"It is most unfortunate," he said thoughtfully. "Another accident, just now, will merely confirm the villagers' superstitions."
"We need not tell them, surely," said Lucas.
"They will know," I said. "I suspect one of them has good reason to know what has occurred."
"Aha!" Lucas exclaimed. "You think it was no accident?"
He was altogether too pleased about the whole affair. I knew it was unfair of me to blame him for enjoying the adventure; his acquaintance with Emerson and Walter was of the slightest, so he could not be expected to feel for them as Evelyn and I did. And certainly the wild events of those days would have appealed to the adventurous spirit of any young gentleman. Nevertheless, his grin annoyed me.
"It was no accident," I said curtly. "This was a foolish expedition. From now on we must stay in the camp and close to one another. Perhaps no real harm was intended- "
"We cannot know that," Walter interrupted. "If the rock had struck my brother's head instead of his shoulder- "
"But his injury was an unfortunate accident. It was incurred during our release, not during the rockfall, which could hardly have been designed to murder us. You knew our destination; you would have searched for us if we had not returned, so that even if Abdullah had not happened to go after us, we would not have been incarcerated long. No; the attempt could not have been at murder. I believe it was only another harassment."
"And if Peabody says so," remarked Emerson, "that is the Word of the Prophet."
We finished the journey in cool silence.
However, we had much to be thankful for. Evelyn pointed this out as we prepared for dinner in our homey tomb. She was not looking well that evening; I noticed her pallor and sober looks all the more because it contrasted so strikingly with her appearance during the preceding week. She had been frightened, weary, and uncomfortable, as we all were; but under the strain there had been a quiet happiness, a kind of bloom. The bloom was now gone. And of course I knew the reason.
"Has Lucas been annoying you?" I inquired, with my usual tact.
Evelyn was doing her hair in front of the mirror. Her hands faltered; a bright lock of golden hair tumbled down her back.
"He asked me again to marry him."
"And you said…?"
Evelyn turned. The disordered masses of her hair flowed out with the force of her movement and fell about her shoulders. She had never looked lovelier, for the nobility of her purpose and the strength of her emotion transformed her face.
"Amelia, how can you ask? You know my feelings; I have never tried to conceal them from you, my cherished friend. I cannot marry the man I love; but I will never be the bride of another."
"You are wrong," I said forcefully. "Walter loves you. I know it; you must know it. You are being grossly unjust to him, not to give him the chance- "
"To know my shame- my folly? Never fear, Amelia; if he should ask me to marry him, I will tell him the truth."
"And why do you assume he will recoil? Oh, I agree; you must be candid, he would hear the story sooner or later, and he would have cause for resentment at hearing it from another than yourself. But he is a splendid lad, Evelyn; I like him more with every day that passes. He would not- "
"He is a man," said Evelyn, in a tone of weary wisdom that would have made me laugh, had I not been so distressed for her. "What man could forget or forgive such a thing in his wife?'
"Bah," I said.
"If I had anything to offer him," Evelyn went on passionately. "The fortune I once despised would be a godsend to him and his brother. If only- "
"You don't suppose that splendid boy would refuse you for your misstep and forgive you for a fortune, do you?" I demanded indignantly.
Evelyn's eyes narrowed.
"Amelia, why do you speak as if you were a hundred years old? Walter is only a few years younger than you, and you are still in your prime. In the last week you seem to have drunk from the fountain of youth; you are looking younger and more attractive every day."
I stared at her in astonishment.
"Come, now, Evelyn, don't let your fondness for me destroy your aesthetic sense. I have been scoured by windblown sand, dried out and burned by the sun, and I have ruined every decent dress I own. Forget me, and let us settle your problem once and for all. If you would only listen to me- "
"I honor and love you," she interrupted, in a low voice. "But in this matter I cannot follow anything but my own conscience."
"But it is such a waste," I lamented "You love this life. Your seeming fragility conceals a will of iron; you could be a helpmate as well as a wife to Walter."
"You are the one who loves this life," Evelyn said, watching me curiously. "What an archaeologist you would make, Amelia!"
"Hmmm," I said. "That is true. It is most unfortunate that I was not born a man. Emerson would accept me men as a colleague; my money would support his work; what a splendid time we would have, working and quarreling together. Oh, it is a pity that I am a woman. Emerson would agree."
"I am not so sure," said Evelyn. There was a faint smile on her lips.
"You are distracting me again," I complained. "You cannot avoid the issue, Evelyn. Suppose I were to finance-"
"No, Amelia," Evelyn said. I knew that gentle tone. It was as final as Emerson's growl.
"Then accept Lucas's offer. No, no, I mean his offer of money. Half of your grandfather's fortune is yours, morally. If you really believe Walter would accept- "
"Amelia, that is not worthy of you. Could I accept Lucas's generosity and use it to buy the affection of Lucas's rival?"
"You put things in such a cold-blooded way," I muttered. "It is the honest way." Evelyn's animation had faded; she was pale and sad. "No, Amelia. I cannot- will not- marry Lucas, nor will I accept a penny from him. Are you so anxious to rid yourself of me? I had dared to let myself envision a life together… Growing old with you, winding wool and keeping cats and tending a garden somewhere in the country. We could be content, could we not? Oh, Amelia, don't cry! I have never seen you weep; don't do it on my account…"
She threw her arms around me and we clung together, both sobbing violently. I did not often cry, it is true; I don't know why I was crying then, but I found it soothing to do so. So I let myself go, wallowing in the luxuriance of openly expressed emotion, and Evelyn made me cry even harder by the fond expressions she choked out. "I do love you, Amelia; you are dearer to me than any sister. Your kindness, your sense of humor, your saintly temper…"
The last phrase appealed too strongly to the sense of humor she had just mentioned; I stopped crying and began to laugh feebly.
"Dearest Evelyn, I have a temper like a fiend's, and the disposition of a balky mule. How beautiful is friendship, that it blinds one to the friend's true nature! Well, child, don't cry anymore; I know why you weep, and it is not because of my saintly nature. I suppose the Almighty will order our lives as He sees fit, and there is no reason for us to worry. I have not altogether decided to accept His decrees; but whatever happens, you and I will not part until I can give you up to a man who deserves you. Here, wipe your eyes, and then give me the handkerchief so I can wipe mine. I did not expect to need more than one handkerchief this evening.
We mopped our wet faces and went on with our dressing. Evelyn had one more comment to make.
"You speak as if I would be the one to leave you. Will you keep me on, Amelia, to wind wool and wash lapdogs, after you are married?"
"That is the most ridiculous remark you have made as yet," I said. "And many of your remarks have been extremely silly."