“Yes,” she said. “I feel that you ought to understand his reasons; that is really why I came. It looks as if you had not heard that shortly after he met your father Dick fell down the steamer’s hold.”
Clare made an abrupt movement and her face got anxious. “Was he hurt?”
“Very badly. He broke two ribs and the fever he got soon afterwards stopped his getting better; but that is not the worst. One of his eyes was injured, and there is some danger that he may lose his sight.”
It was plain that Clare had got a shock, for she sat in a tense attitude and the color left her face; but Ida saw that she had read her character right and taken the proper course. Indeed, she wondered whether she had not unnecessarily harrowed the girl’s feelings.
“Now,” she resumed, “you understand why Dick Brandon kept back the letters. It is obvious that he loves you, but he is disfigured and may have to give up his profession——”
She stopped, for Clare’s face changed and her eyes shone with a gentle light.
“But what does that matter?” she exclaimed. “He can’t think it would daunt me.”
Ida rose, for she saw that she had said enough. “Then perhaps you had better show him that you are not afraid. If you will dine with us this evening at the dam, you will see him. Jake will come for you and bring you back.”
When she left a few minutes later she had arranged for the visit, and Clare sat still, overwhelmed with compassionate gentleness and relief. Her father did not blame Dick and there was no reason she should harden her heart against him. He knew that she was innocent, but he was tied by honorable scruples. Well, since he would not come to her, she must go to him, but she would do so with pride and not false shame. It was clear that he loved her unselfishly. By and by, however, she roused herself. As she was going to him, there were matters to think about, and entering the house she spent some time studying her wardrobe and wondering what she would wear.
That evening Dick sat on the veranda of his shack, with a shaded lamp, which he had turned low, on the table close by. His comrades were dining at Fuller’s tent and he had been asked, but had made excuses although he was well enough to go. For one thing, it hurt him to sit in a strong light, though the oculist, whom he had seen in the morning, spoke encouragingly about his eye. Indeed, Dick had begun to think that there was now no real danger of its having received a permanent injury. For all that, he was listless and depressed, because he had not got rid of the fever and malaria is generally worse at night. He had been cautioned not to read and his cigarette had a bitter taste. There was nothing to do but wait until Jake came home. Now he thought of it, Jake had accepted his excuses rather easily.