"But then, Cousin Peter, life is a very uncertain thing at best," he returned, glancing at me beneath his drooping lids.
"Yes," I nodded, "it is sometimes a blessing to remember that."
Sir Maurice strolled to the door, and, being there, paused, and looked back over his shoulder.
"I go to find Charmian," said he, "and I shall find her—sooner or later, and, when I do, should you take it upon yourself to—come between us again, or presume to interfere again, I shall—kill you, worthy cousin, without the least compunction. If you think this sufficient warning—act upon it, if not—" He shrugged his shoulders significantly. "Farewell, good and worthy Cousin Peter, farewell!—or shall we say—'au revoir'?"
CHAPTER XXXIX
HOW I WENT DOWN INTO THE SHADOWS
"Peter," said George, one evening, turning to me with the troubled look I had seen so often on his face of late, "what be wrong wi' you, my chap? You be growing paler everyday. Oh, Peter! you be like a man as is dyin' by inches—if 'tis any o' my doin'—"
"Nonsense, George!" I broke in with sudden asperity, "I am well enough!"
"Yet I've seen your 'ands fall a-trembling sometimes, Peter—all at once. An' you missed your stroke yesterday—come square down on th' anvil—you can't ha' forgot?"
"I remember," I muttered; "I remember."