He sprang to this feet, and as he turned in the moonlight he saw once
more his brother's face, pale as the face of the dead, and strained with
an agonizing dread. Concealment was no longer possible. The younger
man knew that the elder lived; knew it by a strange and irresistible
certainty that needed no proof, that left no place for hope or fear in
its chill, leaden, merciless conviction.
For some moments neither spoke. A flood of innumerable memories choked
thought or word in both. They knew each other--all was said in that.
Cecil was the first to break the silence. He moved nearer with a rapid
movement, and his hand fell heavily on the other's shoulder.
"Have you lived stainlessly since?"
The question was stern as the demand of a judge. His brother shuddered
beneath this touch, and covered his face with his hands.
"God is my witness, yes! But you--you--they said that you were dead!"
Cecil's hand fell from his shoulder. There was that in the words which
smote him more cruelly than any Arab steel could have done; there was
the accent of regret.
"I am dead," he said simply; "dead to the world and you."
He who bore the title of Royallieu covered his face.
"How have you lived?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Honorably. Let that suffice. And you?"
The other looked up at him with a piteous appeal--the old, timorous,
terrified appeal that had been so often seen on the boy's face,
strangely returning on the gracious and mature beauty of the man.
Pages:
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684