Claire: The Blind Love of a Blind Hero, by a Blind Author. Leslie Burton Blades

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ remembered a few other women of her type; he wondered what the end of their daily association would be. Then gradually his thinking ceased to be clear. His thirst more and more wove itself into his consciousness until his mind was a blurred fantasmagoria, in which, repeating itself over and over in the midst of strange ideas, would come the flashing sound of unattainable water. He did not talk, he did not think. Through the trees he wound his way with the grim determination of a beast fighting against death.

      The sun passed its zenith and sank slowly. It grew cooler in the forest through which he lurched, but he was hardly aware of it. Claire, too, was rapidly losing control over herself. She had ceased to talk, save to utter dull, monosyllabic commands to him. The pain from her ankle and her own thirst were blending into a dizzying maze of torture.

      As darkness settled over the forest, she grew afraid. Ordinarily it would have been a delight to her, here among the trees, but now the shadowing night filled her with ideas of horror. She forgot her theories, and clung to him so that he was the more hampered. She grew afraid lest he should drop her, lest he should give up the fight, and with that came an overwhelming desire to urge him on. She thought of wild tales that she might tell to spur his faltering strength. At first she resisted, then as her desire for life grew within her, she began to lie to him. "It isn't far, just a little way to water," she whispered.

      He struggled unsteadily forward. They had passed the top of the ridge and were descending the other side. He was scarcely aware of his own motion. He did not hear her directions, and stumbled against the trees. When her ankle struck a bough, she realized in a flash of pain that he was not listening to her. Then she felt him sinking down.

      Gripping his shoulder, she shouted: "Go on! Water ahead!" He heard her, his mouth opened, and he gathered himself up to stumble a few steps farther through the darkness. They seemed to be deep in a wooded ravine. He staggered again and fell.

      She was thrown violently forward, and flung out a hand to save herself. As she lay there, half-dazed, suddenly she felt her fingers grow cold and wet. Water! A small stream, no larger than that from a hydrant, was trickling over the rock.

      Dragging herself to it, she drank greedily. She dipped her hands in it. She laughed joyously and splashed. For a few minutes she played like a child. Then she remembered Lawrence.

      Lifting her hands full of water, she threw it on his face. His mouth was open, and a few drops fell upon his black tongue. She threw another handful, then took her skirt and, wetting it, wrung it into his mouth. He twisted over on his side and muttered: "Water."

      She gave him more, and as he sat up, she said eagerly: "Here, Lawrence, here."

      Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the stream. He drank ravenously, plunging his face and hands into the little line of water, making queer noises over it.

      Claire began to grow cold, and her ankle pained her till she shook like a fevered person. He turned and sat up.

      "You cold?" he managed to mutter.

      She wanted to say "No," but her will was worn out. "Yes," she answered, "very cold."

      He laughed a little guttural laugh as he drew off his coat. "Take it," he said, dropping it near her hand.

      She took the coat and drew it on. Lawrence was drinking again from the stream. She listened to him for a time, as she lay there in the darkness, then gradually her suffering and the strain under which she had been, won the victory over her consciousness, and she heard no more.

      He lay where he was, half unconscious. At last he began to feel the chill of the place and drew himself up toward Claire. She did not move. "We've got to do the best we can," he thought, and moved close to her so that their bodies might warm each other.

CHAPTER III.

       Table of Contents

THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE.

       Table of Contents

      Claire was the first to wake. She sat up and gazed around her. The morning sun was just breaking through a heavy fog that had drifted in from the ocean. Her clothes were damp, and she was chilled through, while her swollen and discolored ankle throbbed with steady pain. She looked down at the sleeping man beside her, and her forehead gathered in a little thoughtful frown. Then she looked around her again. Despite the knowledge of their desperate situation, she could not help noticing the beauty of the scene.

      Great trees grew in massive profusion all about them. Heavy tropical moss hung from the branches and trailed its green mat over the stones. Birds were beginning to sing, their notes breaking the silence of the place in sharp thrills. Then she studied her companion. Finally, she laughed aloud.

      "Lawrence," she said gaily.

      He turned and sat up, yawning drowsily. "What is it?" he demanded.

      "We are certainly the primitive pair."

      "H-m, I suppose. Anyhow, I feel better for my sleep."

      "It's beastly cold," returned Claire, "and my ankle is playing fits and jerks with me."

      "We'll have to do something about it," he said earnestly. She did not answer.

      "We can bind it up, I presume," he went on. "But it's a frightful inconvenience."

      "Admitted," she said quickly. "It can't be helped, however."

      "I'm very much for a fire," he suggested, as though he had not noticed the hints of hardness in her voice.

      "Some twenty feet ahead is a flat rock. We might build one there. Have you matches?"

      He shook his head. "We'll have to go it primeval."

      "But I don't see how," she began.

      "Never mind," he answered, with a malicious grin. "I do know some few things."

      "Perhaps you also know how to find food when there isn't any," she retorted.

      He rose without replying.

      "Well," she continued, "I see plenty of roots and stuff. We may as well prepare to eat them. It's unbelievable that I should be here, and with you. It's a horrible nightmare, this being stranded and lame out here somewhere with a blind man."

      He winced, but answered quietly: "I'm not especially charmed myself. I could prefer other things."

      She looked at him and smiled. "Don't ever let me repeat those sentiments," she said, simply. "I'm sorry. Of course you aren't to blame, and I shouldn't have said that."

      He stepped forward timidly. "Will you suggest the best means of finding dry wood?" he asked, as though the matter were forgotten.

      She pursed her lips and looked around her. "This moss seems to be feet deep," she said at last. "You might dig up some that is dry, and with that as a starter you can add twigs."

      He stopped and began to tear away the moss. His hands were stiff, but he worked СКАЧАТЬ