“Come!” I said, firmly, “you must command yourself. This is weak to a degree. Remember, I am with you, to look after your interests—your peace—to defend you if necessary.”
He only moaned again: “You don’t know.”
“I know this,” I said, “that by Zyp’s showing my brother is a broken man—helpless, demoralized—in a pitiable state altogether.”
He seemed to prick his ears somewhat at that.
“If he must come,” he said, “if he must come, watch him—grind him under—never let him think for an instant that he keeps the mastery.”
“He shall never have cause to claim that, father.”
He spoke no more, but crept to his room presently and left me pondering his words far into the night.
Later on, as I lay awake in bed, I heard his room door open softly and the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. This, however, being no unfamiliar experience with us, disturbed me not at all.
In the morning at breakfast he handed me a couple of ancient gold coins.
“Take these,” he said; “they should bring £5 apiece.”