The brothers looked at each other.
“Her favourite creeper, Jem,” said Sir John, with a groan—“her destruction.”
“Jack?” whispered the major, in an appealing voice. Only the one word, but so full of question that Sir John bent toward him and whispered a few words.
The major turned away, and marched for the door, but his brother overtook him.
“To my room.”
“What for?”
“My pistols.”
“Jem!”
“I’ll shoot him like a dog.”
Sir John’s hand closed tightly upon his brother’s arm, and they glared at each other in silence for a few moments, while twice over there came a feeble groan through the door from the adjoining chamber.