"He ought to be told to deliver himself up to the Courts to save the island from ruin. And if he won't he ought to be denounced."
"Denounced?"
"It will be a terrible ordeal—I know that, Sir. Your friend! Your life-long friend! Pity! Great pity!"
For a perceptible time Stowell did not speak. Then, in a voice which Joshua had never heard before, he said,
"Go home and go to bed, Joshua. I'll see what can be done."
Joshua had gone, the door had closed behind him and his wheels were dying away down the drive, but Stowell continued to stand in the hall, candle in hand and stiff as a statue. At length he returned to the dining-room, put the candle on the table and sat before the empty hearth.
It was all over! The plan he had made for himself was impossible. There could be no resigning in secret and stealing away from the island.
He had done harm to something. He had done harm to Justice. If Justice fell down what stood up? The man who took the law into his own hands was a criminal, and as a criminal he ought to be punished.
Punished? The shock was terrible. Was he then to give himself up? To confess publicly?
He saw himself pleading guilty to having broken prison. He heard the whole wretched tale of his relation to the unhappy prisoner, and of his trying and condemning her, coming out in open Court. He heard the howls of execration from the people who had hitherto loved and cheered him.