Bideabout observed her out of the corners of his eyes. By the moonlight he could see how finely, nobly cut was her profile; he could see the glancing of the moon in the tears that suffused her cheeks.
"You know who shot me?" he inquired, in a low tone.
"I know nothing, Jonas, but that there was a struggle, and that during this struggle, by accident—"
"You did it."
"No, Jonas. I cannot think it."
"It was so. You touched the trigger. You knew that the piece was on full cock."
"It was altogether an accident. I knew nothing. I was conscious of nothing, save that I was trying to prevent you from committing a great crime."
"A great crime!" jeered he. "You thought only how you might save the life of your love."
Mehetabel stood still and turned to him.
"Jonas, do not say that. You cruelly, you wrongfully misjudge me I will tell you all, if you will I never would have hidden anything from you if I had not known how you would take and use what I said. Iver and I were child friends, almost brother and sister. I always cared for him, and I think he liked me. He went away and I saw nothing of him. Then, at our wedding, he returned home; and since then I have seen him a good many times—you, yourself asked him to the Punch-Bowl, and bade me stand for him to paint. I cannot deny that I care for him, and that he likes me."