so at arm's length he considered him, what time Lionel drooped his head
and a slow flush overspread his cheeks. "Dear fool!" he said, and shook
him. "What ails you? You are pale and gaunt, and not yourself at all.
I have a notion. I'll furnish me a ship and you shall sail with me to
my old hunting-grounds. There is life out yonder--life that will
restore your vigour and your zest, and perhaps mine as well. How say
you, now?"

Lionel looked up, his eye brightening. Then a thought occurred to him;
a thought so mean that again the colour flooded into his cheeks, for he
was shamed by it. Yet it clung. If he sailed with Oliver, men would
say that he was a partner in the guilt attributed to his brother.
He knew--from more than one remark addressed him here or there, and left
by him uncontradicted--that the belief was abroad on the countryside
that a certain hostility was springing up between himself and Sir Oliver
on the score of that happening in Godolphin Park. His pale looks and
hollow eyes had contributed to the opinion that his brother's sin was
weighing heavily upon him. He had ever been known for a gentle, kindly
lad, in all things the very opposite of the turbulent Sir Oliver, and it
was assumed that Sir Oliver in his present increasing harshness used his
brother ill because the lad would not condone his crime. A deal of
sympathy was consequently arising for Lionel and was being testified to
him on every hand. Were he to accede to such a proposal as Oliver now
made him, assuredly he must jeopardize all that.

He realized to the full the contemptible quality of his thought and
hated himself for conceiving it. But he could not shake off its
dominion. It was stronger than his will.

His brother observing this hesitation, and misreading it drew him to the