"Warren wanted to arrest me this morning in Megantic, and because I
refused to go with him he pulled out a pistol, as I thought, to shoot
me. I fired at him. The shot killed him."

Mrs. Morrison uttered a shriek. "Oh, Donald, my son, my son," she
exclaimed, "what is this, what is this? Killed Warren! Oh, you must fly
at once, or they will be after you!"

"No, mother, I will not run. I will stay where I am. They can't arrest
me. I can easily avoid all who are sent for that purpose. My friends
will keep me informed of their doings. But, mother, whatever others say,
I want you to believe that I never thought of harming a hair of Warren's
head when he met me. I fired in self-defence. I deplore his death; but
it was either he or I."

"Oh, I believe you, Donald, and your poor mother," breaking into a
violent fit of weeping, "your poor mother will never turn against you.
But what will be the end? The officers must take you some time."

"I don't know what the end will be," he said gloomily. "If I thought I
would get a fair trial I might give myself up; but if I did so now they
would hang me, I believe. I will wait and see, and the woods, with every
inch of which I am familiar, will be my retreat, should the pursuit ever
be dangerous."

Donald's father took the news stoically. His nature was not emotional.
The relations between father and son were strained. Little was said on
either side.

Donald walked about as usual. He had repeated to his immediate friends
every circumstance of the tragedy. They fully believed him innocent of
murder. This exoneration was of great value to him. From mouth to mouth
the story spread that Donald fired in self-defence, and the latter found
that all the faces he met were friendly faces.

What he said to himself in his own room every night, he said to his
friends--"I regret the deed. I had no thought of touching Warren. When I
saw his pistol flash in front of me, I felt in a moment that my life was
at stake. I obeyed an instinct, which prompted me to get the first shot
to save myself. I could get back to the States, but I'll stay right
here. Let them take me if they can."

In vain his friends urged flight. He was inflexible on this point.

So, as we have stated, he walked abroad in perfect safety. He carried
his rifle and his two revolvers, and possibly, in some quarters, this
rather suggestive display may, in _some_ degree, have accounted for the
civility with which he was everywhere gree