She went over the short story slowly, not lifting her eyes to his, and he listened in silence, moving his limbs about, confident of the gradual return of strength.

“But how did it happen?” he asked.  “Your capture?  Your father’s death?  It is all a mystery to me after I left you on the hotel balcony.”

The tears stood in her eyes suddenly uplifted to his, and impulsively the man encircled her with his arm.

“You know I care, dear,” he exclaimed recklessly.  “You are not afraid to tell me.”

“No, no; you have been so kind, so true.  I can tell you everything—­only it is so hard to confess the truth about my father.”

“You suspect he was implicated?” he asked in astonishment, “that he actually had a part in the plot?”

She looked at him gravely, down into his very soul.

“Yes, and—­and that hurts more than all the rest.”

CHAPTER XXXII

WORDS OF LOVE

Hamlin was silent for a moment, not knowing what to say that would comfort or help.  He had never suspected this, and yet he could not refrain altogether from experiencing a feeling of relief.  Deeply as he sympathized with her in this trouble, still the man could not but be conscious of those barriers formerly existing between them which this discovery had instantly swept away.  Now they could meet upon a level, as man and woman.  No longer could rank intervene; not even the stain of his own court-martial.  Possibly she dreamed of what was passing in his mind, for she suddenly lifted her eyes to his.

“Shall I tell you?”

“No; not now; both your explanation and mine can wait,” he replied quickly.  “I can stand alone now—­see,” and he regained his feet, swaying slightly with dizziness, yet smiling down at her as he held forth a hand.  “Now you try it; take hold of me until you test your limbs—­that was an ugly fall you got when I shot your pony.”

She straightened slowly, her cheeks flushing in the keen air, her eyes striving to smile back in response to his challenge.

“That was nothing,” she protested, tramping about.  “I only went down into the snow, but my arms were bound, and the pony fell on my foot—­it feels quite natural now.”

“Good.  We shall have to tramp a little way.  In which direction did Dupont go?”

“Across the ridge there; see, that is his trail.”

“Then he never saw our horses out yonder.  That is one piece or good luck, at least.  The sooner we get to them the better.  I have been guilty of enough foolishness to-day to be careful hereafter.”  He looked across at Hughes’ body.  “I wonder if that fellow meant to hit me?  I never trusted him much, but I did n’t expect that.  Did you see him fire?”

“Yes, but it was so sudden I could not even cry out.  He was upon one knee, and his revolver waved like this as he tried to aim.  Dupont saw it, and jumped just as he pulled the trigger.”