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