“To me be it, and who has more right?” said the Governor hotly.
Philip held himself in hand. He was silent, and his silence was taken for submission. Cracking some nuts and munching them, the Governor began to take another tone.
“I should be sorry, Mr. Christian, if anything came between you and me—very sorry. We've been good friends thus far, and you will allow that you owe me something. Don't you see it yourself—this man is dishonouring me in the eyes of the island? If you have tried your best to keep his neck out of the halter, let the consequences be his own.”
“Eh?” said Philip, with his eyes on the floor.
“You have done your duty by the man, I say. Help yourself to a glass of wine.”
Still Philip did not speak. The Governor saw his advantage, but little did he guess the pitiless power of it.
“The fellow is your kinsman, Deemster, and I shall not ask you to deal with him. That would be inhuman. If there is no hope of restraining him to-morrow—wise as he is, if he will not listen to saner counsels, I will only beg of you—but this is a matter for the police. You are a high official now. It would be a pity to give you pain. Stay at home—I'll gladly excuse you—you look as if a day's rest would do you good.”
Philip drank two glasses of the wine in quick succession. The Governor poured him a third, and went on—
“I don't know what you're feeling for the man may be—it can't be friendship. I'm sure he's a thorn in your flesh. And as long as he's here he will always be.”
Philip looked up with inquiry, doubt, and fear.