“And you say you’re not a liar!” “I _am_ a liar, though not in the way you mean. We are all liars. We have caught that little blind girl in a trap. We have lied to her, all three of us--Bella and I, and you, Hugh--you have lied most of all.” “She loves me,” Hugh panted. “She knows me. She understands me.” “Yes,” Pete answered, trembling. “I’ve seen that. I’ve kept quiet. Bella and I have given you your happiness. Now you thank me by striking me and calling me a liar and a cheat!” Hugh, even in the midst of his bitter and suspicious rage, felt the justice of the reproach. He paused, looked about, then came close, put a hand on each of his brother’s shoulders, searching the white, young face with his wild eyes. “I must have Sylvie,” he groaned. “Pete, I must. You don’t know; you can’t know--” He dropped his grizzled head against Pete’s neck, and his breath caught. “You don’t know what I felt when I saw you there, when I thought--Tell me the truth, Pete. You are not going to take my love, my only joy, my one prize away from me?” After a long and difficult silence Pete put his arm half mechanically across the twisted, gasping back. “Of course not, Hugh. I--I couldn’t. But I’ve had to play a part, and it’s not come easy. You must have guessed how hard it’s been, because you seem to have guessed how I--how Sylvie--Perhaps if I went away?” He was gripped again, shaken a little. “No, don’t leave me. Wait. It won’t be long. She will go away with me soon, as soon as she gets over a girl’s timidity. Pete, she does love me. She does. Don’t stand dumb; tell me that she does.” “She does,” Pete repeated tonelessly. “I’m sorry I struck you. I have a devil’s temper. And I think of you as still a boy. I wanted to beat you. A few years ago I would have beaten you.” He put this forward as though it were a reasonable excuse. “Yes.” Pete smiled grimly. “I can remember your beatings.” He drew himself away. “Shall we go back?” Hugh still held him, though at arm’s length. “First I must have a promise from you.” He spoke sternly. “What do you want?” “I want your promise to keep hands off, to hold your tongue to the end.” “You won’t trust me, then?” “Not since I watched you moving toward her, not since I felt your arm.” Pete was silent. He studied the ground. There was a sullen look on his face, and his tightened mouth deepened the odd, incongruous dimple. “Well, perhaps you’re right. I promise.” He flashed up a blue desperation of young eyes as he asked: “How long will it last, Hugh?” “Not long. Not long. Surely not long.” “I promise.” “Give me your hand.” They came back down from the hill. CHAPTER XIII