"Madam," he announced abruptly, "Sir John is like to die."
The astounding answer she returned him--that is, astounding to him--did
not tend to soothe his sorely ruffled spirit.
"I know," she said. "And I believe him to deserve no less. Who deals
in calumny should be prepared for the wages of it."
He stared at her in a long, furious silence, then exploded into oaths,
and finally inveighed against her unnaturalness and pronounced her
bewitched by that foul dog Tressilian.
"It is fortunate for me," she answered him composedly, "that he was
here before you to give me the truth of this affair." Then her assumed
calm and the anger with which she had met his own all fell away from
her. "Oh, Peter, Peter," she cried in anguish, "I hope that Sir John
will recover. I am distraught by this event. But be just, I implore
you. Sir Oliver has told me how hard-driven he had been."
"He shall be driven harder yet, as God's my life! If you think this
deed shall go unpunished...."
She flung herself upon his breast and implored him to carry this
quarrel no further. She spoke of her love for Sir Oliver and announced
her firm resolve to marry him in despite of all opposition that could
be made, all of which did not tend to soften her brother's humour. Yet
because of the love that ever had held these two in closest bonds he
went so far in the end as to say that should Sir John recover he would
not himself pursue the matter further.
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