Their way lay at this point through one of the game covers, and a sudden piteous crying, dreadfully human, arose from the bushes near the path. Helen stopped with fright and horror in her face. “A child--is it a child?” she asked. “No; nearly as bad though,--a hare,” said he, and pushed his way through tangled bracken and brambles in the direction of the sound. In a moment he called to her. “Will you come here, Miss Challoner?” he said. “Come round to the right: it is a clearer path.” She followed his directions, and found him kneeling a few yards off, holding in both hands a hare that was caught by the hind-leg in a horrible jagged-toothed trap. “Pull the two sides of the trap apart,” he said, “as quickly as you can. Be quick. The poor brute is struggling so I can hardly hold it.” His voice was so changed that she would hardly have recognised it. It was no longer low and courteous, but sharp and angry. She knelt down by him and, exerting her full strength, did as he bade her. The leg was caught only by the skin, and holding the animal in one hand he gently disimpaled it where the iron teeth had clutched. But just as it was free a sudden tremor of nerves passed through Helen at this humane surgery; the trap slipped from her hand, and caught Frank’s finger just at the base of the nail. He took his breath quickly with the pain and let go of the hare, which, none the worse, ran off up the winding path down which they had come. “I must trouble you to open the trap once more,” he said, the blood streaming from his finger. But now his voice was quite normal again. “Oh, I’m an absolute fool,” cried Helen. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” and again she wrenched the trap open. Frank was rather pale, but he laughed quite naturally. “Thank you so much,” he said, as she released his finger. “What strong hands you have. But I should dearly like to clap that thing on the nose of the brute who set it. What an infernal contrivance. How can men be such butchers! I shall take it and show it to your uncle.” He shook the blood off his finger and bound it tightly round with the handkerchief. “Oh, Lord Yorkshire, I’m so sorry,” said Helen again. “I am an absolute born idiot. How could I be such a fool?” He laughed again. “My dear Miss Challoner,” he said, “nothing whatever has happened which can justify your violent language. Besides, it would have been worth while to set that poor, jolly beast free at the cost of real pain, and not just a finger-scratch. Well, we’ve vindicated the liberty of one individual anyhow. Did you see its eyes? They said ‘I am I,’ like Magda.” He held the bushes back for her to regain the path. “But you’ll have your finger attended to?” she said.