a tremor in their fingers.

The both of them whirled in real and superlative astonishment. Some one
was speaking to them. Some one was asking them if they were both all
right. It was a strange voice,--one that they scarcely remembered
ever hearing before.

But they saw at once that the speaker was Harold. He had come with them
to-day, quite true. Both of them had almost forgotten his existence.

XIX

In the weeks they had been together, Bill had always been careful never
to try to show Harold in a bad light. It was simply an expression of
the inherent decency of the man: he knew that Virginia loved him, that
she had plighted her troth to him, and as long as that love endured and
the engagement stood, he would never try to shatter her ideals in regard
to him. He knew it meant only heartbreak for her to love and wed a man
she couldn't respect. He knew enough of human nature to realize that
love often lives when respect is dead, and no possible good could come
of showing up the unworthiness that he beheld in Harold. He had never
tried to embarrass him or smirch his name. For all his indignation now,
his voice was wholly cheerful and friendly when he answered.

"We're quite all right, thanks," he said. "The only casualty was the
bear. A little snow on our clothes, but it will brush off. And by the
way----"

He paused, and for all his even tones, Harold had a sickening and
ghastly fear of the sober query in Bill's eyes. "Why did you give me an
unloaded gun and tell me it was full?" he went on. "Except for a good
deal of luck there'd been a smile on the face of the grizzly--but no
Bill!"

He thought it only just that, in spite of Virginia's presence, Harold
explain this grave omission. He felt that Virginia was entitled to an
explanation too, and Harold knew, from her earnest eyes, that she was
waiting his answer. He might have been arrogant and insulting to Bill,
but he cared enough for Virginia's respect to wish to justify himself.
He studied their faces; it was plain that they did not accuse him, even
in their most secret thoughts, of evil intent in handing Bill an almost
empty gun. But by the stern code of the North sins of carelessness are
no less damning than intentional ones and Harold knew that he had a
great deal to answer for.

"And by the way," Bill went on, as he waited for his reply, "I don't
remember hearing my gun off during the fray. You might explain that,
too."

"I didn't