So all was going well with Peter when I chanced home, who knew him for his worth and promised to spoil his sport.

Little wonder, then, if he hated to see me, and kept at the far edge of the bed.
However, I had more to think of than him; and, finding him deaf, even when I tried to be civil, I busied myself with other thoughts, and fell asleep, to dream a jumbled dream of Ludar, and Jeannette, and the captain of the _Misericorde_.
I remember I dreamed that Ludar and Jeannette were keeping the watch on deck while I slept below; and that my hour being come, the captain had come down to fetch me, and was standing over me; when I awoke suddenly, and, in the dim moonlight, saw a real figure at the bedside.

It was Peter Stoupe, and, though I could scarce see his face, I knew he was glowering on me, white in his hand he slowly lifted a knife above my heart.

I was motionless, not with terror--for his hand trembled so it could scarce have dealt a deadly blow--but with horror to find such a man at such a deed.

So, though my eyes were open, he saw not that I was awake, and with a gasp brought down his hand.