"You mustn't bother to talk," said Margaret. "Turn your chair to the fire and take a smoke."
Jimmy pulled out his tobacco pouch and frowned. Margaret saw the pouch was flat and took a plug of tobacco from a shelf.
"Wait a moment; don't get up," she said and began to cut the plug.
For a few moments Jimmy watched her with dull satisfaction. She cut the tobacco in thin, even slices; Jimmy had remarked before that all Margaret did was properly done. Although it was nearly dark, she had not got a light, and red and yellow reflections from the logs played about the room. Sometimes her eyes and hair shone and her face stood out against a background of shadow. Jimmy thought the picture charming and when it melted he waited for the flames to leap again, but by and by it got indistinct.
"Give me your pouch," said Margaret and he tried to push it across.
The pouch fell from the table and his pipe went down. His head leaned to one side and found the chair rail, and he knew nothing more.
Margaret heard his sigh and was quiet. Now sleep smoothed out the marks of strain and fatigue, Jimmy's look was boyishly calm. He moved her to pity, but he moved her to trust. Margaret was not a raw, romantic girl; she knew the Canadian cities and she had studied men. If Jimmy had, indeed, shot the agent, a strange blunder accounted for his doing so, but Margaret doubted. She had some grounds to think the shot another's. Then she got up quietly and carried off the plates.
Some time afterwards Jardine came in and, seeing Jimmy, stopped and turned to Margaret. It was typical that he said nothing, but his glance was keen. Margaret smiled and in a low voice narrated all she knew. Jardine nodded, and sitting down, waited until Jimmy's head slipped from the chair rail and the jerk woke him up. He looked about as if he were puzzled, and then said, "Hello, Mr. Jardine! I didn't understand your sitting opposite me. I expect I was asleep."
"Sure thing," Jardine agreed with a twinkle. "We have sortit the bit back room for ye and ye had better go to bed."
"I'm not going yet," said Jimmy. "I want a smoke, but my tobacco's run out."