"What is wrong?" asked the man. "I can't tell whether he had done me wrong or nay. I only know he had crossed my purpose,--stopped me from doing what I had set my heart on doing; and what I set my heart on doing, old man, _I do_." And the man's eyes darkened under the abundant brow and the face tightened and contracted, as a rope when a strain is upon it. "The man came between me and my purpose," he added, "he stood up and faced me, and said I should not do what I proposed to do, and should not have what I had sworn to have; and I killed him where he stood." It was astonishing how quietly the words were said, considering the tremendous energy of will which was charged into and through their quietness. "He had no right to do it," said the girl; "he had no right to do it. It was none of his business, and you know it wasn't," And she spoke, apparently to the man, "Oh, sir, why do you not tell them that he was an intermeddler, and meddled with what was none of his business,--kindled you to rage by his meddling, and that you slew him in your rage, thoughtlessly, unintentionally? Why do you not tell them these things?" The man listened to her again, politely. There was a look of grave courtesy in his eye as he half turned his face and looked upon her as she was speaking; but beyond this there was no recognition that he heard her. When she had finished, he turned his face again toward the trapper, and said: "Old trapper, you have not answered my question. Has a man a right to take life?" "Sartinly," answered the trapper. "How?" asked the man. "In war," answered the trapper. "In any other way?" queried the man. "Yis,--in self-defence." "Any other cause?" persisted the stranger. "Not as a rule," answered the trapper. After this there was a silence. The girl's head dropped into her two palms and for an instant her frame shook, as one contesting the passage of a strong feeling that insists on expression. The three men made no motion, but sat silently gazing into the fire. For several minutes the silence lasted. There are two living that will never forget that silence. Then the man lifted his face and said,-- "Old trapper, have you ever known remorse?" "I can't say I ever did," answered the trapper; "though I've felt a leetle oneasy arter dealin' with the thievin' vagabonds whose tracks I've found on the line of my traps. It has seemed to me, sometimes, in the evenin', in thinkin' the matter over, that perhaps a leetle less bullet and a leetle more scriptur' might have did jest as well. But a man is apt to be a leetle ha'sh in his anger; but I have an idee that the Lord makes some allowance for a man's doin's when he's a good deal r'iled. That's where the marcy comes in. Yis, that's where the marcy comes in; isn't it, boy?" and the old man looked at Herbert. "There is certainly where we need the mercy to come in," answered Herbert; "but it were better that we acted so that mercy need not be shown."