“Not a bit of it, my dear young lady, although Heaven only knows what might have happened only for Sam and me coming up just then and scaring off the vile woman that sought your death, for she might have shot again and again. But we chased her away, and opened the door of the pit, and found the bears in an awful uproar, and there’s no telling what might have happened next, only that we got you both out as quick as possible and brought you to our house. Laws, Mr. Bonair only had a bullet in his shoulder, and the doctor soon got it out, but he stayed here two weeks, afraid to be moved home, and even now he comes down every day to ask after you, always bringing fresh flowers to decorate your room. A mighty good heart has Mr. Charley.” Berry lay gazing at the fragrant flowers on the table, a dreamy light in her great brown eyes, a faint flush staining her pallid cheeks. She was thinking how strange and sad it was that their paths had crossed again so tragically--hers and handsome, wicked Charley Bonair’s. She called him wicked, because she remembered vividly the night of their moonlight ride, when he had asked her for her heart without her hand--oh, the shame of it--promising she should be his sweetheart even if he married Rosalind! Back over Berry’s mind, in a flood tide of grief, rushed the memory of his burning kiss, and her wild words when she had flung his roses back into his face, wounding him with their thorns, then leaped in a passion of wounded love and pride out of the trap into the road, where, striking her head on a rock, she had become unconscious for hours. When she had yielded to the persuasions of the theatrical people to become one of themselves, she had done it with the resolve to place the whole width of the world, if possible, between herself and Charley Bonair, praying never to see his face again. Now the work of almost a year was undone by the cruelest chance in the world. Alas, what strange fate had sent her unconsciously to his home, beneath his very roof, when the cruel wound had seared over, and she was learning to forget! It was the very irony of fate that she should owe her life to him, to Charley Bonair, the proud, handsome profligate! “Oh,” she cried to herself, in bitterness of soul, “I had rather have perished than owed my life to him!” And suddenly she burst into the most piteous sobbing Mrs. Cline had ever heard. It was just as though her poor heart were broken, thought the sympathetic soul. “Ah, dear, dear, what a fool I was, blabbing out everything at once! Now you will get worse for the excitement, and I shall be to blame!” she cried out piteously. “No, no, I--I--will be calm!” cried Berry, subduing her sobs by a violent effort, as she put out her hand, so frail and white. “I am better now; I will not give way again. Tell me more.”