"And your husband?" Claire saw that he was looking beyond her, and she turned to find Lawrence at her side. Instinctively she resented his being there. The warm blood rushed to her face.
"He—oh—he will be all right, I trust!" she stammered falteringly, and her host looked puzzled. Her impulse was to tell him that Lawrence was not her husband, but she thought better of it and said nothing about the relationship.
"He had a long, desperate struggle to bring me here," she said instead. "You see, I broke my ankle and he had to carry me."
"Oh!" The man rose, his face filled with respect as he looked at Lawrence asleep beside her.
"From where did he carry you?" he asked.
"From the coast," she shuddered. "It has been terrible!"
His face expressed utter amazement as he repeated: "From the coast? It is a miracle!"
She made no reply, for Lawrence stirred and tried to sit up.
"You'd better lie still," the stranger said kindly. "You deserve rest, my friend." Then, as to himself, he added: "It is the first miracle in which I can believe."
Claire stared at him, and he laughed softly. "Pardon, madame! I am an unhappy seeker after truth," he apologized, throwing a log on the fire.