His friend turned to him seriously.
“You are right, Will,” said he. “I owe duty to many besides myself.”
“You take things too hard, Merne. You cannot carry the whole world on your shoulders. Look now, I have not been so blind as not to see that something is going wrong with you. Merne, you are ill, or will be. Something is wrong!”
His companion made no reply. They marched on to their own part of the encampment, and seated themselves at the little fire which had been left burning for them.[4]
William Clark went on with his reproving.
“Tell me, Merne, what are you thinking of? It is not that woman?”
He seemed to feel the sudden shrinking of the tall figure at his side.
“I have touched you on the raw once more, haven’t I, Merne?” he exclaimed. “I never meant to. I only want to see you happy.”
“You must not be too uneasy, Will,” returned Meriwether Lewis, at last. “It is only that sometimes at night I lie awake and ponder over things. And the nights themselves are wonderful!”