"Not so difficult for such as you," said old Peter coaxingly. "When you Trevanions make up your mind to do a thing you do it, although the furies stand in your way. You are as strong as a horse and if need be could fight like a fiend from the bottomless pit. Not that there would be any need," he added quickly.
"If it is so easy," I retorted, "let young Peter do this himself. He says he loves this maid, and love," I laughed sneeringly, "overcomes all difficulties. This is just the work for a lover. It smacks of far-off days. Let Peter attack the castle like the knights of past ages, and bear off his bride in triumph. He would make a fine sight carrying a maid on his crupper."
I saw a look of vindictive hatred shine from young Peter's eyes, but he said nothing.
"Peter is not fit for such work," was the old man's reply. "He was delicate from a child. Riding wearies him, he has neither the strength nor the daring necessary."
"You say that Killigrew has sons?" I said at length, a new thought flashing into my mind.
"Yes."
"Many?"
"Five."
"Be they weaklings like you, or strong fighting men?" I said, turning to young Peter.
"Strong men, giants," he said quickly, and then he tried to qualify his words as though he were afraid that difficulties would hinder me.