If her eyes don't get better soon, they
likely never will."
"Isn't it horrible?"
"You don't seem to think so. So long's she has Hugh to paint pictures
for her, what does she need eyes for? What's to come of it, Pete?
She's falling in love with the fine figure of a hero he's made her
believe he is. But how can he marry her?"
"Couldn't he go off somewhere else and marry her and start again?
Honest, I think if Hugh had some one who thought he was a god, he'd
likely enough be one. He--he lives by--illusion--isn't that the word?
It's kind of easy to be noble when some one you love believes you
to be, isn't it? That's Hugh; he--"
Bella threw down her rag, turned fiercely upon him and gripped his
shoulders.
"Are you a man or a child?" she said. "You love this girl yourself!"
"No!" he cried and broke from her and went limping out into the frosty
night with its comfortless glitter of stars.
As soon as his ankle was stronger, Pete spent all day and most of
the night on his skis, trying to outrun the growing shadow of his
misery. Hugh's work fell on his shoulders. He had not only his
accustomed chores, the Caliban duties of woodchopping and
water-carrying, the dressing of wild meat, the dish-drying and heavier
housework, the repairs about the cabin--but he had the trapping.
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