"It would not."
"And yet, you call such people your friends—those who would without question put her to death on mere suspicion—to a death to which you have helped to condemn her by your own foul suspicions and the more foul utterance of them. Shame on you, Ivan de Echeveria! Shame on you!" Pain contorted his face, and he was silent. "Did you fire the bullet that so nearly killed me?" I asked.
"No, I did not do that, but I directed that it be done. You would not have escaped if I had held the pistol."
"Perhaps not. It is unimportant, any way. Have you not wondered why I brought you to this house?"
"To torture me; that, at least, is what you are doing."
"I brought you here to save you."
"To save me!"
"Yes; from the folly of your youth. You are a man in years, but a boy in every act you commit. Have you manhood enough left in you to want to save your sister, who now, thanks to you, has two enemies to face? Russia would send her to Siberia, and the nihilists would murder her. She would have sacrificed herself for you—she offered to do so. Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for her?"
"God knows that I am."
"Will you prove it?"