these things he now enjoyed upon another's bounty he
would then enjoy in his own right. A devil seemed to mock him with
the whispered sneer that were Oliver to die his own grief would not be
long-lived. Then in revolt against that voice of an egoism so loathsome
that in his better moments it inspired even himself with horror, he
bethought him of Oliver's unvarying, unwavering affection; he pondered
all the loving care and kindness that through these years past Oliver
had ever showered upon him; and he cursed the rottenness of a mind that
could even admit such thoughts as those which he had been entertaining.
So wrought upon was he by the welter of his emotions, by that fierce
strife between his conscience and his egotism, that he came abruptly to
his feet, a cry upon his lips.

"Vade retro, Sathanas!"

Old Nicholas, looking up abruptly, saw the lad's face, waxen, his brow
bedewed with sweat.

"Master Lionel! Master Lionel!" he cried, his small bright eyes
concernedly scanning his young master's face. "What be amiss?"

Lionel mopped his brow. "Sir Oliver has gone to Arwenack upon a punitive
business," said he.

"An' what be that, zur?" quoth Nicholas.

"He has gone to punish Sir John for having maligned him."

A grin spread upon the weather-beaten countenance of Nicholas.

"Be that so? Marry, 'twere time. Sir John he be over long i' th' tongue."

Lionel stood amazed at the man's easy confidence and supreme assurance
of how his master must acquit himself.

"You... you have no fear, Nicholas...." He did not add of what. But the
servant understood, and his grin grew broader still.

"Fear? Lackaday! I bain't afeeard for Sir Oliver, and doan't ee be
afeeard. Sir Oliver'll be home to sup with a sharp-set appetite--'tis
the only difference fighting ever made to he."

The servant was justified of his confidence by the events, though
through a slight error of judgment Sir Oliver did not quite accomplish
all that promised and intended. In anger, and when he deemed that he had
been affronted, he was--as his chronicler never wearies of insisting,
and as you shall judge before the end of this tale is reached--of a
tigerish ruthlessness. He rode to Arwenack fully resolved to kill
his calumniator. Nothing less would satisfy him. Arrived at that fine
embattled castle of the Killigrews which commanded the entrance to the
estuary of the Fal, and from whose crenels the country might be surveyed
as far as the Lizard, fifteen m