“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. “Ah! I knew it. Even if this matter goes by, your time will come. You'll quarrel with the fellow yet--you know you will--it's in the nature of things--if he's the man you say.” Philip drank the third glass of wine and rose to go. “Leave him to me--I'll deal with him. You'll be done with him, and a good riddance, too, I reckon. And now come in to the ladies--they'll know you're here.” Philip excused himself and went off with feverish gestures and an excited face. “The Governor is right,” he thought, as he went home over the dark roads. Pete was a thorn in his flesh, and always would be; his enemy, his relentless enemy, notwithstanding his love for him. The misery of the past month could not be supported any longer. Perpetual fear of discovery, perpetual guard of the tongue, keeping watch and ward on every act of life--to-day, to-morrow, the next day, on and on until life's end in wretchedness or disgrace--it was insupportable, it was impossible, it could not be attempted. Then came thoughts that were too fearful to take form-too awful to take words. They were like the flapping of unseen wings going by him in the night, but the meaning of them was this: If Pete persists in his purpose, there will be a riot. If any one is injured, Pete will be transported. If any one is killed, Pete will be indicted for his life. “Well, I have done my duty by him,” his heart whimpered. “I have tried to restrain him. I have tried to restrain the Governor. It isn't my fault. What more can I do?”