He obeyed. He dropped his hat on his head, he marched out, and he bawled on the stairs as he went down:
“I’ll expose you—I’ll expose you—I’ll expose you!”
These terrifying and minatory words rang up and down the stairs of that respectable mansion like the voice of an Accusing Angel, so that everybody who heard them jumped and turned pale, and murmured:
“Oh, good Lord! What’s come out now?”
CHAPTER XVIII
THE LIGHT THAT BROKE
IT was Sunday morning. Leonard sat before the fire doing nothing. He had done nothing for three weeks. He had no desire to do anything: his work lay neglected on the table, books and papers piled together. He was brooding over the general wreck of all he had held precious: over the family history; the family disgraces and disasters; and the mystery which it was hopeless to look into but impossible to forget.
The bells were ringing all around: the air was full of the melody, or the jingle of the bells of many Churches.
Then Constance knocked at his door. “May I come in?” she asked, and came in without waiting for an answer. “I was proposing to go to the Abbey,” she said. “But things have got on my nerves. I felt that I could not sit still for the service. I must come and talk to you.”
“I suppose that we know the very worst now,” said Leonard. “Why do you worry yourself about my troubles, Constance?”
“Because we are cousins—because we are friends. Isn’t that enough?”