Miss Pat scrutinized us all slowly as though studying our faces for the truth. Then she repeated:
"But if either of my said sons shall have teen touched by dishonor through his own act, as honor is accounted, reckoned and valued among men—" and ceased abruptly, looking from Arthur to Henry. "What was the truth about Gillespie?" she asked.
And Arthur would have spoken. I saw the word that would have saved his brother formed upon his lips.
Miss Pat alone seemed unmoved; I saw her hand open and shut at her side as she controlled herself, but her face was calm and her voice was steady when she turned appealingly to the canoe-maker.
"What is the truth, Arthur?" she asked quietly.
"Why go into this now? Why not let bygones be bygones?"—and for a moment I thought I had checked the swift current. It was Helen I wished to save now, from herself, from the avalanche she seemed doomed to bring down upon her head.
"I will hear what you have to say, Arthur," said Miss Pat; and I knew that there was no arresting the tide. I snatched out the sealed envelope and turned with it to Arthur Holbrook; and he took it into his hands and turned it over quietly, though his hands trembled.
"Tell me the truth, gentlemen!"—and Miss Pat's voice thrilled now with anger.
"Trickery, more trickery; those were stolen from Helen!" blurted Henry, his eyes on the envelope; but we were waiting for the canoe-maker to speak, and Henry's words rang emptily in the shop.
Arthur looked at his brother; then he faced his sister.