The thought of leaving it all behind me, and of passing the rest of my life in exile, was too painful to dwell upon; yet I knew that, once I went away, I might very easily never be back. It had struck me that the doctor had been anything but optimistic, and I knew this meant that my chance must be a pretty poor one. I went upstairs to my own room. I sat down in my old window-seat and began a letter to Owen, which I did not finish, for it occurred to me that, later on, I might have more definite news to give him; and, at any rate, if I were going away, he must come down first to stay with me. With my incomplete letter before me I sat dreaming. I wondered if, in years to come, another boy would have this room as his own, and sit in this window-seat; and if his thoughts would for a moment perhaps touch mine? All _my_ thoughts would be dead then; my dreams vanished; the life that had unfolded here be gone out. A feeling of sadness stole over me. I had been a very little chap when I had first taken possession of this room. If the ghost of that little boy, who had been me, could only come back, how I should have hugged him! For I loved him: he seemed quite different from the “me” who was thinking about him now. Only he was gone, and just one person in the world knew anything about him, and he, too, I supposed, as years passed would forget.... * * * * * “Why are you sitting up here in the cold, child?” Mrs. Carroll had opened the door and was speaking to me. “How long have you been here? Come down to tea.” I looked round and saw that the room had filled with dusk. “Oh, not very long.” I smiled. “I’m not cold.” But I shivered slightly as I spoke. “That means you have been here ever since you came in. It is really very wrong of you, Peter. The fire is laid, and all you had to do was to put a match to it.” I followed her downstairs. There was no one in the drawing-room, and I was glad we were going to be by ourselves. I sat on the hearth-rug, hugging my knees, gazing into the red, glowing grate. “Is Miss Dick out?” I asked. “She went out to tea.” I waited till the servant had come in and cleared away the tea-things. Then I said, “I have something to tell you.” Mrs. Carroll, her plump, rather large hands moving swiftly and deftly amid soft, fleecy wool, was knitting what looked remarkably like an under-garment for me. “Yes, dear,” she replied. But instead of proceeding I asked a question: “Won’t it cost a great deal, my going away――with a tutor, and all that?” “Not very much. It is of no importance.” “But you will be paying for it, won’t you?” I urged. “My dear child, why do you want to discuss such things now?” “I have a reason.” “I don’t think it can be a good one.” “If I were related to you――if I were your nephew――it would be different.” “What would be different?” “If I were worth it it would be different too. But I’m not.” “Aren’t you?” Her needles clicked placidly.