And then he bowed to the group and turned away.

IV

Long after the man and the girl had departed, the trapper and Herbert sat by their campfire discussing the question which their guest had propounded.  Their conversation was grave and deliberate, as became the theme; and they united in the opinion that if the deed had been done in anger elicited by a provocation, the man should give himself the favor which the law even would allow under similar circumstances.

“I tell ye, Herbert,” said the trapper, “the girl said the man had cause; leastwise, that the man whom he struck worried him to it and that the blow was given in anger.  Now, hot blood is hot blood, and cold blood is cold blood, and ef a man kill another man in cold blood it be murder,—­the law says so, and what is better, natur’ says so; but ef a man kill another man in his anger, when his blood is up and he is strongly provoked to it, the law says there be a difference, and it isn’t murder.  And I conceit that the girl be right, and that the man has no right, in natur’ or law either, to murder himself because in his anger he murdered another man.  And besides,” continued the old man, after a moment’s pause, during which he had evidently made an effort at memory, “ef there be any wrath in the case it belongs to the Lord and not to man.  Ye may recall the varse, Henry.”

“’Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’” Such was the quotation Herbert made.

“Sartinly, sartinly,” answered the trapper, “that is it.  Vengeance is the Lord’s, and he is the only one that can handle it rightly; and the man had better leave it to the Lord.”

For several moments Herbert made no reply; and then, as if speaking to himself more than his companion, he said: 

“How the girl loves him!”

“Ye’ve hit it, Henry,” answered the trapper, promptly.  “Yis, ye’ve hit it in the centre.  I noted her face, the look in her eyes and the arnestness of her voice; and there is no doubt about the matter of the lovin’.  She is one of the quiet kind, boy; and she has got the faculty of listenin’ a long time, which isn’t nateral to a woman.  But when she speaks, ye can see what she is.  She has a quiet face but a detarmined sperit.  I’ve seed several of the same sort,—­seed them afore the battle and arter the battle; and I know what’s in the heart of the girl.  Yis, I know what’s in the heart of the girl,” and the old man looked at his companion across the camp fire.

The young man returned his gaze, and then said quietly: 

“What is in the heart of the girl, John Norton?”

“Ef the man dies, the girl dies, too,” answered the trapper, and stooping, he pushed a brand into the centre of the fire.

“It is awful to think so,” replied the young man, “it is awful to think that one so lovely should die so miserable.”