I have William with your mare, but seeing you cannot ride as
you are, we will take a chaise."
But folding my arms, I shook my head.
"What--O boy, what does this mean?"
"It means, dear Aunt, that I love the Silent Places too!"
"But Peregrine, you will not desert me now--now that I have found
you--you will not--cannot! Ah, come back, Peregrine!" she cried, deep
bosom resurgent, arms outstretched and eyes dim with unshed tears.
"Dear Aunt, it is impossible!" I mumbled. "Loving you as I do, yet
must I leave you a while, foregoing the tender shelter of your love
for--for--"
"Dirt and misery!" she broke in. "The shameful allurement of a sly
minx, an unspeakable--"
"Madam!" I cried, "have done! You shame yourself and me! It has been
my good fortune to have fallen in with honest people with whom I shall
remain awhile, enduring their lot, living their life and by their
brave patience learn fortitude, and their proud humility shall in
time, I hope, teach me the duties of a gentleman--"
"My poor, distraught Peregrine!" she sighed. "My poor, poor boy. So
thus I leave you because I must. But some day, when your stubborn will
is broken, when your proud head is bowed with grief and shame, come
back, dear prodigal, come back, and you shall find these arms
outstretched in eager welcome, this solitary heart still open to
shelter and protect. Farewell, my Peregrine--I go to weep and pray for
you in the night silences.
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