break her heart, Perry; she'd grieve, boy, aye, begad she would--she'd
grieve, as I say, and--grieve, d'ye see--"

"Then you must comfort her--you or Uncle Jervas, or both! Woo her, win
her whoever can, only make her happy--that happiness she has denied
herself for my sake, all these years. This you must do--it is for this
I am about to sacrifice the joy of her companionship, the gentle quiet
and luxury of home to pit myself, alone and friendless, against an
alien world. This, my dear uncles," said I, finding myself not a
little moved as I concluded, "this is my prayer, that, through one of
you she may find a greater happiness than has ever been hers
hitherto."

"Tush, boy!" murmured my uncle Jervas, lounging gracefully against the
balustrade of the terrace again, "Tush and fiddle-de-dee! If you have
done with these heroics, let us get to our several beds like
common-sense beings," and he yawned behind a white and languid hand.

His words stung me, I will own; but it was not so much these that
wrought me to sudden, cold fury, as that contemptuous yawn. Even as I
stood mute with righteous indignation, all my finer feelings thus
wantonly outraged, he yawned again.

"Come, Peregrine," he mumbled sleepily, "come you in to bed, like a
sensible lad."

"Uncle Jervas," said I, smiling up at him as contemptuously as
possible, "I will see you damned first!"

"Good God!" exclaimed my uncle George, and letting go his whisker he