"Tell me I dream, George!" wailed aunt Julia. "Say it is a horrid
vision and make me happy."
"It is, Julia, it is!" said my uncle Jervas. "And yet, upon me soul,
'tis a vision that grows upon me; observe the set of the shoulders,
the haughty cock o' the head, the determined jut of the chin; yes,
Julia, despite rags and dirt, I recognise Peregrine as a true Vereker
for the first time." Saying which, my uncle Jervas very deliberately
drew on his riding glove and stepping up to me, caught and shook my
hand or ever I guessed his intention.
"Uncle--O Uncle Jervas!" I exclaimed and stooped my head lest he
should see the tears in my eyes.
"By Gad, Julia--sweet soul," exclaimed my uncle George. "Jervas is
exactly right, d'ye see? Perry may look a--a what's-a-name vision, but
he's a Vereker for all that--lad o' spirit--beautiful pair o' black
eyes, though you can't see 'em for dirt--"
My aunt moaned feebly.
"But dirt, my dear soul, dirt won't harm him, nor black eyes--do him
good, d'ye see, do him a world o' good, doing him good every minute--"
"Enough, George Vereker!" exclaimed my aunt in her terrible voice, and
freed herself from his hold like an offended goddess. "O heaven, I
might have known that you, George, would have abetted my poor, wilful
boy in his dirt and bodily viciousness, and that you, Jervas, would
have condoned his turpitude and moral degradation. None the less,
though you both desert me in this dreadful hour, shirking your duty
thus shamelessly, this woman's hand shall pluck my dear, loved nephew
from the abyss, this hand--" Here, turning to behold me, my poor aunt
shivered, gasped and setting dainty handkerchief to her eyes, bowed
noble head and wept grandly as a grieving goddess might have done.
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