"Because you were doing wrong," said Marian.
"It was a brave act of yours, my dear cousin, and I am proud to call you so now," I added.
"I am not a baby. I don't know what made me think of that; I wasn't strong enough to do anything else."
"You couldn't have done any better."
"Gorrificious! I think you could, miss," interposed the cook.
"I blinded Peter with the whiskey, and you struck Mr. Whippleton with the whiskey bottle, and he was so tipsy he couldn't reach us till it was too late," added Marian. "But, Philip, you must be hungry. You haven't eaten anything to-day."
"I am not hungry, but I am faint," I replied.
"Take a little drop of whiskey, Mr. Philip," said Peter, turning to me.
"Not a drop: I would faint away a dozen times before I would touch a drop. Go down and bring me up some tea, and cook me a beefsteak, Peter."
"Yes, sir," replied he, hastening below, apparently glad to get out of the reach of a pistol ball.