Yarrow nodded slowly, looking in the fire.
"If I were not strong enough to-morrow, what then?"
"I will be with you,—near. I must have the paper. He is an old Shylock, after all," with a desperate carelessness. "His soul would not weigh heavily against me, if it were let out."
Yarrow passed his hand over his face; it was colorless. Yet he looked bewildered. The bare thought of murder was not clear to him yet.
"Drink some wine, Stephen," said his brother, pouring out a goblet for himself. "I carry my own drinking-apparatus. This Sherry"—
Yarrow tasted it, and put down the glass.
"I was cheated in it, eh?"
"Yes, you were."
"Your palate was always keener than mine. I"—
His mouth looked blue and cold under his whiskers: then they both stood vacantly silent, while the woman sewed.