"I have, as ye say," answered the trapper, "ben in wars. I've stood in battle; I've slain men; I've buried those I have slain; I know what it is to take a human creeter's life, and I think I know where the right to do the deed stops and where it begins." "Where does it begin?" asked the man; "where does the right to take human life begin?" The words came forth slowly and heavy-weighted with meaning. It was evident that the question which the man asked was not asked as one interrogates, but as one puts a question that has personal application to himself. The trapper felt this. He looked into the man's face, and studied his countenance a moment; noted the breadth of brow, the large, deep-set eyes, the fine curvature of the chin and cheek; saw the beauty and splendor of it; saw what some might not have seen,--both the beauty of its peaceful mood and the terribleness of the wrath that might surge out of it,--saw all this, and without answering the question, said simply,-- "You have killed a man." The stranger looked steadily back into the trapper's face, and answered as simply,-- "Yes, I am a murderer." Herbert started a trifle. The girl gave a slight exclamation and lifted her hand as if in protest. The trapper alone made reply,-- "Ye sartinly don't look like a murderer, friend." "He is none! he is none!" exclaimed the girl. "He had provocation, old man! he had provocation!" and then she turned toward the man, and said: "Why will you say such things? Why will you condemn yourself wrongly? Why do you brood over a deed done in wrath, and under the strain that few might resist, as it had been done in cold blood, and with a murderer's malice and forethought of evil?" The man listened to her gravely, with a kind of considerate patience in the look of his face; waited a moment, when she had finished, as one might wait from the habit of politeness, and then, without answering her, said: "You have not answered my question, old trapper." "I can't answer it,--I sartinly can't answer it, friend, onless I know the sarcumstances of the killin'; for there be killin' that be right and there be killin' that be wrong, and onless I know the sarcumstances of the killin', my words would be like the words of a boy that talks in council without knowing what he is talkin'. Ef ye killed a man, how did ye kill him?" "I killed him face to face," answered the man. He paused a moment, and then repeated, "Face to face." "Why did ye kill him?" asked the trapper. "Had he done ye wrong?" "He was my friend," said the man, "my friend, true and tried." "Had he done ye a wrong?" persisted the trapper.