But if she had known it, Paul’s laugh was like the ploughboy’s whistle to keep his courage up. He had not expected any such onslaught, and he was not insensible to it, any more than she was to his scorn. For, after all, he did not in the least despise his sister, though it was so handy to pretend to do so. When he was left again among his ruins, though he stimulated himself, as by a sickly trumpet note of pretended victory by that laugh, Paul did not feel half so grand a personage as he could have wished, and for the next half hour or so there came and stabbed at him a little array of by no means pleasant thoughts. In the afternoon, after some hours had elapsed, Paul walked into his father’s room with a little air of defiance, and without any apologies. Sir William was seated in an easy chair, looking aged and worn. “I am very sorry to hear that you have been ill, sir,” his son said. “Yes, I have been ill,” said Sir William, “but it will pass off. I think the best thing for me is to get home.” “I should not think you could be very comfortable here,” Paul said. His mother was in the room, and his grievance against her rose up bitterly, and quenched the softer feeling which had moved him at sight of his father’s pale face. “It would perhaps have been better that we had not come. There are many things--that I must see after--in your interests. Paul, do you mean to come home with us? Whatever you may do hereafter, it would be best for you to come home now.” There was a momentary pause. Sir William put forward no arguments, not even that of his own condition--and used no reproaches. But behind him appeared Lady Markham’s face, pale and pathetic with entreaty. Her eyes were fixed upon her son with a look which he could scarcely withstand. And therefore Paul set his face like a rock, and would not yield. “I don’t see what good it would do, sir,” he said. “You know my unalterable resolution. You know my principles, which are so much at variance with yours, and would prevent me from ever taking the position you wish. Why should we worry each other since we can’t agree? Besides, other circumstances have arisen,” he said, with a vengeful glance at his mother. “But before I sail I shall certainly come to say good-bye.” His mother’s faint call after him, “Paul! Paul!” which sounded like a cry of despair, caught at his very heart, but did not bring him back. His feet felt like lead as he went down the stairs. Almost they would not carry him from everything that was in reality most dear to him; but the more nature held him back the more determined was his obstinate will to go. He would come back to say good-bye before he sailed. Was he leaving himself a place of repentance? But at present, though he was wretched, though his heart seemed to have an arrow through it, and his feet were like lead, he would not stay.