, 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,