"I _am_ a liar, though not in the way you mean. We are all liars.
We have caught that little blind girl in a trap. We have lied to her,
all three of us--Bella and I, and you, Hugh--you have lied most of
all."

"She loves me," Hugh panted. "She knows me. She understands me."

"Yes," Pete answered, trembling. "I've seen that. I've kept quiet.
Bella and I have given you your happiness. Now you thank me by
striking me and calling me a liar and a cheat!"

Hugh, even in the midst of his bitter and suspicious rage, felt the
justice of the reproach. He paused, looked about, then came close,
put a hand on each of his brother's shoulders, searching the white,
young face with his wild eyes.

"I must have Sylvie," he groaned. "Pete, I must. You don't know; you
can't know--" He dropped his grizzled head against Pete's neck, and
his breath caught. "You don't know what I felt when I saw you there,
when I thought--Tell me the truth, Pete. You are not going to take
my love, my only joy, my one prize away from me?"

After a long and difficult silence Pete put his arm half mechanically
across the twisted, gasping back.

"Of course not, Hugh. I--I couldn't. But I've had to play a part,
and it's not come easy. You must have guessed how hard it's been,
because you seem to have guessed how I--how Sylvie--Perhaps if I
went away?"