CHAPTER VIII. You will be under the eye of the best friend I have; and if you do not treat that child for what she is —an innocent angel—I promise to hunt you across the wide world and kill you with bare hands. ’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism. Since then he has persistently annoyed me. She had been careless. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him.
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