She patted his hand tenderly.
"I can scarcely wait till we get out, Claire."
"I know, dear."
They listened to the purling of the stream and dreamed.
Days followed in uneventful sequence. Each brought them nearer to the railroad, towns, and escape. Lawrence was freely merry. At times Claire was caught in his gaiety, but more and more often he noticed that she was quiet. He attributed her silences at first to the charming strain of diffidence he had learned to know as part of this woman, but gradually he grew fearful lest all was not well.
"If she wants me to know, she will tell me," he thought.
She seemed to divine what he was thinking, but she did not speak. She wanted to be sure of herself before she said anything. Lawrence's words came again and again, and each time they brought with them a stronger feeling that there was yet one thing they must do. This feeling increased as they neared the town toward which they journeyed. The night came when they were more than ever silent.
"To-morrow," Lawrence said at last. "To-morrow we reach civilization. Oh, Claire, Claire, with civilization come you, home, our real life!"
She moved uneasily. There was a sudden overwhelming sense of her need, and she resolved to tell him everything.
"Lawrence," she began, "to-morrow we do reach civilization, and I—I am finding out things about myself."