"When you said, 'Human beings think many things they don't and can't do.'"
"I understand." He threw back his head.
"You see, dearest, it is that everything in our lives may be clean."
"Good enough, Claire." He was hearty in his agreement. To his alert mind the problem seemed very clear.
"Yes," he went on, "you are right. It isn't going to be easy. It will hurt him to have you tell him that you no longer love him, but I suppose it can't be helped, and it is best."
"I knew you would say so." Her cry was full of relief.
"To-morrow morning we'll start early," he laughed. "Noon will get us to the railroad if Ortez was right about distances, and then—home and the last clearing-up before we start life."
The matter was settled. Claire lay down in her blankets happily. She did not sleep at once, however. Gazing through the fire, she let her eyes rest tenderly on the strong face of the sleeping man opposite. She had seen much of him, and always he was fair, just, and she loved him. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of the suffering she must cause her husband, yet it was right and she could do no less. She would tell him everything. He was big and he would understand. Since her whole nature, primal and spiritual, cried out that Lawrence was her mate, Howard would free her. She fell asleep sure that everything would work out right, and then—life and love, as Lawrence said with that exuberant lift in his voice.
At noon of the next day they stopped on the brow of a high hill.
"Lawrence," Claire cried exultantly. "It is there—below us—a town!"