ed it so that he could read the envelope. He could hardly
keep either lamp or paper still, his hand trembled so when he saw that
the direction was in Stephen's handwriting. He was handing it back when
Leonard said again:

'Open it! Read it! You must do so; I tell you, you must! You called me
a liar, and now must read the proof that I am not. If you don't I shall
have to ask Stephen to make you!' Before Harold's mind flashed a rapid
thought of what the girl might suffer in being asked to take part in such
a quarrel. He could not himself even act to the best advantage unless he
knew the truth . . . he took the letter from the envelope and held it
before the lamp, the paper fluttering as though in a breeze from the
trembling of his hand. Leonard looked on, the dull glare of his eyes
brightening with malignant pleasure as he beheld the other's concern. He
owed him a grudge, and by God he would pay it. Had he not been
struck--throttled--called a liar! . . .

As he read the words Harold's face cleared. 'Why, you infernal young
scoundrel!' he said angrily, 'that letter is nothing but a simple note
from a young girl to an old friend--playmate asking him to come to see
her about some trivial thing. And you construe it into a proposal of
marriage. You hound!' He held the letter whilst he spoke, heedless of
the outstretched hand of the other waiting to take it back. There was a
dangerous glitter in Leonard's eyes. He knew his man and he knew the
truth of what he had himself said, and he felt, with all the strength of
his base soul, how best he could torture him. In the very strength of
Harold's anger, in the poignancy of his concern, in the relief to his
soul expressed in his eyes and his voice, his antagonist realised the
jealousy of one who honours--and loves. Second by second Leonard grew
more sober, and more and better able to carry his own idea into act.

'Give me my letter!' he began.

'Wait!' said Harold as he put the lamp back into its socket. 'That will
do presently. Take back what you said just now!'

'What? Take back what?'

'That base lie; that Miss Norman asked you to marry her.'

Leonard felt that in a physical struggle for the possession of the letter
he would be outmatched; but his passion grew colder and more malignant,
and in a voice that cut like the hiss of a snake he spoke slowly and
deliberately. He was all sober now; the drunkenness of brain and blood
was lost, for the time, in