, and he left them in possession of the cabin.

At first there had been an unaccountable awkwardness between Lawrence
and Claire, and it had left a reserve which was difficult to overcome.
Lawrence had explained their situation to Philip; the Spaniard had been
apologetically gracious, but there was something in Claire's nature that
made her wish that Lawrence had never been thought of as her husband.
Dressed in Philip's clothes, and in the presence of a roof and fire, she
felt a desire to be free from the memory of the days when she had clung
about Lawrence's neck, and, above all, she felt that she was not able to
meet him with understanding. His blindness in these surroundings seemed
to set a sudden and impassable barrier between them, and made her ill at
ease when she was alone with him.

Lawrence was irritated that she should so immediately react into what he
called the old conventional habit toward blind people, and keep it
standing like a stupid but solid wall between all their talk. Now that
she was no longer dependent on him, she appeared to him more attractive.
He thought of her husband, and wondered if Claire's attitude toward
himself was tempered with the thought of the man at home. "Surely," he
told himself, "she can't be allowing that to come between us, for it is
so obviously quite unnecessary." Then he began to wonder how much of her
life was centered about her husband. What sort of man was he, and did
she love him devotedly? As he thought, there crept into his feeling a
sense of irritation against the unknown man who was obstructing his
friendship with the woman he had carried half through the Andes
Mountains.

Then the longing for his work came over him, and there were times when
he felt he must do something. He spoke needlessly sharp words to
Claire. Though she concealed her anger, there grew between them a
continuous straining born out of mutual misunderstanding and a great
submerged tangle of emotions.

One morning when Ortez in snow-shoes and fur had gone for the day to
look after his traps, Claire washed up the tin dishes they used, and sat
down before the fire opposite Lawrence. His head was in his hands and
his face was somber.

"You look sad this morning," she said casually.

"Do I?" he answered. "I'm not--especially. I was just planning a piece
of work, dreaming it out in outline."

She looked at him thoughtfully. His forehead was high and broad, she
thought, and his hands-- Their days i