"Sir," he said, "I must ask you to leave me to myself. I cannot listen to abuse of one who is more to me than anyone else in the world."
Hora strove to undo the effect of his words. "Chivalrous as ever, Guy," he remarked quietly, though despite his intention a sneer curled his lips at what appeared to him a ridiculous exhibition of sentimentalism.
Guy did not reply to the taunt. He continued steadily:
"I must ask you to leave me, yet before you go, I will give you fair warning of my intentions. You have learned of the alteration in my opinions. I have told you that only by atonement shall I feel that I can regain my self-esteem. There is only one atonement I can make."
"Yes," said Hora breathlessly.
"I intend to surrender myself to justice," said Guy, "within the next forty-eight hours."
Lynton Hora was stunned. The utter madness of the idea left him bereft of the power of speech for a moment, and when the capacity returned to him he could only think of one argument.
"You are not reckoning on Meriel Challys marrying you when you have 'atoned,' as you call it," he said.
Guy shook his head. "I have no hope," he said wearily. "Good-bye, Commandatore."
Hora made no answer. He knew that it was useless to argue with Guy any longer. The set of his lips, the angle of his jaw, the quietude with which he made the announcement were eloquent of determination. The door closed behind him and he went out into the street as one dazed. The first, a merely momentary impulse, was to leave Guy to his own devices. But that passed. He became possessed by fear—an overpowering fear of imminent danger to himself. He judged rightly that Guy's chivalry, the chivalry which was leading him to sacrifice himself to an ideal, would equally compel him to keep silence in regard to his confederate. But Guy's silence would not protect him if enquiries were pushed home in regard to either of the two adventures in which Guy had taken part. Lynton Hora knew that he could not escape suspicion, and suspicion once awakened he knew that his career would come to an end. There loomed before his mind the long days of dull routine, the still longer nights behind the locked doors, the coarse food of the prison, the horrible convict dress. Furtively he looked over his shoulder, for it seemed to him that a hand was almost outstretched to grasp him.