But against this he
would argue that what had happened in the past was no guarantee of what
might happen in the future; that a limit was set to the endurance of
every man be he never so strong, and that it was far from impossible
that the limit of Sir Oliver's endurance might be reached in this
affair. If that happened in what case should he find himself? The
answer to this was a picture beyond his fortitude to contemplate. The
danger of his being sent to trial and made to suffer the extreme penalty
of the law would be far greater now than if he had spoken at once. The
tale he could then have told must have compelled some attention, for he
was accounted a man of unsmirched honour and his word must carry some
weight. But now none would believe him. They would argue from his
silence and from his having suffered his brother to be unjustly accused
that he was craven-hearted and dishonourable, and that if he had acted
thus it was because he had no good defence to offer for his deed. Not
only would he be irrevocably doomed, but he would be doomed with
ignominy, he would be scorned by all upright men and become a thing of
contempt over whose end not a tear would be shed.
Thus he came to the dread conclusion that in his endeavours to screen
himself he had but enmeshed himself the more inextricably. If Oliver
but spoke he was lost. And back he came to the question: What assurance
had he that Oliver would not speak?
The fear of this from occurring to him occasionally began to haunt him
day and night, and for all that the fever had left him and his wound was
entirely healed, he remained pale and thin and hollow-eyed.
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