a delightful mental +picture of Claire as the ever-present fairy of his studio in some South +American town, or perhaps in Paris. He preferred France; it was a land +of more brilliance, more freedom, and certainly much more appreciation +of the things in which they were interested. Besides, his work would +carry more prestige in the world if it came from Europe. + +He thanked the memory of old Roger Burton, of Cripple Creek, and he +rejoiced that he would be able to give Claire the home to which she was +entitled. He smiled as his thoughts went back to the mines and the dirty +little newsboy an old man had befriended. Burton's quarter to Red had +kept Lawrence, the boy, from becoming a coward, and Burton's slender +provision for the college graduate would now insure happiness for +Lawrence the man. Many times before he had laughed scornfully at the +untouched interest from the miner's bonds. He could make his own living. +But now there would be Claire. The old man would have been glad to see +his protege happy in the love of such a woman. + +Meanwhile Claire was doing her work automatically. In her mind there was +pleasure at the thought that Lawrence was listening to her movements. +But she was filled with a dead weight that seemed likely to break her +down with its dreadful pressure. Vaguely she wished that she had never +seen Philip, even that she had never seen Lawrence, or that she had +perished with him in the mountains. + +How had she ever placed herself in the position she was now in? She had +come by the way of a terrible road and, looking ahead, she could see +nothing but sadness, anguish, and a life of dull discontent with +Philip--that or death! + +Lawrence had had time and opportunity since his recovery to declare +himself, and he had not done so. She had had time and opportunity to +tell him frankly of her own feeling, but she had not done so. She did +not know why. Now she could not. Philip had given her to understand his +desperate determination to marry her, and, after all she had said and +done, she had no right to refuse him. If she told him the truth he might +kill Lawrence or her, or both of them. These tragic idealists, she +exclaimed to herself, what a tangle they can make out of life! + +Oh, what a noose she had managed to fasten around her own neck! Would +the problem never be settled, one way or the other? + +What would she do if Philip tried to force her to marry him? Kill him? +Was she, then, so primitive, so savage, so much the slave of her own +desires that she would slay to gain her end? She remembered Lawrence's +talk when he was ill, "We killed those days, Claire, killed because we +wanted fuller life, fuller knowledge, fuller expansion of our own vital +existence; we were gropers after more light!" + +"Supper!" she said dully, and then sat down. + +They ate in silence save for the occasional necessary word, and +afterward went immediately to bed. + +Claire soon fell asleep, with the last thought in her mind--to live as +she wanted to live she would pay any price! + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE ROMANTIC REALIST. + + +It was the 1st of May when Lawrence at last found himself alone with +Claire and decided to speak. The instant he thought of declaring himself +he was surprised at his own mental state. A panic seized him, his heart +beat unsteadily, his mouth grew dry, and he could think of nothing to +say. + +They were out on the lake shore. Philip had left them on his last long +trip across the plateau before starting for civilization. The warm +spring wind blew around them, laden with scent of pine and flower. At +their feet the water rippled and cooed little melodies. Claire sat very +still, gazing wistfully at the man beside her. Her heart was a lead +weight, and her brain ached with the strain of her problem. + +It was late afternoon. All day she had wandered with Lawrence in +comparative silence, wishing that he would speak, and observing that +something troubled him. + +Finally she moved uneasily, took her hand from her cheek, and said +half-dreamily, "You aren't a bit talkative." + +He gulped, swallowed, and laughed. "I'm too busy trying to think of +something to say," he told her amusedly. + +"Oh!" She was provoked in the extreme. "Have I ceased to suggest +conversation? You are very tired of me, then." + +"Quite the contrary. So far from it, you paralyze my tongue." + +"How complimentary!" she said. "Then I suppose your excessive arguments +with Philip denote your weariness of him?" + +"They do." + +"I suppose, if you were really fond of a person, you would never talk at +all?" + +"Perhaps. I don't know but that you are right." + +She laughed gaily. "Lawrence," she said, "you are certainly amusing when +you attempt to be flattering!" + +He grew warm and uncomfortable. + +"I wasn't trying to flatter. Can't you see that?" He was almost wistful. + +"I don't see it. No, if you weren't trying to flatter you were surely +doing the unintended in a most intricately original manner." + +He shifted his position and did not answer. + +"Of course," she said, "although you aren't accustomed to flattering, +you've taken to doing it almost constantly." + +"Well, why shouldn't I?" he asked curiously. + +"Why not, if you care to?" Her reply was as gentle as if she were a +submissive object of his whims. + +He felt that now was the time to speak, but he could not bring himself +to the point. The thought of his blindness killed all confidence. + +"Hang it all," he broke out, quite as if it were a part of their +previous talk, "blindness certainly does rob one of his will!" + +She looked at him apprehensively. "I thought you had decided you were +the master of that." + +"I had, but it seems I was mistaken." + +Claire laid her hand on his arm tenderly. Her eyes were dazzling. + +"Lawrence, you must master that, you know." + +"Why?" he said thoughtfully. "If I shouldn't, it would mean only one +more human animal on the scrap heap!" + +"But you don't want to be there." + +"Of course not. No one does. I don't imagine any one chooses it." + +"If you go there it will be because you choose it." + +"I wish I saw things your way," he observed. "At times I feel as sure of +success as if it were inevitable, and then suddenly down sweeps the +black uncertainty, and I am afraid, timid, and unnerved." + +She looked at him sadly. + +"Don't you believe in your work, Lawrence?" + +"Yes, that is about all I do believe in." + +"Then what is the matter?" + +"It is that, after all, thousands of men have believed in their work to +no avail. One can never know whether he is a fad or a real artist. It +isn't only that, either. One's work, when it is his life, requires so +much besides to make it possible. It is that which gives me the blue +fear you see. I always imagine that the thing I want just then is +absolutely essential to my better work. Perhaps it is. I don't know. I +know only that I am persuaded that it is. Then I set about to get that +thing and I fail." + +"But do you always fail?" Claire was unconsciously pleading her own +cause. + +"Not always. Just often enough to scare me to death when the biggest +need of my life seems just out of reach." + +"Nonsense, Lawrence," she laughed. "When you were sick you talked as if +you could reach out and pull down the stars, if you needed them in an +endeavor to complete your life." + +"Sometimes I think I could, then the reality of life comes crashing +through the walls of my dream-palace, and, behold, I am standing +desolate and abandoned, grasping at lights which are even too far away +to be seen! I am clawing darkness for something I fancied I could reach, +while, as far as I am concerned, it is clear out of space and time." + +She sat pensively looking across the lake. + +"Yet you keep on reaching, don't you?" + +"Yes--and no. I always wish I could. There are times, Claire, when I +don't want to be a realist, don't want to face life as it is, when it +seems too tawdry to be valuable just as it is; then I reach out into the +night and cry, 'Let me be the maddest of dreamers, the wildest of +idealists, a knight of fancy seeking the illusive dream!'" + +Claire laughed aloud as she said, "And don't you know, dear man, that +that is just what you do become at times?" + +"I know it. That's the joke of it. All the while I mock myself for being +a romancing idiot!" + +"What a state of mind!" she exclaimed. + +"It isn't pleasant. Then, worse than that, when I attain my star, I +spoil it with too much scrutiny." + +She started. "What do you mean?" + +"Just that. I make a mess of it." + +"Still I don't understand." + +He thought for a moment, then said sadly: "Take the cherub I carved +there"--he nodded in the direction of the house--"I was wild with +creative fervor when I did that. I put into it a thousand little +thoughts that flashed with imaginative fire. I dreamed things, felt +things that should have made a masterpiece beyond all masterpieces, and +at last the thing was finished. Still under the heat of enthusiasm, I +felt of it, tested it, and found it good. Well, a week later, when the +imaginative flame was gone, I went back and looked at it again. It was +poor, cold, imperfect, not at all what it should have been. I dreamed a +star and made a block of poor wooden imagery." + +"But you underestimate your work. To me the cherub is still a star." + +He laughed. "It is what others see of good in my work that makes me hope +that sooner or later I will do the thing that will stand eternally a +star of the first magnitude." + +"And you will, Lawrence," she said earnestly. + +"Perhaps." He was pensive. "Perhaps not. That is where the rest of life +enters in. I want many things; they seem necessary if I am to attain my +eternal star. I am afraid I shall never get them!" + +"Have you tried?" + +"No, I haven't the courage. If they should be beyond my grasp, if +obtaining them, they should prove to be wrong and not the real things I +need, after all, what then?" + +"I don't know." She waited to watch a little colored cloud float by, and +then continued: "Isn't the real interest in life the game you play?" + +"I suppose it is, but it's hard on other people." + +"Why--and how?" + +"Suppose," Lawrence said slowly, "you were the one thing I thought I +needed." + +Claire leaned toward him, her lips apart, her heart beating wildly. + +"Suppose I were sure of it, and set about to make you part of my life, +well, if I succeeded and then"--he smiled sadly--"found that you were +not the necessity, not the answer to my need, what of you? It would be +an inferno for you, and none the less equally terrible for me! We +couldn't help it. Under such circumstances you would be right in saying +that I had been unfair. I don't know, certainly you would be right in +charging your possible unhappiness to me." + +"Under your supposition, Lawrence," she answered evenly, "if you +obtained my love, wouldn't it then be my game, my risk in the great +gamble for deeper life? Wouldn't it be my mistake for having thought you +were what I needed?" + +"What if you still thought you needed me after I was sure that I did not +need you?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. "I am too fond of life and too eager to know +its possibilities to let that hurt me long. Possibly I should weep, be +cynical, maybe even do something desperate, but at last I would come up +smiling, calm in the faith that my life was deeper, richer for the +experience, and that yours was, too. Or if it proved that yours was not, +I should be amused at the shallowness of the Claire that was, for having +been so simple a dunce as to imagine that you were worth while. I should +thank you for teaching the present Claire to forsake that shallow one, +and should find you a rung on my ladder of life!" + +He laughed merrily. "You are strong in your faith, Claire." + +"Yes. This winter and you have made me strong," she answered. + +"I have made you strong in it?" + +"Yes. Last summer, when you dragged me out of the surf, I was full of a +number of ideas I no longer possess." + +"But what have I done?" + +"You have lived stridently all your life." + +"Perhaps so. What of it?" + +"I see that is the thing most worth doing." + +"What will your husband say to such a doctrine?" + +"I don't know. I am not going back to him. We are not the same people we +were a year ago, and he would no more love the present Claire than I +should love the present Howard." + +The sky deepened from pink to crimson, but Claire's eyes were staring +blankly on the ground. + +"Claire, what do you think is essential to great work?" + +"I don't know. To keep at it most likely." She was digging with a little +stick in the grass. + +"Perhaps you're right," he agreed. "But sometimes I think it is a lot of +other things; romantic wandering over the earth, a deep and lasting +love, any number of such external factors." + +"You don't call love external, do you?" + +"I mean a permanent love," he laughed. + +"Oh, well, perhaps those are necessary, certainly they would be a help +to you, they would be to any one. But, after all, even a woman isn't +absolutely essential to a man in order that he create great art." + +"I think she is," Lawrence insisted. + +"Very well, perhaps she is, but"--Claire laughed skeptically--"I know +that she is not the all in all, the alpha and omega, the 'that without +which nothing,' that she is so often told she is by seeking males." + +"No," he agreed slowly, "in rare cases of great love that may be true, +but in most cases it isn't." + +"It is more likely that what you, the abstract male, really mean is that +you must have some woman as wife and housekeeper." + +"Perhaps that is so, although even that needs qualifying." + +"I know," she said, "but why not be frank about it both ways; that is +precisely her situation as well as his. There ought to be less +sentimental rubbish and more plain sense about all of it. Women would +suffer less from shattered illusions, they would grow accustomed to +reality, and be considerably less idiotic in their romantic caperings." + +"I admit it," Lawrence said, smiling; "and yet"--he paused--"I want to +be the maddest of romanticists, I want to say those things to the woman +I love, I want to think them about her, I want to feel them all, all +those dear, false romantic deceptions. I do, in fact, even though my +brain agrees with you." + +"So should I, and I would." Then she added softly under her breath, "I +do." + +Lawrence turned a little toward her, his fingers gripping the grass in +front of him. + +"Claire," he said slowly, "I--I want to say them, think them, believe +them about and with you." + +She did not move. Over her there swept a great joy, and her thinking +stopped. She was feeling all the dear things she had just condemned, and +she looked at her lover. He was blind. He could not see what was in her +face, and he was not sure that he interpreted her silence correctly. He +was waiting, anguishing, for her answer. She realized then what it was +he needed more than he himself knew. + +"Lawrence," she cried joyfully, slipping into his arms, "I know what you +need, beloved!" + +He laughed exultantly as he showered kisses upon her eagerly upturned +face. + +"I guess you do, sweetheart," he consented. "What is it?" + +She settled down with a sigh of content, her head against his shoulder, +and announced, very much like a child saying what it knows to be wisely +true: "You need a woman who is keen enough to think with you and be eyes +for you, natural and unspoiled by conventional sham enough to be your +heart's answer, self-willed enough to be herself and deny you and your +selfishness, and, above all, mother enough to care for you as she would +a child. I believe I am that woman, dearest boy!" + +He held her tight in his arms and smiled. + +"I not only think, I know you are." + +For a long time they sat in silence, dreaming, loving, enjoying, and +caring nothing for all the rest of the world. At last Claire raised her +head from his shoulder and whispered, "Lawrence, before I would be +separated from you, I am afraid I would kill!" + +He chuckled merrily. "Good!" he said. "That sounds proper. So would I. +We are alive because our ancestors killed to live, they fought to mate, +so shall we, if need be." + +She remembered Philip and shuddered slightly. + +"What is the matter, Claire?" Lawrence drew her closer. + +She did not answer. She was wondering how to tell him about Philip, and +afraid. + +"Are you filled with terror at the mere thought of murder!" he asked. + +She moved uneasily in his arms. "No, but I can't say I like to even +think of such a possibility." + +"Don't, then. It isn't very likely to happen," he comforted. + +She remained silent, but her pleasure was not untroubled. Her whole +impulse was to wait, but her brain kept demanding that she tell him now, +and she gathered herself for the effort. + +"Lawrence"--she hesitated--"I--I have something I must tell you." + +"All right. Go ahead; but confessions never do much good." + +She drew away from him tenderly. + +"Because my whole being wants to be in your arms, I will not--not while +I tell you," she said, sitting beside him. "I want you to hear and think +without my body in your arms as a determining factor in your answer." + +"Very well. Go ahead. I promise to be an emotionless judge." + +"Can you?" she asked quickly. + +"No," he said, "but I will." + +They both laughed, and she nerved herself to talk. + +"It's about Philip," she said timidly. + +He started. + +"Don't tell me about him, Claire," he said. "It can't do any good, and +it's hard for you, I see. Whatever you are or were to Philip doesn't +matter to me in the least. The Claire of this morning wasn't my mate. It +is only Claire from now on that counts, and she is not in any way bound +to Philip for whatever may have occurred in the past." + +"Oh, I wish that were true!" she moaned. + +"It is true," he asserted. + +"But you don't understand. Let me go on, please." + +"Surely," he answered. "Say as much or as little as you wish." + +She told him then, falteringly, sometimes wondering at his calm, +expressionless face as she talked. She was filled with dread, for he sat +as still as death, without a word, without a change of expression to +show her what he was thinking. She made many corrections to her +explanation, and supplied bits of comment in an effort to discover +herself how it all had happened. There was nothing of apology in her +attitude, however, and she finally concluded with an account of that +afternoon in her bedroom, and what she had said to Philip since that +day. + +"Now," she said at last, "you know all about it. You can do as you +please, of course. If you choose to go on, we will have to find some +solution together. Philip will not take it easily. Of that I am sure. He +is more than likely to become desperate." + +She waited. Lawrence did not move. His face was seriously thoughtful, +and she was filled with a growing fear that made it harder and harder to +wait for him to speak. + +When she could stand it no longer, she shook his arm. + +"Lawrence, why don't you say something?" she cried. + +He read the fear in her voice, and laughed caressingly, as he took her +in his arms. + +"I thought you knew it wouldn't alter our futures," he said. "I was only +trying to think out a just solution unpersuaded by your body in my +arms." + +"Oh!" She laughed comfortably. He was making fun of her, and she was not +averse to it. + +"It certainly looks as if Philip were up against a bad future," he went +on, amusedly. + +"Philip!" she cried, startled. "Are you pitying him all this time?" + +"Whom else?" Lawrence demanded. "We don't need pity, do we?" + +"Oh, you selfish lover!" she chided. "I have been needing and do need +it. Philip worries me." + +"I see," he mused. "Well, accept my condolences, and prepare to pass +them on to Philip. Poor devil! When you and I are back in our world, he +will indeed need pity." + +"Suppose he takes steps to see that I don't go back?" she chanced. + +"He can scarcely compel you to live with him." + +"He can, and he will. He isn't as civilized as he appears. If need be, +he would keep me locked up here and make me his by force, or kill me. +He told me so." + +Lawrence shrugged his shoulders. + +"Romantic raving for effect!" he exclaimed. "But if he should happen to +try that, well, I think my argument might be as effective as his." + +"But how do you propose to stop him? I tell you, he is in earnest." +Claire was insistent. + +"Why, in whatever way is necessary. If it is my life against his, I'll +give him the best I've got." + +She looked at Lawrence in wonder. He was as calm as if he had been +making small talk at a theater-party. + +"Can you plan it so--so carelessly, like that?" she asked. + +"Why not? I could hardly allow him to take you by force. I wouldn't +choose a fight as a diversion, but once in, I wouldn't stop short of his +life. And I wouldn't feel any compunction afterward, either." + +"Well," she said quickly, "it won't be necessary." + +"I think not." He smiled. "We need say nothing about our plans. Once we +get into town, all the world is ours, and we can quietly depart, leaving +Philip Ortez a very pleasant memory." + +They both laughed heartily. + +Neither of them allowed for that vast portion of human character which +lies beyond the knowledge of the most keen-visioned. Claire was more +familiar with the distinctly male phases of Philip than +Lawrence--perhaps a woman always is--but they were too happy to give the +matter any real consideration, and, after the fashion of all lovers, +they shut out the third person from their little self-bound universe. + +The whole world seemed a friendly sphere whose entire action was merely +to bring them together, and they were utterly oblivious to Philip and +his new attitude. It seemed so impossible that anything serious could +arise to separate them from each other. + +It was late when Philip returned, and he was instantly aware of the +change in his guests. The old, serious silence was gone from Lawrence; +he was not the speculative man to whom Philip was accustomed. His talk +was light, pleasantly humorous, and very genial. He was, in short, the +lover. Claire, too, shone with a new radiance. + +Doubt rearose in Philip's heart, and grew rapidly into suspicion. He +became less responsive to their chatter. His dark eyes grew somber with +misgiving, and love swelled into longing that made him feel sure that +Claire was necessary to his life. Without her there could be no living +for him. He wondered if she and Lawrence had found love. "If they have," +he argued, "there can be but one explanation. Claire is unreliable, +vicious, and dangerous." His aching desire to possess her did not +lessen, however. It became deeper, in fact, with each succeeding thought +of her as a wanton at heart, and he set his teeth over his will, +assuring himself that all would be well when Lawrence was gone. + +He took to avoiding absences, and to watching furtively for some +confirmation of his suspicion. Claire was instinctively cautious, and he +saw nothing that could actually be construed against her. He was of that +type of man whose love, burning into jealousy, does battle with ideals +which stand against his suspicions and demand actual physical proof +before retiring and allowing the beast to run riot. + +He knew no middle ground. Once he had seen that which would condemn +Claire, he would be utterly savage. His soul anguished to bitterness at +every thought against her purity and truth. He could not accept her as +she was. His suspicion painted her black with the sticky ink of a morbid +idealist, while his faith, rising from the same ideals, made her seem +almost ethereal. His longing for her was an acute physical pain, and he +never allowed his ideals to stop his romancing. He insisted that his +desire be stated in masking phrases and deceiving glories of chivalrous +prattle. He was so torn by his conflicting emotions and ideals that he +was fast arriving at a state where his action would be that of a wounded +beast at bay. He did not know and would not admit that his own distorted +view of Claire was back of his own condition. True to his type, he +carried this war in silence, and sought support for his fast-weakening +ideals in argument. He was wise. Defend your faith if you would keep it +glowing. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +THE LAST DISCUSSION. + + +The time of their departure was at hand. There had been two days of +intense packing of the food and clothing necessary for their +two-hundred-mile walk. Now that was behind them, and after a short trip +which Philip must take the following morning, they would be off for the +ten or fifteen miles they hoped to cover that day. + +When night came they were overjubilant, and they sat before the cabin +watching the lake as it shimmered in the moonlight. Claire was pensively +silent, though her heart sang. She was dreaming out her days, painting +them on the moonlit water, and she paid very little heed to the two men, +though unconsciously her whole personality leaned toward Lawrence. What +they were saying she did not at first know, but gradually her attention +was caught and she listened earnestly with an ever-growing fear in her +heart. + +She saw the deep fire that burned in Philip's eyes, and she realized +that Lawrence was unaware of how his provocative, half-humorous ironies +were stirring the volcano within the man who sat beside him. + +"No man has a right," Philip was saying, "to think of a woman in his +house unless he can think of her as altogether trustworthy, pure, and +beyond temptation. If he does think of her differently, he is a beast, +and wants a mistress, not a wife." + +Lawrence laughed carelessly. "The average man wants both in one," he +said. "Personally, so far as your talk about suspicion goes, who needs +to think either way? I'm sure I don't. I'm quite content to live with a +woman, giving and taking what we can enjoy together, and not asking that +she limit her time and devotion to me. She may have various outside +interests of her own. In fact, I would prefer that life should hold a +separate work for her." + +"Oh, you do not care. You are too selfish to feel any responsibility +for a woman's soul. I would feel depraved if I did not guard my wife's +soul by my very faith in her." + +"Why should you guard her soul? Isn't the average woman intelligent +enough to look out for herself? What she does, she does because she +wants to, and for Heaven's sake, man, let her have the right to freedom +of being." + +"But real freedom of being lies in her dependence on me as the head of +the house," Philip protested. + +"If you happen to be the head of the house," Lawrence added jestingly. + +"But I would be the head of the house. It is my right and my duty." + +"Poor Mrs. Ortez, if there ever is one," Lawrence continued, joking. +"She is to be guarded by a great, aggressive, possessing husband. What +if she happens to want something you don't approve of?" + +"She won't. A good woman doesn't." + +"But suppose your woman isn't good, and does?" + +"I should have to explain to her her mistake." + +"And then when she says, 'But I don't regard it as a mistake, I think it +was quite right,' what will you do?" + +"I wouldn't have a woman who would hold such views." + +"What is it you want for a wife, Philip? A brainless feminine body who +is content to be your slave?" + +"I should be ashamed to speak of any woman I cared for in those terms. +One doesn't marry a woman who can be thought of in terms of sex." + +"Perhaps 'one doesn't.' I would. I should want her to be very well aware +of her exact physical potentialities, and to think enough about them to +understand herself." + +"Then you would want an unwholesome wife, my friend." + +"Not at all. I want a natural one, that's all. Moreover," he added +joyously, "I shall have one." + +Philip glanced at him quickly. Into his mind flashed the memory of +Claire's words in the room that fatal afternoon. + +"I shall never marry such a woman," he declared, and added: "But I mean +to have one whose devotion is so pure that even her talk to me of such +things will be holy." + +Lawrence laughed heartily. + +"Philip," he said, still chuckling, "you seem to think we human beings +are half supernatural and half stinking dirt. Why, in Heaven's name, +don't you once see us as plain, healthy, intelligent animals?" + +"Because we're half gods, half beasts." + +"So I was once told by the son of an ancient mind whose farthest mental +frontier reached A.D. 1123." + +Philip rose and faced Lawrence, then looked shamefacedly at Claire, and +sat down again. + +"You think you are advanced because you are still unaware of anything +but beasthood!" + +Lawrence grinned complacently. + +"I am always amused at the way men speak of beasts as if they were +something base," he said. "'Beast' should not be a term of opprobrium. +The average dog or elephant, for example, is fairly wholesome and quite +naturally proper in his fulfilment of instincts. It is more than one can +say for men. Yes, I am a beast, if by that you you mean a physical +being; and if humanity ever does get anywhere in quest for a soul I +suspect it will have to start from that very admission." + +"Of course"--Philip hesitated a little--"we are animals in that sense. +But who can think of us as nothing more? Take Claire, for example. We +both know her better than any one else. I could scarcely think of her as +an animal, subject only to its instincts. Even allowing that she is a +very intelligent animal, it isn't all or even the better part of her, +any more than it is of any good woman." + +The speech was self-revealing, and Lawrence smiled. + +"Now, it is strange," he observed; "that is precisely the way I should +think of Claire if I wanted to see her in the best possible light, as +the most splendidly intelligent, healthy animal I ever knew." + +"You are more insulting than you intend. I am glad that you do not mean +to be," Philip growled. + +"Tra-la-la. I shouldn't insult her for a good deal." + +"Yet your attitude is debasing," Philip retorted. + +"Oh, well, perhaps. She has my apology if she thinks so." + +"But you can't actually mean what you say," Philip went on. "Your +attitude would lead you to make a cave of your home, and a mere lair of +your bed." + +"Which, by the way, very elaborately arranged, and embellished with +thousands of psychological phases, products of the most highly +specialized part of me, is exactly what my home would be." + +"Well, I certainly should deplore your household." + +"Go as far as you like. It ought to be a fairly comfortable home, with +its basis on frankness, oughtn't it, Claire?" + +Philip's eyes flashed. + +Claire hesitated, fearing lest she provoke him further, and said +cautiously: "Yes, it ought to be based on frankness." + +"But frankness doesn't mean an attitude of mind like that," Philip +protested. + +"What does it mean?" Lawrence asked. + +"It means an established order where love makes it possible for two +beings to speak their thoughts freely one to the other," Philip said, +with the air of defining infinity. + +"Does it? Well, if that is frankness by definition, I have known many +women with whom I was in love, but neither they nor I knew it until this +minute." + +Lawrence laughed. Philip flushed, shrugged his shoulders, and stood up. + +"I thank goodness I do not see things as you do," he said. + +"Even the parable of the Pharisee has its modern aspect," Lawrence +murmured chucklingly. + +Philip stood looking moodily across the lake, and fortunately did not +catch his words. + +"I think I shall walk a little," he said coldly. "I can't sleep until I +have walked some of your conversation out of my soul." + +"Go to it," Lawrence said with a smile. "I didn't mean to corrupt you." + +"You didn't. You simply make me angry. I'm sorry, but you do." + +"Yes? So am I. However, it won't last much longer, Philip." + +Both men smiled at the thoughts that came with those words. + +"I think I shall go in," Lawrence went on. "I shall want sleep for the +big start to-morrow." + +Philip looked hopefully at Claire. She rose with a sigh of weariness, +pretending not to see him. + +"So shall I," she said. "Good night, both of you." + +She was gone into the cabin, and Philip looked disappointed. He turned +down the lake shore, dreaming of the end of his journey, rebelling at +the necessity for Claire to listen to Lawrence's talk, and rejoicing at +how different his life with her would be. + +Inside the cabin, Lawrence closed the door and stepped into the room. +Claire stood waiting silently before him, and when he came to her, she +threw her arms happily around his neck. He laughed and caught her up. + +"So you lie in wait for me, do you?" he teased. + +"Why not? I want to capture my man," she said softly. + +"You have him, dearest. And, by the way"--he sat down and drew her on to +the arm of his chair--"permit me to extend you my sympathy for the +suffering you must have experienced at the thought of living with +Philip." + +She shuddered a little, and laughed. + +"Such frankness as his home would permit!" she said. "I'm afraid our +hearth would not radiate warmth." + +"Nothing could warm such a home into anything like the real thing," +Lawrence mused. "It was my privilege when in college to stay for a time +in a home where the people had really attained the ideal. It was the +only home that ever made me envious." + +"I shall make you such a home, dear," she whispered. + +"No, we will have a mere cave, a lair," he laughed. + +She shook her long hair down over his face playfully. + +"Will you be a savage old cave man?" she asked. + +"I shall. As savage as they ever made them in the golden age," he +answered, and drew her down against him. + +"I shall like that," she said, her eyes full of a warm, dreamy light. + +"You will be terribly abused by your beast husband," Lawrence said +gaily. + +"I think sometimes, Lawrence, that I could enjoy being hurt by your +hands--having them really cause me pain." + +He gripped her tightly against him and his hands tightened. + +"Claire," he said, "a man never knows what there is in his nature till a +woman like you whispers in his ear. You make me afraid at what I feel +within me." + +"I know," she said. "I'm afraid, too, of what there is in you, but just +the same I'm going to be the happiest woman in the world." + +"I hope so," he said. "But you will have to defend yourself against +selfishness." + +"I have to do that already," she laughed, "but I don't mind. I can, and +that is the main thing. Besides, when you really want anything very +much, you have a way of forcing me to want it, too, my master-lover!" + +He laughed joyously. "Claire," he said, "if we ever do go to smash, you +and I, there will have been a glorious day and a glorious house to smash +with. It won't be a petty breaking of toy dishes!" + +"No," she whispered, "it will be the breaking of life's foundations." + +She slipped from his arms and into her room. Philip was coming in. +Lawrence sat down in a chair and Philip threw himself on his bed in +silence. + +He was caught in the inevitable result of his beliefs. He had argued +with Lawrence because he was troubled. His whole being was filled with a +great fear. Remembering how Lawrence and Claire had acted lately, he had +been thrown into a fever of jealous rage. He was utterly beyond his +depth now, and he was silent because to speak would have meant to break +into accusation. His imagination had pictured Claire in Lawrence's arms +while he was gone; if he had actually known the truth it would have been +less agonizing than the picture. + +He lay there filled with his own thoughts and dreading the moment when +Lawrence would come and lie down beside him. Behind her curtain he heard +Claire moving about, humming a little song, and it added to his torture. +He turned restlessly on his bed and groaned. + +Lawrence raised his head. He, too, was dreaming of Claire, but his +imaginings, vividly alluring in their appeal, were filled with the +content of happiness. Claire was his. That was certain, and those sweet +dreams should be fulfilled again and again in his life, with a growing +depth that would make them the more beautiful. What a creature of wonder +she was--and she was his--his, to love, to enjoy, to master, and to work +for. Yes, and to work with. He would find her the needed impulse and +idea to form his great work. She would make him the creative artist, the +sculptor that he felt he had the power to be. + +Philip muttered something, and Lawrence turned toward him. + +"Feeling bad?" he asked genially. + +Philip did not answer. + +"You aren't ill, are you?" Lawrence's voice was full of real concern. He +was thinking that it would be bad if they had to stay here a while +longer. + +"No. Only in spirit. I will be all right to-morrow." + +Philip turned over, and Lawrence sat down again to dream. + +For a long time he remained there, meditating, and at last he arose to +go to bed. Philip was asleep and breathing heavily. Claire was moving a +little. Lawrence stopped to listen. The curtain parted, her arms slipped +around his neck, and silently there in the darkness she kissed him +passionately, eagerly. He held her tightly, her soft, warm figure +thrilling him with joy. + +Philip turned restlessly, and she hastily drew back, stealing a last +swift kiss. Lawrence walked toward his bed. He heard a low, stifling +little laugh, then all was still in the cabin. Claire had laughed for +very joy at her love. He smiled tenderly. Dear little woman, she was +indeed a wealth untold to him. What a life theirs would be after they +got away from Philip! + +Poor Philip, his would indeed be a sad fate, with his ideals here to +worry him after they were gone. Well, he wasn't the sort that one could +help. Let him work out his own destiny. Lawrence lay down comfortably, +and sending a thousand dear thoughts flying across the silent room, he +fell asleep while he smiled at his own romancing. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE LAW OF LIFE. + + +The last morning at the cabin was bright and sunny, with the warm +mystery of the day promising an infinity of strength for the future. All +three of them felt it and were carried along in dreams of anticipated +relief. Breakfast over, Philip helped Lawrence and Claire get their +packs ready. When everything was done, he said cheerily: "I will be gone +less than an hour in getting that farthest trap--I am going to make +quick speed--and then we will be off." + +They laughed with the joy that was filling their hearts. + +"Don't be longer than you can help, Philip," Claire admonished, and +Lawrence added: "Every minute that divides us from our life ahead seems +an eternity." + +Claire smiled at the dear thoughts his words provoked. + +"Good," said Philip in the doorway. "I'll hurry." And he was gone. + +Claire and Lawrence stood in the doorway while Philip went singing down +the lake shore. Her eyes filled with a warm light, and she slipped her +hand into Lawrence's. + +"At this moment, dear," she said, "I feel only pity for him. He is going +to be hurt." + +"Who wouldn't be, dearest, at losing you?" + +"Always flattering," she teased. They stood arm in arm, leaning against +the door-casing. + +"Claire," he said, "let's take a last walk around our estate. The place +where I first found the real, you will always be beautiful to me. I'm +less blind this morning than I've been in my life." + +"Of course you are," she said gaily. "You've acquired two good eyes." + +"And two dear hands and a very wonderful personality that makes me +doubly able," he said softly. + +They wandered out across the plateau in the direction from which they +had first entered it. Their conversation was broken and often +meaningless, but eminently pleasing to them both. + +"Dear heart," Claire mused softly, "you don't know what that poor, +freezing, underfed woman in your naked arms felt when she heard you +muttering that you needed her, as you stumbled down this ravine." + +"How did she feel?" + +Claire was dreaming back, and she wanted to tell him, but she found her +emotions too complex and too rapid for expression. + +"And then when you added that it was to use her as a subject for a stone +image," laughed Claire, "she was furious with you, and yet she was very +sure that she didn't want you to care about her in any other way." + +"Then perhaps I am making a mistake," he jested. + +"Perhaps, my dearest, but I am so glad of it that I don't care if you +are." + +He caught her in his arms. They were very near the great point in +lovers' lives when emotions always tend to break all restraint. She +clung to him passionately, her lips yielding and holding his in a +rapture of love. Together they swayed toward a great tree and sat down. + +When they returned to the cabin, they were surprised to find Philip +still gone. With the whimsicality of lovers, they dismissed him from +their thoughts and sat down in the armchair together, laughing and +talking of the past. Their conversation ran gradually into a clearly +defined discussion in which both minds were compelled to think quickly, +and they found new joy in their love. Even now, when their whole minds +were swayed by emotion, they were able to think, to talk, and to be +alive to everything in the world of intellect. + +Art, religion, and life, all in a grand mix-chaotic tangle. Lawrence +was talking for the joy of his thought to the woman who he knew would +enjoy it. + +"You see, Claire," he said after a long discussion, "in the religious +instinct we find very little besides a fear of the unknown. What else +there is in it is the more valuable part, and it is this lesser section +that we can develop and use to advantage." + +"What is this lesser section?" she asked. + +"The vital desire to create for our God's sake. If we could build that +into its real place, stimulated as it is by the overwhelming +appreciation of beauty in nature, we could establish something far more +worth while than a mere deceiving of men about their own kind, their +faults, and their relations." + +"You aren't quite fair, Lawrence," she protested. "In so far as the +church makes for a stronger socialization, it is a good." + +"But does it always promote that very effectively? Most of the +socialization could be better carried on where really educated people +were educators. The few of them there are in our schools now are +hampered as much as they are helped by the church." + +"I don't agree," she said. "The church does hamper education in higher +branches, undoubtedly, but in the kindergartens and grades it is a +good." + +"I don't know," he responded; "I never saw it." + +"Well," she cried suddenly, and laughed, "whatever we think of the +church, I agree that religion isn't always there, and when it is, +barring a few liberal exceptions, it is generally misdirected." + +"And here you and I sit in the Andes Mountains talking when we might be +making love," he laughed. + +"And here we are making love under the pretense of being intellectual," +she rejoined. "What would we do without the dear deceptions that make us +such pitiably delightful animals?" + +"We'd be a hopelessly unimaginative set of eaters." His answer was +quick. "I am convinced that it is our very power to deceive, plan grand +follies, though petty in deeds, that makes us artists, dreamers, +thinkers, and statesmen." + +"Perhaps," she agreed, and then slipped her arms around him suddenly. +"Is that what makes us able lovers, too?" + +He laughed. "By Jove, I believe it is!" he exclaimed. "Well, old +universal tangle, I do truly thank you for the power to be a foolish, +deceived, human being. Hurrah for the instinct that makes me call you my +divine necessity, Claire." + +She laughed happily and leaned against his shoulder. + +"For any instinct or deception that makes you more enjoyable, let us +give thanks," he repeated. + +"And for all the dear bodily claims that make me your adored one I do +give thanks, Lawrence," she whispered. + +Their lips met again. She drew back startled, and sprang to her feet +with a cry of terror. + +Philip stood in the doorway, looking at them with a face from which all +human sentiment was gone. He was a raging beast. + +"Lawrence," she screamed. "Philip!" + +Her lover sprang to his feet. Now he realized his blindness and its true +handicap. Philip was there, somewhere before him, thinking what he could +not know. He waited, every muscle strained with expectant fear and +anger. + +Claire was staring at Philip with abject terror in her face. Lawrence +could not know that, he only heard her breathing heavily, and +instinctively his arm went out to her. + +"Don't be afraid, dear," he said tenderly. + +The man in the door uttered an exclamation. "So"--and his words were +sharp as icicles--"that is your damned wanton way. You are the second +harlot I have loved." + +Lawrence started forward angrily. + +"Fool!" he ejaculated. + +Claire's warning scream gave him just time to brace his body. Philip had +sprung at him like a wild beast, and the impact of his weight sent +Lawrence staggering backward. In that moment the Spaniard's hand closed +on his throat. The blind man was paying the price of his defect in his +long-talked-of primitive battle for life. + +Even then he thought of the scene as it must be, and smiled bitterly, +while his hand went to his throat and tore at the wrist that was +steeling itself to rob him of breath. + +Had he been able to see, the fight would still have been unequal. Philip +was taller, wirier, and quicker on his feet. Lawrence's one advantage +lay in his keen, quick response to touch sensation, and that gave him +his sense of direction and ability to move rightly. + +With one hand he tore at Philip's wrist, while with the other he reached +steadily for Philip's face. + +They had knocked over the chairs and were staggering against the table. + +From the corner by the fireplace Claire watched them in an agony of +dread. It was indeed her time of test. + +She saw Lawrence's hand clutching at the flesh of Philip's cheek. They +were panting like two beasts. It was the primitive battle of males for +the female of their choice. + +Philip's hand was torn free from Lawrence's throat. The blind man +laughed as his lungs filled with air. She heard him mutter between +clenched teeth: "By God, I'll spoil your advantage." + +They were struggling again for throat holds. + +Lawrence was protecting his own, but the hand he had wrenched free +closed around his arm, bending it back slowly, irresistibly toward the +point where it must break. She screamed and covered her eyes for a +second at what her lover was doing--she saw him deliberately gouge at +Philip's eyes with his thumb held hard. + +She heard both men fall, and looked again in spite of herself. They were +on the floor writhing, their bodies against each other, clawing, +striking, digging, and biting like two wild gorillas. + +Now Lawrence was on top, now underneath, but she could not help but see +that Philip was slowly gaining. Though badly injured in one eye, he +still fought on unhesitatingly, forcing Lawrence nearer and nearer to +death. The artist was even now ceasing to resist, his struggle had +become spasmodic. Her lover was being choked to death. She sprang to her +feet. + +"Lawrence!" she screamed. "Lawrence!" + +He was being killed in a battle for the possession of her. Could she +stand still and see the man she loved murdered? Her hair fell about her +shoulders in a mass. She swept it back from her face, looked frantically +around her, then rushed to the wall-cupboard on the other side of the +cabin and drew out a long meat-knife. + +The touch of the steel in her hand carried her out beyond the last +barrier of civilized thought. For a moment she was the savage through +and through. With a scream like that of a wounded lioness whose cub is +in danger, she sprang toward them, the knife uplifted. + +Then she stopped. Something paralyzed her--generations of inherited +inhibition, conscience, what you will. "O God!" she moaned miserably, as +the weapon fell from her hand. + +It clattered on the wooden floor close beside the two men. Philip looked +up, and his white teeth gleamed in a grim smile. Claire realized what +she had done--she had placed the means of certain triumph within reach +of her lover's enemy. She stooped to regain the knife, but it was too +late. Philip released his grip on Lawrence's throat, leaned over, and +seized the blade. + +It was a mistake. Lawrence was far past consciousness of what he was +doing, but his body still instinctively obeyed his will. As the weight +from his chest was eased for a moment, he writhed his body into a freer +position and his arms struck out wildly. + +Philip saw his danger and raised the knife. The scene passed in a +second, but to Claire it was as if they were petrified for hours in that +position--she half-kneeling there, her arm outstretched, and Philip +astride Lawrence's body, holding the knife in midair. In that last +picture, carved upon Claire's agonized gaze, all the Spaniard's beauty +was gone forever--he was a monster, his face distorted, one eye closed, +his smile broadening into a hideous dog-like grin. + +Philip's arm came down. As it did so, it was struck from above by +Lawrence's, swinging aimlessly in a wide sweep. The blade, deflected +with double force, entered deep into Philip's breast. + +For just one instant an expression of angry and almost ludicrous +surprise leaped across the Spaniard's face as his teeth snapped shut. +Then his whole body twisted round violently, rolled over, and lay still +beside Lawrence's equally motionless form. + +Claire tottered back into a chair, and stared at them stupidly. Silence +reigned in the cabin where there had been chaos. Slowly from under +Philip's body a red line spread to a blotch on the floor. Lawrence was +lying there, his head almost touching it. + +Claire gazed and gazed, while she felt as if she must faint from the +dreadful illness which seized her. Suddenly Lawrence was sitting up, his +blackened face growing less terrible to look upon. He put his hands to +his throat, and then, as the pain in his lungs decreased, he rose +unsteadily. For a moment he balanced himself carefully, rubbing his +throat. + +Then he cried hoarsely: "Claire!" + +She moistened her lips with her tongue, but could not answer. + +He stooped and began to feel across the floor. She saw his hands, those +sensitive hands, move toward Philip's dead body. They would be in his +blood presently. + +She started forward. "Lawrence!" she screamed. + +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 grass. 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. + +"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." + +"I--sorrow--why?" She stared at him wonderingly. + +He looked surprised, then understood. Claire listened silently to his +brief, sincere sympathy as he told her how her husband had died during +the winter of pneumonia. + +"It has been nearly six months now," he finished, "and, of course, I am +very sorry for you. If I can do anything to help you, don't hesitate to +call on me, please." + +"Thank you. I--I won't." + +She heard her own voice change. Stifled, she fled up-stairs. + +Her grief was sincere, unshaded by any selfish thought that it made her +own course easier or more justifiable in the eyes of society. To her, +Howard Barkley's death changed nothing save that the man whom she had +once loved sincerely was now no more. + +But the living remained, and to the call of the living her life was +henceforth joyfully dedicated. + + +(The end.) + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the +original edition have been corrected.] + +In Chapter V, "tenements she had visted in her charity work" was changed +to "tenements she had visited in her charity work". + +In Chapter VII, a missing quotation mark was added after "What, indeed, +is moral law?" + +In Chapter IX, "disdiscover what she was" was changed to "discover what +she was". + +In Chapter X, "Disliking him as he did" was changed to "Disliking him as +she did". + +In Chapter XI, "as abnormal as her depondency had been before" was +changed to "as abnormal as her despondency had been before". + +In Chapter XVIII, "I promise to an emotionless judge" was changed to "I +promise to be an emotionless judge", and "harded and harder to wait" was +changed to "harder and harder to wait". + +In Chapter XX, "clearly defined discusion" was changed to "clearly +defined discussion", and "the overwelming appreciation of beauty in +nature" was changed to "the overwhelming appreciation of beauty in +nature". + + + +[Transcriber's Note: The following summary originally appeared at the +beginning of the serial's second installment.] + + +PRECEDING CHAPTERS BRIEFLY RETOLD + +When the City of Panama foundered off the coast of Chile, Lawrence +Gordon suddenly realized he had been left, in the frenzy of the +disaster, alone on the deck. + +Then, before he had fully recovered from the lash of the wind and the +violence of the waves, he was swept overboard and into the seething +maelstrom of an angry sea. + +As he came up from the depths he struck a heavy timber, and with the +strength of desperation he dragged his weight up on it and clung fast. + +"Land may be in sight," was his thought, "and I shall never know!" +Lawrence Gordon was blind. + +Hours had passed. The wind-lashed water beat him as he lay on the +timber. Fear and the cold drove him to rave at life and death alike. +Finally, over the roar of the wind, he caught the tumbling of breakers. +His plank was spun round, the swell lifted him from his position, and +the next breaker rolled him past the water-line. + +Once with the feel of the sand beneath his feet he ran until a rock +caught him above the knees and sent him headlong. + +When he regained consciousness he returned to the water to hunt for +clams. As he came ashore again he tripped over an object that on +investigation proved a woman. + +Claire Barkley answered to his ministrations, and recognized the blind +man she had observed on the boat. She could furnish the eyes for an +investigation of their situation inland, but her ankle had been sprained +in the wreck and she was unable to walk. + +When months after, just as they had reached the limit of human +endurance--what with hunger, the cold, and privation--they stumbled into +the cabin of Philip Ortez. The Spanish mountaineer declared it no less +than a miracle that a blind man should have carried a woman in his arms +half across the Andes--from the coast to the borders of Bolivia. + +Then they settled down to spend the winter in Philip's cabin. And now +the latent antagonism of the woman, who was so curiously stirred by the +apparent coldness of this blind sculptor to her charm, began to plan the +man's punishment. + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: The following summary originally appeared at the +beginning of the serial's third installment. The summary at the +beginning of the serial's fourth installment, if one was present, was +not available when preparing this electronic edition.] + + +PRECEDING CHAPTERS BRIEFLY RETOLD + +When Lawrence Gordon, numb with cold and hunger, after weeks of weary +wandering through the mountains in a desperate effort to find a +habitation, came in sight of the mountaineer's little cabin, he dropped +the woman from his breaking arms and fell, exhausted and unconscious, in +the snow. + +Flung into the sea when the ship foundered, he had eventually found his +way to the beach, and here he stumbled on the unconscious form of Claire +Barkley. + +Mrs. Barkley's ankle had been sprained in the wreck and she was unable +to walk. The man was strong, dominant, and unafraid; but he was blind. + +Carrying the woman in his arms the blind man had stumbled half across +the Andes, for the boat was wrecked off the coast of Chile, and Philip +Ortez, whose cabin they had reached, declared they were on the borders +of Bolivia, about two hundred miles from the nearest railroad station. + +This Spanish scholar, gentleman, and recluse readily welcomed two such +promising guests for the winter. A charming woman of twenty-six, with a +mind as well as emotions, and a man not much older, who was both a +philosopher and an artist, promised no end of diversion for the winter. + +And diversion, not to say, drama, came--the eternal triangle. + +Lawrence was slow in admitting his love for Claire, even to himself. And +Claire, who was affronted by the seeming cold and calculating +indifference of this big, blind god, suddenly realized his apparent +coldness held the very heart of passion itself. + +In the playful scramble of a snow-fight before the cabin, Lawrence had +taken her by the waist to wash her face with snow, and the contact of +her tightly held body betrayed the tensity of the man's feeling. Claire +broke from his grasp to look into the eyes of Philip, who had stood in +the doorway to watch the fun. In the eyes of the Spaniard she detected +the emotion she felt in the touch of the blind sculptor. + +The next day, to relieve the suppressed passion in her own as well as +Lawrence's soul, she proposed to go with Philip, as she sometimes did, +when he went out to spend the day with his traps. + +On the return journey, when the conversation was fast drifting into the +personal, Philip, carried off his feet by the nearness of the woman and +the madness in his blood, snatched Claire up in his arms and covered her +full lips with his kisses. + +The indignant woman brought him to an abject apology after his wild +confession of love, and entered into a compact of friendship with him. + +Reaching the cabin, the blind man, whose acute soul and senses had long +told him of Philip's passion, held out the finished carving he had been +at work on all these weeks--a winged cherub. + +In his eyes it was the symbol of his love for her. But her words of +acceptance made him think in her eyes it was rather a symbol of her love +for the mountaineer. + +To Philip it was a symbol of hope. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Claire, by Leslie Burton Blades + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLAIRE *** + +***** This file should be named 30261.txt or 30261.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/2/6/30261/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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