"Be patient and I'll tell you; I'm trying to be so with you."

"You--trying"--

"Stop that nonsense, Arthur. Ah me, Arthur Winslow, I have no wish to
humiliate you. Through the loyalty of your wife's pure heart, whatever
humiliates you must humiliate her. Oh, I could wish her in her shroud
and coffin rather than have her suffer the humiliation you have prepared
for yourself and for her through you."

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