When he returned to camp the sun had risen red and hot, with a thin, leaden haze dulling its brightness. No wind stirred. Not a sound broke the stillness. Magdalene Virey sat on the stone bench under the brush shelter, waiting for him. She rose as he drew near. Never had he seen her like this, smiling a welcome that was as true as her presence, yet facing him with darkened eyes and tremulous lips and fear. Adam read her. Not fear of him, but of what he might do!
“Is Virey back yet?” he asked.
“Yes. He just returned. He’s inside—going to sleep.”
“I want to see him—to get something off my mind,” said Adam.
“Wait—Adam!” she cried, and reached for him as he wheeled to go toward the shack.
One glance at her brought Adam to a standstill, and then to a slow settling down upon the stone seat, where he bowed his head. Life had held few more poignant moments than this, in his pity for others. Yet he thrilled with admiration for this woman. She came close to him, leaned against him, and the quiver of her body showed she needed the support. She put a shaking hand on his shoulder.
“My friend—brother,” she whispered, “if you kill him—it will undo—all the good you’ve done—for me.”
“You told me once that the grandest act of a man was to fight for the happiness—the life of a woman,” he replied.
“True! And haven’t you fought for my happiness, and my life, too? I would have died long ago. As for happiness—it has come out of my fight, my work, my effort to meet you on your heights—more happiness than I deserve—than I ever hoped to attain.... But if you kill Virey—all will have been in vain.”
“Why?” he asked.