"
Arthur showed a thrill of alarm. "Do you propose to go down to public
shame and drag us all with you?"
"No, nor to let you, if I can prevent you. Arthur, you have allowed a
base jealousy to persuade you, in the face of every contrary evidence,
that your fair young wife has lost her loyalty--and your nearest friend
the commonest honesty--in a clandestine love. Under the goadings of that
passion you have foully guessed, have heartlessly accused, have brazenly
lied. Isabel has confessed nothing to you, and I know by your lies to
me how pusillanimously you must have been lying to her. Had your guess
been right, I should not have known you were only guessing, and your
successful iniquity would have remained hidden from everybody but
yourself--I still do you the honor to believe you would have realized
it. Now the vital question is, do you realize it, and will you undo it?"
Arthur was deadly pale; his pointing finger trembled. "Leave"--he
choked--"leave this house."
Leonard turned scarlet, but his tone sank low. "Arthur, I don't believe
your soul is rotten. If I did, I should not be such a knave or such a
fool as to make any treaty with you that would leave you in your pulpit
one Sabbath Day."
"What do you--what do you mean by that?"
"I mean that such a treaty would be foul faith to everybody."
"So, then, you do propose one common shipwreck for us all.
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