"So here are eighteen-odd guineas," quoth uncle Jervas, "a paltry and most inadequate sum, perhaps, but these should last you a few days--with care, or at least until, wearying of hardship, you steal back into the silken lap of luxury." "And look 'ee, Perry lad," added uncle George, clapping me on the shoulder and eyeing me a little anxiously, "come back soon, boy--soon, d'ye see--" "He will, George, he will!" nodded uncle Jervas. "He looks damnably solitary, somehow, Jervas." "And small, George." "Sirs," said I, "for my lack of size, blame nature. As to loneliness--'my mind to me my kingdom is,' and one peopled by a thousand loved friends, or of what avail the reading of books?" "Books? M--yes, precisely!" quoth my uncle George, ruffling up his thick curls and eyeing me askance. "But what are we to tell your aunt Julia?" "Nothing, sir. At the first inn I stop at I will write her fully regarding my departure and future plans--" "But--oh, curse it. Perry," exclaimed uncle George, fumbling for his whisker, "she'll be sure to blame us, aye, she will so, b'gad d'ye see--" "Not when she reads my letter, sir. Indeed I feel--nay, I know that my absence will but serve to draw you nearer together, all three, and I look forward with assured hope to seeing her happily wedded to--to one or other of you when--when I return--" "Lord love me!" "Now on me immortal soul!" exclaimed my two uncles in one breath. "My dear sirs," I continued, "I have long suspected your passion for my peerless aunt, nor do I venture to blame you--" "Blame, b'gad!" exclaimed my uncle George faintly. "To-night I chanced to overhear words pass between you that put the matter beyond doubt--" "Impertinent young eavesdropper!" exclaimed my uncle Jervas, very red in the face. "Thus, in taking my departure, I can but wish you every happiness. But before I go, I would beg of you to satisfy me on a point of family history--if you will. My parents died young, I believe?" "They did!" answered my uncle Jervas in strangely repressed voice. "Very young!" sighed my uncle George. "And what--how came they to die?" I questioned. "Your mother died of--a broken heart, Peregrine," said uncle Jervas. "Sweet child!" added uncle George. "Then I pray that God in His mercy has mended it long ere this," said I. "And my father, sirs,--how came he by death so early?" Here my two uncles exchanged looks as though a little at a loss. "Has your aunt never told you?" enquired my uncle Jervas. "Never, sir! And her distress forbade my questioning more than the once. But you are men and so I ask you how did your brother and my father die?" "Shot in a duel, lad, killed on the spot!" said my uncle George, and I saw his big hand clench itself into a quivering fist. "They fought in a little wood not so far from here--such a lad he was--our fag at school, d'ye see. I remember they carried him up these very steps--and the sun so bright--and he had scarcely begun to live--"