There followed a long silence, broken by Patricia.
"The baby," she said in a quivering voice, "the poor, pretty, innocent little thing!"
"It is well with it," said Landless. "It is spared all toil and suffering. It is better as it is."
"The man and woman went together," said Patricia, still with the sob in her voice. "They would have chosen it so, I think. But the poor Indian—"
"He was my friend," said Landless slowly, "and I brought him death."
"It is I that brought him death!" cried Patricia, tossing up her arms. "I that shall bring you death!"
Her voice rose into a cry that echoed drearily from the hills about them, and she beat her hands against the raft with a sudden passion.
"You would bring me no unwelcome gift," said Landless steadily, "provided only that the time when I could serve you with my life were past."
She did not answer, and they floated on in silence down the little river, between banks lined with dwarf willows and sighing reeds. With the dawn they came to rapids through which they could not pilot their frail craft. Leaving the water, they turned their faces towards the rising sun, and pursued their journey through the forest that seemed to stretch to the end of the world.
CHAPTER XXXIII