“But what?” said Clare.
Stonor said grimly: “There are only two tree-climbing animals in this country heavy enough to make the sound we heard—bears and men.”
“A bear?”
“Maybe. But I never heard of a bear climbing a tree beside a house, and at night, too. Don’t know what he went up for.”
“Oh, it couldn’t be——” Clare began. She never finished.
Stonor kept his vigil at the open door. He bade Clare throw ashes on the embers, that no light from behind might show him up. When she had done it she crept across the floor and sat close beside him. Mary, apparently, had not been awakened.
Minutes passed, and they heard no sounds except the rapids and the pines. Clare was perfectly quiet, and Stonor could not tell how she was bearing the strain. He bethought himself that he had perhaps spoken his mind too clearly. To reassure her he said:
“It must have been a bear.”
“You do not think so really,” she said. A despairing little wail escaped her. “I don’t understand! Oh, I don’t understand! Why should he hide from us?”
Stonor could find little of comfort to say. “Morning will make everything clear, I expect. We shall be laughing at our fears then.”