‘Hold your tongue!’ said the elder man quietly. ‘Don’t play the fool, Richard Conseltine.’
Peebles looked at him with a kind of loathing admiration of his courage and coolness.
‘If you’ve any more to say, Mr. Peebles,’ Conseltine continued, ‘you’d better get it over.’
‘Just this,’ said the old man: ‘ye’ll hold your tongue about the business till I see fit to speak. Ye’ll cease to trade on his lordship’s generosity, and rob the poor lad ye’ve kept out of his rights all these years, and the poor woman ye’ve tried to murder. And if in a day or two ye can manage to find some business o’ sufficient importance to tak’ ye awa’ oot o’ this place, and to keep ye awa’ oot o’t for the rest o’ your natural lives, so much the better. I don’t think,’ he added reflectively, as he scraped his lean jaws thoughtfully with his long fingers—‘I don’t think there’s any ither thing to be arranged. Ye’d better keep clear o’ Blake, perhaps.’
‘One word, Mr. Peebles,’ said Conseltine, as the old man turned to go.
‘When do you intend to break to my brother the news of—of that woman being alive?’
‘I canna preceesely tell ye,’ returned Peebles. ‘As soon’s I think he’s strong enough to hear it. In the mean time, Mr. Conseltine, ye’d best ca’ cannie. I’m secret in the game till ye try another move; but if ye do, I’ll split on ye, as sure as God’s in heaven!’