Part 31 (1/2)
”I had a horrible shock after you left,” Ruth went on. ”The poor little fellow was awfully ill with some kind of a fever. The doctor almost gave him up.”
”Good heavens!”
”Aunt Lora helped me to nurse him, and she made me see how I had been exposing him to all sorts of risks, and--well, now we guard against them.”
There was a silence.
”I grew to rely on her a great deal, Kirk, when you were away. You know I always used to before we were married. She's so wonderfully strong.
And then when your letters stopped coming----”
”There aren't any postal arrangements out there in the interior. It was the worst part of it--not being able to write to you or hear from you.
Heavens, what an exile I've been this last year! Anything may have happened!”
”Perhaps something has,” said Ruth mysteriously.
”What do you mean?”
”Wait and see. Oh, I know one thing that has happened. I've been looking at you all this while trying to think what it was. You've grown a beard, and it looks perfectly horrid.”
”Sheer laziness. It shall come off this very day. I knew you would hate it.”
”I certainly do. It makes you look so old.”
Kirk's face clouded.
”I feel old.”
For the first time since he had left the s.h.i.+p the memory of Hank had come back to him. The sight of Ruth had driven it away, but now it swept back on him. The golden moment was over. Life with all its troubles and its explanations and its burdening sense of failure must be faced.
”What's the matter?” asked Ruth, startled by the sudden change.
”I was thinking of poor old Hank.”
”Where is Mr. Jardine? Didn't he come back with you?”
”He's dead, dear,” said Kirk gently. ”He died of fever while we were working our way back to the coast.”
”Oh!”
It was the idea of death that shocked Ruth, not the particular manifestation of it. Hank had not touched her life. She had begun by disliking him and ended by feeling for him the tolerant sort of affection which she might have bestowed upon a dog or a cat. Hank as a man was nothing to her, and she could not quite keep her indifference out of her voice.
It was only later, when he looked back on this conversation, that Kirk realized this. At the moment he was unconscious of it, significant as it was of the fact that there were points at which his mind and Ruth's did not touch.
When Ruth spoke again it was to change the subject.
”Well, Kirk,” she said, ”have you come back with your trunk crammed with nuggets? You haven't said a word about the mine yet, and I'm dying to know.”
He groaned inwardly. The moment he had been dreading had arrived more swiftly than he had expected. It was time for him to face facts.