She wrote it me. I'm telling you what I've never told
anyone." He shut the door, as though to make a confessional. "She wrote
it me, and I wasn't telling anyone-but no. She'd been away down at
Quebec City, and there a man got hold of her. Almeric Tarboe it was--the
older brother of Luke Tarboe at John Grier's." Suddenly the face of the
little man went mad with emotion. "I--I--" he paused.

Carnac held up his hand. "No-no-no, don't tell me. Tarboe--I understand,
the Unwritten Law. You haven't told me, but I understand. I remember: he
was found in the woods with his gun in his hand-dead. I read it all by
accident long ago; and that was the story, eh!"

"Yes. She was young, full of imagination. She loved me, but he was
clever, and he was high up, and she was low down. He talked her blind,
and then in the woods it was, in the woods where he died, that he--"

Suddenly the little man wrung his fingers like one robbed of reason. "He
was a strongman," he went on, "and she was a girl, weak, but not wanton
... and so she died, telling me, loving me--so she died, and so he died,
too, in the woods with his gun in his hand. Yes, 'twas done with his own
gun--by accident--by accident! He stumbled, and the gun went off. That
was the story at the inquest. No one knew I was there. I was never seen
with him and I've never been sorry. He got what he deserved--sacre,
yes!"

There was something overwhelming in the face of the little resolute,
powerful man. His eyes were aflame. He was telling for the first time
the story of his lifelong agony and shame.

"It had to be done. She was young, so sweet, so good, aye, she was
good-in her soul she was good, ah, surelee. That's why she died in the
pond. No one knew. The inquest did not bring out anything, but that's
why he died; and ever since I've been mourning; life has no rest for
me. I'm not sorry for what I did. I've told it you because you saved me
years ago when I fell down the bank. You were only fourteen then, but
I've never forgotten. And she, that sweet young lady, she--she was there
too; and now when I look at this Tarboe, the brother of that man, and
see her and know what I know--sacre!" He waved a hand. "No-no-no, don't
think there's anything except what's in the soul. That man has touched
ma'm'selle--I don't know why, but he has touched her heart. Perhaps by
his great bulk, his cleverness, his brains, his way of doing things. In
one sense she's his slave, because she doesn't want