"The barbarian eats from a trough," remarked Herbert; "civilize him, and he erects a table; and as you add to his refinement, he adorns that table until the furniture of it magnifies the feast and the guests think more of the beauty of the adornments than of the food they swallow." And so with pleasant converse the meal progressed. Soon the sun declined and darkness began to thicken in the pines. The table was moved to one side, the dishes cleansed and the fire lighted for the evening. With the darkness silence had fallen upon the group,--not that silence which is awkward and oppressive, or which comes from lack of thought, but that fine silence, rather, which is only the thin shadow of the reflective mood, and because the thought is inward and overfull. And so the four sat in silence by the fire. Above, a few great stars shone warmly. Here and there the rapids flashed white through the gloom. From a huge pine on the other side of the pool a horned owl challenged the darkness with his ponderous call. Suddenly the man broke the silence,--broke it with a question which led to a remarkable conversation, and a tragical result. And the question was this:-- "Friend, answer me this question: _If a man take a life, should he give his own life in atonement for the dreadful deed?_" III "_If a man take a life, should he give his own life in atonement for the dreadful deed?_" Such was the question that the man asked. He was looking at the trapper at the time,--looking at him steadily; but the sound of his voice as he put the question did not seem to give personal direction to the solemn interrogation; it seemed rather the echo of a reflection, as if his own mind in its communings had come upon the terrible question, and the words, without volition of his own, which framed it into speech, had passed out of his mouth. He was looking at the trapper, as we said, and the trapper was looking into the fire,--the light of which, that came and went in flashes, brought distinctly out the settled gravity of the features, and the rugged but grand proportions of the head. There is no better light in which to see an old man's face than the fitful firelight; and no better background than that which the darkness makes. One would have thought that the interrogation was not heard, for on the trapper's face there showed no line of change. The girl remained looking steadfastly into the face of the questioner, and Herbert made no response. "I asked you a question, old trapper," said the man; "a question which reaches to the depths of human responsibility, and points to the heights of human sacrifice. In the old days, the wisdom of the world was with those who lived with Nature. Your head is white, and you tell me you have lived in the woods since you were a boy. You have seen war; have stood in battle; have slain your man, and made many graves of those you have slain. Have you wisdom? Are you able to answer the question I have asked you?"