"I have been casting Hardwick's horoscope," was the unexpected reply. "For the satisfaction of his own curiosity he gave me the day and hour of his birth," he smiled in a cruel way. "I don't think he will be pleased at what I have to tell him."
A telepathic message passed swiftly from one trained brain to the other and Enistor nodded in a surprised manner. "He may die at any moment," said the Squire, translating Don Pablo's thoughts. "Well, that is very likely. I found him unconscious on the moor a short time ago."
"He is not dead?" questioned Narvaez, with unusual interest.
"Oh no. I revived him with water and some brandy he had in his pocket. Also I offered to see him home."
"Why?" demanded the other coldly.
"Well, he seemed weak and——"
"How often have I told you that other people's troubles do not concern you, Enistor! If you choose to waste your powers on assisting weaker persons, you will lose much force better employed in your own gain."
"I am not quite so hard as you are," snapped the Squire, sharply.
"Not quite so wise, you mean," was the unmoved response. "However, I pardon your weakness on this occasion, as I don't want Hardwick to die—yet."