Then the girl turned again to the waiting man who had withdrawn a letter and the document that must be signed, from an inner pocket.
Claire forced a laugh to her lips.
“It seems queer, Mr. Forner,” she said shrewdly. “Yes, surely we’ll accept, and mother’ll sign. But I’m kind of glad you came, and I’m real glad to hear you say that piece, especially seeing Booker and I discussed the market value of the block and he was fully aware of its position. I’d made a guess you’ve somehow had a deal to do with changing his mind. It isn’t easy for a decent man to sit around while his boss is trying to rob a helpless woman. I’ll just get a pen—oh, you’ve a fountain pen. Well, mother’ll sign right away, and our blessing’ll surely follow you on your way right back to the city.”
Jake Forner had departed and his coming had done more for the two bereft women than either of them was aware of. The paralysing effect of the newspaper story had given place to the reality of things. Grief was still driving them hard, but its pressure had somehow become less devastating, less numbing—more particularly was this the case with Claire.
She was still standing in the open doorway gazing out into the grey light of the dying fall day whence she had passed her “God-speed” to the man who had executed his mission with so much obvious goodwill and pleasure.
Had the girl possessed half the woman’s vanity to which she was entitled, she might have understood something of the ungainly man’s feelings in visiting her home. But Claire had not as yet discovered in herself that dormant self-appreciation which is so essentially an expression of all human nature. She had learned little or nothing from the faithful, if inadequate, mirror in her small lean-to sleeping quarters. Her wide blue eyes were simply a feature with which to witness the wonders of the world about her, just as her mass of ruddy hair was a something to brush laboriously and to fret over. Her slim, girlish figure she had only learned to deplore in the arduous labours which her life entailed, and its effect upon the men with whom she came into contact concerned her not at all. As yet her woman’s charm was a negative factor in her life.
But she was thinking hard as she gazed out upon the grey and russet of the fall world about her. Her gaze was upon the familiar, wood-clad slopes beyond the creek, on which was situated their spent gold claim. The slowly meandering waters that murmured their ceaseless song on the still air helped to impress the loneliness that for the first time in her life had suddenly made itself felt. And somehow, it set up an almost irresistible longing to flee from the sound of it.
For all her brave effort to help her mother she knew her beloved brother had been completely swept out of their lives. The hungry, merciless waters had swallowed him up. She would never, never, never see him again, or listen to his quiet, confident words. Never again would she witness those unobtrusive little acts of devotion which had been so unfailing in their home life with him. No, he was gone out of their lives completely, utterly. It was the end of a long chapter of youthful dreaming. And ahead lay an impenetrable future in which care and responsibility must be shouldered, and hers must be the burden of it.
For a moment something like panic surged in her heart. Before, only grief had stirred her. But, of a sudden now, grief receded into the background, a depressing shadow always threatening, whilst a wholly new emotion took possession of her. Her moment of panic passed. Her thought cleared of all confusion and a swift, keen resolution descended upon her and brought her calmness of spirit.