While the foregoing conversation was being conducted, the girl had remained silent.  Herbert sat opposite to her; and as the firelight flamed her face into sight, he could not but note the expression of it.  The look of her face was that of one who was listening to what she had heard before—­perhaps many times before, and which, upon the hearing, she had combated and was determined to continue to combat.  And at this point she suddenly spoke up.

“I think, sir,”—­and she lifted her eyes to the face of the man,—­“that the living should live for the living rather than die for the dead; for the dead have no wants, neither of the body nor of the heart, neither of the mind nor the soul; for, if they want, God feeds them.  But the living want and crave and have deep needs and God feeds not at all, unless through us who live; and it is our duty to do, and not to die.”

The words were clearly and slowly spoken, spoken in a quiet but determined tone.  The old trapper raised his face and looked at the girl, as if surprised at the wisdom of her speech.  Herbert was already looking at her.  The man slowly turned his face towards her, and said: 

“Mary, we have argued that point before.”

The tone in which he spoke was not one of rebuke, and yet it conveyed the idea that the point was settled and was not to be reopened.  The girl waited a moment respectfully, as if she felt profound deference for the other’s character and would not willingly oppose his wish, and then she said: 

“I know, sir, we have discussed it before; but it is not settled, and never can be settled; for it sets in comparison the value of two lives—­the one that was and the one that is; and I say that there are lives—­of which yours is one—­that belong to others and cannot be disposed of as if they were a selfish thing.  And life is a truer atonement for sin than death.  You owe more than one debt, and you have no right to pay the one, however great it is, if by the paying of that you leave the others unpaid.”

“Friend,” said the trapper, “the girl speaks wisdom; leastwise she brings matter into the council which men of gravity should not overlook.  The livin’ sartinly have claims.  What can you say to her speech?”

For a moment the man made no reply, and then he said: 

“My philosophy is based upon a sentiment—­a sentiment born of conscience, and conscience makes duty for us all.  There is no reasoning against conscience.  It is the voice of God—­the only God we have.  My conscience tells me that there is but one atonement that I can make.  There is no election.  I must do it.”

“What good,” said Herbert, addressing the man, “what good will you do by dying?”

“I shall satisfy myself,” said the man.