"Well," said Brooke, reflectively, "I really don't know. No doubt it was an unwarranted fancy, but I think I felt that after what I had purposed at the Canopus I was doing a little _per contra_, that is, something that might count in balancing the score against me, though, of course, I'm far from certain that it could be balanced at all. You see, it was a little lonely up there, especially after Allonby died, as well as a trifle cold." Barbara would have smiled at any other time, for she knew what the ranges were in winter, but, as it was, her face was expressionless and her voice unusually even. "I think I understand," she said. "It was probably the same idea that once led your knights and barons to set out on pilgrimages with peas in their shoes, though it is not recorded that they did the more sensible thing by restoring their plundered neighbors' possessions." Brooke laughed. "Still, my stay at the Dayspring served a purpose, for, although somebody else would no doubt have done so eventually, I found the galena, and I didn't go quite so far as the gentlemen you mention after all. No doubt it is very reprehensible to steal a mine, or, in fact, anything, but I don't know that charitable people would consider that feeling tempted to do so was quite the same thing." Barbara started a little, and there was a distinct trace of color in her face. "I never quite grasped that point before," she said. "You certainly stopped short of----? "The actual theft," said Brooke. "I don't, however, mind admitting that the thing never occurred to me until this moment, but I can give you my word, whatever it may be worth, that I never glanced at the papers after you handed them to me." There was a trace of wonder in Barbara's face, though she was quite aware that it could not be flattering to any man to show unnecessary astonishment when informed that he had, after all, some slight sense of honor. "Then I really think I did you a wrong, but we are, I fancy, neither of us very good at ethics," she said, languidly, though she was now sensible of a curious relief. The man had, it seemed, at least, not abused her confidence altogether, for, while there was no evident reason why she should do so, she believed his assertion that he had not glanced at the papers. "Hair-splitting," said Brooke, reflectively, "is an art very few people really excel in, and I find the splitting of rocks and pines a good deal easier and more profitable. You were, of course, in spite of your last admission, quite warranted in not seeing me twice to-night." "I think I was," and Barbara looked at him steadily. "You see, I believed in you. In fact, you made me, and it was that I found so difficult to forgive you." It was a very comprehensive admission, and Brooke, whose heart throbbed as he heard it, sat silent awhile. "Then," he said, very slowly, "it would be useless to expect that anything I could do would ever induce you to once more have any confidence in me?"