"Do you not think I know it!" she cried bitterly. "I owe Amanda a debt I never can repay for rescuing me from that dreary life with my Aunt Jane. Oh, I am ashamed as never a woman was; yet I can't help it!"
Roger knew only too well that in such matters most men, and most women too, are the playthings of their own passions, so he reproved her only by saying gently: "Even so you had no right to speak of it, knowing me to be happily married to your cousin."
"Ah, that's the tragedy!" There were now tears in her voice. "I know that you're not Not happily married, I mean. I'll vow you've been unfaithful to Amanda more than once, and I know for a fact that you recently had a hectic love affair when you were in France. More, 'tis common knowledge that while you were away Amanda was unfaithful to you, so that you were near separating from her on your return."
"Who told you these things?"
"No matter, but I know them."
Roger pulled her arms from about his neck and his tone suddenly became harsh. "Do you think, then, that by setting your cap at me, you can seduce me from Amanda?"
"I would I could," came the quick retort. "But even if you'd have me I'd be bound out of common decency to say you nay. Amanda is my friend and benefactress. I'd rather die than bear the shame of having betrayed her trust in me. Yet I know you to be a lonely man at heart and were matters otherwise I'd stop at nothing to have you for my own."
Again he was at a loss for adequate words to chill this desperate youthful passion; but he did his best by saying: "Believe me, you'd regret it soon enough. 'Tis clear that you have heard tales of my doings while abroad; and invested me with a glamour for which there is no warrant I am no braver or better than the average man and, as you have found out for yourself, considerably worse as a husband.
"That I will not believe. But for your courage and resource today I'd have been forced to the life of an unpaid whore in a brothel.
To see you fight is a thing to marvel at, and that it was even in small part for myself made my love for you ten times stronger. As for your frailties, who in this world is without them? And did you but love any woman with all your heart she would wean you .from them."
r,Listen, Clarissa, he said a trifle hoarsely. "'Tis understandable that you may have formed a wrong impression. But Amanda and I would never have drifted apart had I not been so long abroad. Now that we are reunited I love her as much as I am capable of loving any woman."
"Since you protest it, I'll not argue that. In any case, I have already told you that my last thought would be to endeavour to take you from her."
"Then I beg you to be advised by me. Do your utmost to free your
mind from this infatuation, which can but be embarrassing to us both.
These early loves are rarely lasting, and you are still so young.."
"Young!" she broke in impatiently. "There are no more than eight years between us. I am eighteen, and at that age many of my friends are not only married but about to bear their second child."
Roger knew that she was right, but persisted. "I meant only that you have ample years ahead of you before you need give your heart to the love or a lifetime."
"I have already given it to you."
He sadly shook his head. "In that case I can only say how deeply I regret that you should have fastened your affections on such an unsatisfactory and unworthy object." His tone grew firmer, as he added: "And now, it is only right that I should let you know that I feel in honour bound to terminate, as soon as possible, the situation that your declaration has brought about. It would be indelicate both to Amanda and yourself for me to keep you with us."
"D'you mean that you intend to send me home?" she cried in dismay.
He felt a sudden impulse to laugh, but swiftly suppressed it and replied: "At the moment I am in no position to send anyone anywhere ; but should we succeed in getting away I am sure that for your own sake it would be the best thing to do."
"Oh Roger, I beg you not to," she pleaded. "I never meant to say anything, and if I hadn't you wouldn't have known. All this came out only because I was overwrought. You see, until I got near enough to realize it was you calling me I feared you dead and . . . and, my relief at finding you alive proved too much for me."
Moved by her distress, he said with mental reservations: "Very well then, we'll not pursue the subject further. The others must have reached the beach ere this, and the sooner we join them the better. Then you can snatch a couple of hours' sleep before we make the attempt we have planned to get away in the Circe"
"Must we?" she asked. "Go yet, I mean; if there's no immediate hurry. I could drop with fatigue from having staggered about for so long among those awful bushes. Can we not rest here a while before making this new effort? I would so much rather."
Roger considered for a moment, then he shrugged. "As you wish, but we must not remain here above an hour, otherwise our friends will become anxious about us."
"Oh thank you," she sighed. Then backing away she added: "There's a fallen tree trunk here. I stumbled into it just now. It will serve to rest our backs against."
They fumbled about in the dark until they found the tree trunk, and sat down side by side. After a few minutes she said: "Roger, are you angry with me because I told you that I love you?"
"No," he replied. "I would that you had refrained; but no man could be insensible to such a compliment, or so churlish as to think less of anyone because they had admitted that they held him dear."
"Some would, I think; but not you, dear Roger, for you are kind as well as brave."
To that he made no reply. Silence and the deep night then engulfed them. It was over thirty-six hours since, aboard the Circe, Roger had woken from his last proper sleep, and during them his vitality had been drained both mentally and physically. Before he was aware of it he was fast asleep.
He was woken by soft fingers stroking his stubbly cheek, and roused to find himself in a woman's arms with his head pillowed on her breast. As he started up memory flooded back to him, and he realized that he was in the forest with Clarissa.
The darkness hid her smile as she murmured: "Never in all my life have I been so reluctant to do a thing as when I brought myself to wake you; but the night moves on."
"How long have you let me sleep?" he cried apprehensively.
"Two hours; three at the most," she replied with a shrug.
"Thank God it was not more!" he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. "Are you certain? Did you not also sleep?"
She stood up beside him. "No. I remained awake to wake you should you sleep too long. But don't grudge me those hours, Roger. They are my treasure, and no one can now ever take them from me."
Touched, angry, embarrassed, he could find nothing to say but "Come, we must get down to the others. We had better tell them that I went into the forest to find you and got lost as well."
She laughed. "Tell any fib you please. 'Twill form another secret bond between us. But I vow that I'll give you no cause to blush for it."
Somewhat reassured by this evidence of her intention to refrain from further demonstrations of her feelings for him, he took her by the arm and they walked as fast as they could down to the gully.
While Roger slept the moon had come up and they found the clearing now flooded with silvery light. By it, as they crossed the plank, they could see the still bodies of the men who had died that evening, and were even able to identify some of them. Roger could not repress a shudder as he glanced at the dark pit of the now silent pool, then he hurried Clarissa across the open space to the black tunnel where the path entered it on its far side. Plunging into the gloom again, they made their way down the slope until they were met by a cautious challenge.