I picked up my flint-lock, and made as if to move off, Lucille and I up the beach. I had noticed an overhanging rock a quarter of a mile off, that I thought would serve as some protection from the night dew. Sir George, followed by Simon, walked off in the opposite direction. When they had gone a little way Sir George halted and retraced his steps.
“A word, Sir Francis,” he called to me.
I left Lucille and went back.
“There will be need of but little ceremony about our affair in the morning,” he said coldly. “Yet that no doubt may linger in your mind I will say that Simon is oath-bound to me not to raise a hand in the matter, no matter how it may go. You need fear no treachery, for he will keep his distance. So, if you kill me, Simon, though he is ever ready to stand between me and death, will not renew the quarrel. To this I have sworn him.
“If you should fall in the combat I will see that you have such burial as the place affords. Which courtesy I make bold to ask of you on my part. Is it agreed?”
“Yes, my lord,” I replied.
To talk thus of death.
“And that is all, I believe,” said Sir George, turning away. “I will meet you here at sunrise. And--and perhaps it would be as well not to awaken her. You understand?”
“Perfectly, my lord.”
“Then good-night, Sir Francis.”