"Oh, don't, don't; you are so hard!" she said piteously. "If you'd
only listened to him when he implored you to let him go, we could have
made his last days at home all they should be. He's been hiding in
London, poor Peter; getting his outfit by stealth, ashamed, whilst
other boys are being _fêted_ and praised by their people, proud of
earning so early their right to be considered men. And--and he's
only a boy. And he said himself, all's fair in love and war. Indeed,
Timothy, it is an exceptional case."

"Mary, your weakness is painful, and your idolatry of Peter will bring
its own punishment. The part of his deception that should pain you
most is the want of heart he has displayed," said Sir Timothy,
bitterly.

"And doesn't it?" she said, with a pathetic smile. "But one oughtn't
to expect too much heart from a boy, ought one? It's--it's not a
healthy sign. You said once you were glad he wasn't sentimental, like
me."

"I should have wished him to exhibit proper feeling on proper
occasions. His present triumph over my authority involves his
departure to certain danger and possible death, without even affording
us the opportunity of bidding him farewell. He is ready and willing to
leave us thus."

Lady Mary uttered a stifled scream. "But I won't let him. How can you
think his mother will let him go like that?"

"How can you help it?"