likely to break her
down with its dreadful pressure. Vaguely she wished that she had never
seen Philip, even that she had never seen Lawrence, or that she had
perished with him in the mountains.

How had she ever placed herself in the position she was now in? She had
come by the way of a terrible road and, looking ahead, she could see
nothing but sadness, anguish, and a life of dull discontent with
Philip--that or death!

Lawrence had had time and opportunity since his recovery to declare
himself, and he had not done so. She had had time and opportunity to
tell him frankly of her own feeling, but she had not done so. She did
not know why. Now she could not. Philip had given her to understand his
desperate determination to marry her, and, after all she had said and
done, she had no right to refuse him. If she told him the truth he might
kill Lawrence or her, or both of them. These tragic idealists, she
exclaimed to herself, what a tangle they can make out of life!

Oh, what a noose she had managed to fasten around her own neck! Would
the problem never be settled, one way or the other?

What would she do if Philip tried to force her to marry him? Kill him?
Was she, then, so primitive, so savage, so much the slave of her own
desires that she would slay to gain her end? She remembered Lawrence's
talk when he was ill, "We killed those days, Claire, killed because we
wanted fuller life, fuller knowledge, fuller expansion of our own vital
existence; we were gropers after more light!"

"Supper!" she said dully, and then sat down.

They ate in silence save for the occasional necessary word, and
afterward went immediately to bed.

Claire soon fell asleep, with the last thought in her mind--to live as
she wanted to live she would pay any price!

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE ROMANTIC REALIST.

It was the 1st of May when Lawrence at last found himself alone with
Claire and decided to speak. The instant he thought of declaring himself
he was surprised at his own mental state. A panic seized him, his heart
beat unsteadily, his mouth grew dry, and he could think of nothing to
say.

They were out on the lake shore. Philip had left them on his last long
trip across the plateau before starting for civilization. The warm
spring wind blew around them, laden with scent of pine and flower. At
their feet the water rippled and cooed little melodies. Claire sat very
still, gazing wistfully at the man beside her. Her heart was a lea