"Peter," said George, one evening, turning to me with the troubled
look I had seen so often on his face of late, "what be wrong wi'
you, my chap? You be growing paler everyday. Oh, Peter! you be
like a man as is dyin' by inches--if 'tis any o' my doin'--"
"Nonsense, George!" I broke in with sudden asperity, "I am well
enough!"
"Yet I've seen your 'ands fall a-trembling sometimes, Peter--all
at once. An' you missed your stroke yesterday--come square down
on th' anvil--you can't ha' forgot?"
"I remember," I muttered; "I remember."
"An' twice again to-day. An' you be silent, Peter, an' don't
seem to 'ear when spoke to, an' short in your temper--oh, you
bean't the man you was. I've see it a-comin' on you more an'
more. Oh, man, Peter!" he cried, turning his back upon me
suddenly, "you as I'd let walk over me--you as I'd be cut in
pieces for--if it be me as done it--"
"No, no, George--it wasn't you--of course not. If I am a little
strange it is probably due to lack of sleep, nothing more."
"Ye see, Peter, I tried so 'ard to kill 'ee, an' you said
yourself as I come nigh doin' it--"
"But then, you didn't quite manage it," I cried harshly--"would
to God you had; as it is, I am alive, and there's an end of it."
"'Twere a woundy blow I give 'ee--that last one! I'll never
forget the look o' your face as you went down. Oh, Peter! you've
never been the same since--it be all my doin'--I know it, I know
it," and, sinking upon the Ancient's stool in the corner, Black
George covered his face.
"Never think of it, George," I said, laying my arm across his
heaving shoulders; "that is all over and done with, dear fellow,
and I would not have it otherwise, since it gained me your
friendship. I am all right, well and strong; it is only sleep
that I need, George, only sleep."
Upon the still evening air rose the sharp tap, tap of the
Ancient's stick, whereat up started the smith, and, coming to the
forge, began raking out the fire with great dust and clatter, as
the old man hobbled up, saluting us cheerily as he came.
"Lord!" he exclaimed, pausing in the doorway to lean upon his
stick and glance from one to the other of us with his quick,
bright eyes. "Lord! theer bean't two other such fine, up-standin',
likely-lookin' chaps in all the South Country as you two chaps
be--no, nor such smiths! it du warm my old 'eart to look at
'ee. Puts me in mind o' what I were myself--ages an' ages
ago. I weren't quite so tall as Jarge, p'r'aps, by about--say
'alf-a-inch, but then, I were wider--wider, ah! a sight wider
in the shoulder, an' so strong as--four bulls! an' wi' eyes big
an' sharp an' piercin'--like Peter's, only Peter's bean't quite
so sharp, no, nor yet so piercin'--an' that minds me as I've
got noos for 'ee, Peter."