The Lighted Match

The man bent forward. His fingers tightened on the edge of the table

with a clutch which drove the blood back under his nails. It was a hard

fight to retain his self-control. His question broke from him in a low,

almost savage voice.

"Cara!" he demanded. "Cara, is there any price too high to pay for

happiness?"

"What do you mean?" The intensity of his eyes held hers, and for a

moment she feared for his reason. Her own question was low and

steadying, but he answered in an unnatural voice.

"I hardly know--perhaps I have less right to speak now than

ever--perhaps more. I don't know, I only know that I love you--and that

the world seems reeling."

Something caught in his throat.

"I'm a cur to talk of it now. I want to think of--of--something else. I

ought to think only what a splendid sort he was--but I can realize only

one thing--I love you."

"Only one thing," she repeated softly. Then as she looked again into the

feverishly bright eyes under his scowl, the meaning which lay back of

his words broke suddenly upon her.

"Was!" she echoed in startled comprehension. "Was!--did you say

was?"

The man remained silent.

"You mean that--?" she said the three words very slowly and stopped,

unable to go on.

"You mean--that--he--?" With a strong effort she added the one word,

then gave up the effort to shape the question. Her hand closed

convulsively.

Benton slowly nodded his head. The girl leaned forward toward him. Her

lips parted, her eyes widened.

The next instant they were misty with tears. Not hypocritical tears for

an unloved husband, but sincere tears for a generous friend.

"Delgado escaped," he explained simply. "Karyl was captured." Again he

spoke in few words. It seemed that he could not manage long sentences.

"Then he tried to escape," he added.

She pressed her fingers to her temples, and leaned forward, speaking

rapidly in a half-whisper that sometimes broke.

"Oh, it's not fair! It's not fair! I want to think only how splendid he

was--how unselfish--how brave! I want to think of him always as he

deserves, lovingly, fondly--and I've got to remember forever how little

I could give him in return!"

"Yes, I guess he was the whitest man--" Benton stopped, then blurted out

like a boy. "Oh, what's the use of my sitting here eulogizing him. I

guess he doesn't need my praises. I guess he can stand on his own

record."

"It's monstrous!" she said, and then she, too, fell back on silence.

Suddenly she rose to her feet, carried one hand to her heart and swayed

uncertainly for a moment, steadying herself with one hand on the table.

The man turned, following her half-hypnotic gaze, in time to see Colonel

Von Ritz bending over her hand. With recognition, Benton started up,

then his jaw dropped and, doubting his own sanity, he fell back into his

chair and sat gazing with blank eyes.