At any rate, his eyes were brilliantly black and sparkling with devilry.

They were the mysterious, the unknown, and who was I, a seven-year-old, to analyse them and know their prankishness?
In them I visioned sudden death, and I declined the wine half-heartedly.

The expression in his eyes changed.
They grew stern and imperious as he shoved the tumbler of wine closer.
What could I do?
I have faced real death since in my life, but never have I known the fear of death as I knew it then.

I put the glass to my lips, and Peter's eyes relented.

I knew he would not kill me just then.