On a straight road this man was fearless and
quick, but he had no taste or capacity for crooked ways.
Catrina walked on in silence. She was not looking at the matter from his
point of view at all.
"Of course," she said at length, "of course, Paul, I admire you for it
immensely. It is just like you to go and do the thing quietly and say
nothing about it; but--oh, you must go away from here. I--I--it is too
horrible to think of your running such risks. Rather let them all die
like flies than that. You mustn't do it. You mustn't."
She spoke in English hurriedly, with a little break in her voice which
he did not understand.
"With ordinary precautions the risk is very small," he said practically.
"Yes. But do you take ordinary precautions? Are you sure you are all
right now?"
She stopped. They were quite alone in the one silent street of the
stricken village. She looked up into his face. Her hands were running
over the breast of the tattered coat he wore. It was lamentably obvious,
even to him, that she loved him. In her anxiety she either did not know
what she was doing, or she did not care whether he knew or not. She
merely gave sway to the maternal instinct which is in the love of all
women. She felt his hands; she reached up and touched his face.
"Are you sure--are you sure you have not taken it?" she whispered.
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