Page:ONCE A WEEK JUL TO DEC 1860.pdf/681

. 15, 1860.] THE SILVER CORD.

“Silence, Marion,” said her husband, with the full power of his voice.

“I am ordered to be silent, and I obey,” said Mrs. Berry, ”but”but——” [sic]

“But by the God that made me, I will be played with no longer,” cried Arthur Lygon, maddened beyond self-restraint. “I will have an answer, here, here! You have some dark secret affecting the character of my wife. I will have it before I stir from this spot.”

“It is not I who withhold it,” said Mrs. Berry, in a voice of mournfulness—almost of sweetness.

“It is then you, Berry,” said Lygon, turning to his friend. “Do you keep this thing from me?”

“Arthur Lygon,” said Mr. Berry, taking both the hands of his friend in his own. “Listen. If you are now untrue to yourself, if you, in a maddened impulse, force from our lips a story, which, as there is a Heaven above us, there is no need that you should know, the consequences be on your own head. Stay. I have said our lips. I close my wife’s now and always, with the solemn declaration that if that story comes to your knowledge, except through myself—”

“No need of threats,” said Mrs. Berry. “I know my duty. The story shall come through yourself, if at all. But I utterly deny that Mr. Lygon ought not to hear it.”

“Yet Mr. Berry has this instant declared in the most solemn manner that it does not affect me,” replied Arthur. “This contradiction makes it more plain than ever that there is a mystery between us, and my course is clear. Berry, at whatever sacrifice of your own feelings, and at whatever risk of the consequences you darkly hint at, I demand to know all, and I ask of Mrs. Berry to remain and bear witness whether you tell me all.”

“I once more beg you to forego your demand,” said Mr. Berry, earnestly.

“I will not forego it,” replied Arthur, sternly.

“And you are right,” murmured Mrs. Berry.

“Enough,” said Mr. Berry. “If I did not feel that our friendship forbids my longer resisting your appeal, I would still oppose what I again declare to be a folly, to which you are urged, Arthur, by one who should have been a better friend than she has proved to-day.”

“My own conscience supplies my vindication,”