"Be quiet!" he said angrily; for in her excitement she had raised her voice to a dangerously high pitch. "And look at home," he went on: "remember that you are partly responsible for my ruin, and that you, too, are sailing under false colors."
"But not to the injury of any one; not with any evil intent," she answered, clasping her hands beseechingly. "And if you drive me from here, Harry, you will be taking the bread out of our mother's mouth. It is surely enough that you do nothing for her support yourself."
"I'll help with that when I have secured this girl and her money," he said with an evil laugh. "Just you keep quiet and all will go well. Keep my secret, and I'll keep yours."
She leaned back wearily against the tree, clasping her hands more tightly over her throbbing heart; tears sprang to her eyes, her lips trembled, but no sound came from them.
"Well?" he cried impatiently.
"Harry," she said, very low and tremulously, "I have been reading a good deal lately in an old book—one whose teachings we used to respect in our innocent childhood—and it tells me that 'the way of transgressors is hard;' that though 'hand join in hand, the wicked shall not be unpunished'; that there is such a thing as sinning away your day of grace; and it says, 'Seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near.' O, Harry, turn from your wicked ways before it is forever too late. There is mercy even for you, if you will turn now."
Spell-bound with astonishment, he had heard her thus far in absolute silence; but now he interrupted her with a savage oath.
"I didn't know you'd turned pious," he sneered. "And I didn't come here to be preached to. If you know what's for your good you'll keep quiet; that's all I have to say. And now I'm off. I can't stand here catching my death of cold."
He was turning away, but she grasped a fold of his cloak.
"Harry," she said in a choking voice, "we used to be fond of each other: I was very proud of my handsome brother; and—and we've been parted for five years!"