The Man in Lonely Land

  XX

  CLAUDIA

  Claudia parted the curtains of her bedroom window and, holding themaside, looked out upon the scene before her with eyes love-filled atits wonder and beauty.

  Across the broad, terraced lawn the fresh-fallen snow was unbroken,and every crystal-coated branch and twig of the great trees upon itgleamed in the moonlight as though made of glass. In the distancethe river between its low hills seemed a shining, winding path ofsilver, and over it the moon hung white and clear and passionless.The mystery of silence, the majesty of things eternal, broodedsoftly; and with a sudden movement of her hands Claudia held them asthough in prayer.

  "In all the world there is no place like this--for me. It is myplace. My work is here. I could not--could not!"

  With a slight indrawing breath that was half sigh, half shiver, sheleft the window and drew her chair close to the fire. For a longtime she looked into its dancing depths, and gradually her eyes sonarrowed that their long lashes touched her flame-flushed cheeks.After a while she got up, went over to her desk, took from it severalletters locked in a small drawer, came back to the fire, and againlooked into it.

  The girlish grace of her figure in its simple dress of soft blue,open at the neck and showing the curves of the beautiful throat, wasemphasized by the unconscious relaxation of her body as she leanedfor a moment against the mantel; and the Claudia to whom all lookedfor direction, the Claudia who had small patience with hesitatingindecisions, and none for morbid self-questionings, searched theleaping flames with eyes uncertain and afraid.

  A slight noise in the hall made her start uneasily. She did not wantto be disturbed to-night. Turning her head, she listened. Thecorners of the large, high-ceilinged room, with its old-fashionedmahogany furniture, its shelves of books, its carved desk of quaintpattern, and its many touches of feminine occupancy, were lost inshadow, and only here and there on chair or table or bit of wall thefirelight darted, but to dance off again, and the stillness wasunbroken save by the crackling logs upon the hearth.

  Drawing the lamp on the table closer, she sat down and took out oftheir opened envelopes two letters, one addressed to her mother andone to her Uncle Bushrod Ball; and as she read them the flush in herface deepened, then paled, and she bit her lip to hide its quivering.Putting them aside, she held for a moment, in hands that trembledslightly, another letter, and presently she began to read it:

  "_December 30th_.

  "I can wait no longer, Claudia. Words are not for love like mine;but you, who gave it life, will understand it without words. Ibelieved I had put it from me--the thought of marriage--for almost Ihad lost my faith in the love for which I looked, and with compromiseI could not be content. Perhaps I had no right to ask for what fewfind in life, but I did ask it, and when you came I knew my dreaminghad come true. Will you marry me, Claudia? So infinitely I loveyou, want you, need you, that the days ahead until I win you--for Ishall win you--are dark and dreaded. All of your love, its supremestbest, I want; but if for mine, which is beyond all measure, you cangive me now but little, give it and let me come to you. I must come.I am coming. And believe me always Yours,

  "WINTHROP LAINE."

  The pages dropped slowly in her lap, and, leaning back in her chair,Claudia closed her eyes and pressed her hands against them tightly.For some time she sat thus, then took up the last letter and readthat also.

  "_December 31st_.

  "It is within an hour of midnight, Claudia. Soon the new year willbe with us and the old one gone--the one that brought you to me.Almost the year had gone before I met you, but time is more than daysand weeks, and that of ours together has been the real living of mylife. In the stillness of my room I drop my book and dream that youare with me. On the street I hurry home to you; and once I stoppedand bought you flowers--and in the darkness threw them away. To haveyou really here, to know that you are waiting--

  "The new year has come, Claudia. The bells are striking the hour.It must, it shall bring you to me. I am asking much when I ask youto marry me, to leave your home to make a home for me. Your infinitelove for Elmwood is understood well. Its old-world air of dignityand charm, of gracious courtesy and fine friendships, of proudmemories and gentle peace, could scarce find counterpart elsewhere onearth, and yet in the days to come would it content alone, Claudia?For my great need of you might there not be some little need of me?Tell me I may come; but, whether you tell me or not, I am coming.

  "WINTHROP LAINE."

  Claudia put the pages back in their envelope. On the hearth the fireburned low, and, slipping out of her chair, she sat upon the rug andheld her hands out shiveringly to the red ashes slowly turning gray.The habit of childhood was upon her, and quiveringly she talked toherself:

  "You shouldn't have asked him to come Christmas! But how could Ihave known? I only thought he would be lonely. He cares for so fewpeople and with all his wisdom has so little understanding of manythings in life. He is so intolerant of weakness and meanness, ofsham and show and pretence and make-believe that--that that's why youlike him, and you know it, Claudia Keith! You shouldn't have askedhim. You didn't know--but you knew before he went away. And he iscoming back." Slowly she got up. "No. He is not coming back. Thatis, not yet, he isn't. You are not sure. Are you glad?" In themirror over the mantel she met her eyes unshrinkingly. "Yes, I amglad," she said, and her lips whitened. "I am glad, but I am notsure." In her eyes was strange appeal. "Vermont and Virginia!Could we be happy? We are so different--and yet-- Perhaps in thespring. . . . The winter months are very long. Oh, Winthrop Laine!"She pressed her hands to her heart as if to still its suddenthrobbing, then reached for his letter and kissed it. "I wonder if Iam going to know what Lonely Land can mean!"