“Last evening you told me that you might come to me and ask me to choose between my pity and what I might think to be my duty.  What are you going to ask of me?”

“Nothing.  I spoke idle words.”

“Last evening I overheard you demand something of Mr. Crane,” she pursued, without commenting on his answer.  “When he refused you I heard you say these words ’Here is where I should have received aid; I may have to get it where I should not.’  What was the aid you asked of him? and where else did you expect to get it?”

“The aid was something impossible to accord, and I did not expect to get it elsewhere.  I said that in order to induce him to help me.”

A wonderful light sprang to the girl’s eyes, but still she maintained her level voice.

“You asked him for a rifle with which to escape.  You expected to get it of me.  Deny it if you can.”

Ned Trent looked at her keenly a moment, then dropped his eyes.

“It is true,” said he.

“And the pity was to give you this weapon; and the duty was my duty to my father’s house.”

“It is true,” he repeated, dejectedly.

“And you lied to me when you said you had a rifle with which to journey la Longue Traverse.”

“That too is true,” he acknowledged.

When next she spoke her voice was not quite so well controlled.

“Why did you not ask me, as you intended?  Why did you tell me these lies?”

The young man hesitated, looked her in the face, turned away, and murmured, “I could not.”

“Why?” persisted the girl.  “Why?  You must tell me.”

“Because,” said Ned Trent—­“because it could not be done.  Every rifle in the place is known.  Because you would be found out in this, and I do not know what your punishment might not be.”

“You knew this before?” insisted Virginia, stonily.

“Yes.”

“Then why did you change your mind?”

“When first I saw you by the gun,” began Ned Trent, in a low voice, “I was a desperate man, clutching at the slightest chance.  The thought crossed my mind then that I might use you.  Then later I saw that I had some influence over you, and I made my plan.  But last night——­”

“Yes, last night?” urged Virginia, softly.

“Last night I paced the island, and I found out many things.  One of them was that I could not.”

“Even though this dreadful journey——­”

“I would rather take my chances.”

Again there was silence between them.

“It was a good lie,” then said Virginia, gently—­“a noble lie.  And what you have told me to comfort me about my father has been nobly said.  And I believe you, for I have known the truth about your fate.”  He shut his lips grimly.  “Why—­why did you come?” she cried, passionately.  “Is the trade so good, are your needs then so great, that you must run these perils?”