"Why do you tell me this?" demanded Macleod, with sudden asperity.
"Out of a sense of duty."
"You think me a hunted criminal?" The Factor's tone held resentment and bitterness which was probably impersonal.
"I forbear to think," answered Dunvegan. "Your affairs are none of my business."
"Yet you serve me! Why serve a man with a supposed stain upon him? Why not follow, rather, our friend Glyndon's move?"
"I serve the Company," was the chief trader's response. "The moral status of the Company's officers cannot effect that fundamental duty—service."
The Factor looked long at Dunvegan, marveling at his integrity, his lack of low curiosity, his allegiance.
"Bruce," he said—and it was not often he used the Christian name—"you're one of the true, northern breed, the shut-mouthed men! Let me tell you a little phase of American life. Twenty years ago there lived over there in one of the big cities a family by the name of Macfarlane. The family consisted of the husband and wife, a daughter, and a son. There was also an intruding element, and this intruder was named James Funster. You see, Funster had loved Macfarlane's wife before she married, and even after the marriage he could not like an honorable man get over his passion. Do you follow me?"
Dunvegan nodded. He had guessed this much from former hints Macleod had given him.
"Well," continued the Factor, "project your thoughts ahead. Imagine the mad things that come into the brain of the infatuated. Imagine also Macfarlane's horror at what happened. One day he was away with his daughter. On his return he found his wife murdered and the son stolen. Without a doubt it was Funster's work. But notice how Fate acted! Suspicion fell upon the husband, suggesting the motive of jealousy. He fled, and the blot still rests on his name."