"That would be impossible," said I, as lightly as I could, "quite impossible; such love as ours, that demands so much, would be a great hindrance to your progress, don't you see? All the time you were studying, I should hover around you most distractingly. No, we must part--for a little while--" "For how long, Peregrine?" "Only two years, dear!" "So long--so very long! Two years! Ah, no, no, I couldn't bear it!" "Two years will--soon pass!" said I, between clenched teeth. "And of course you will be--too busy to--miss me--very much--" "Ah, how can you think so?" "And you will be working for me as much as for your dear self, Diana, and--our love--our future happiness. So you will go, dear heart--?" "For two years? No--it's too long--you might die--O Peregrine!" "The contingency is remote--I--I mean--" "But I can't leave you! I mustn't--I won't! I shall be your wife!" "No, Diana, that--that must wait until you--come back." "Wait?" she gasped. "Peregrine--O Peregrine--" "I want you to be free, Diana--" "Well, I won't be! I'm not free and never shall be because I belong to you and we belong to each other for ever and ever." "Oh, my dear--my dear, God knows it!" cried I and clasped her to me in yearning arms. "But I want you to go into this new life quite free and unfettered, because it is a great and ever-growing wonder that you should love me who am neither very handsome nor strong nor brave--so I want you to meet men who are--fine gentlemen, and compare them with poor me. And O Diana, if you can return so much cleverer and wiser for all you have seen and learned and can still love me--why, then, Diana, oh, then--" my voice broke but in this moment her arms were about me and stooping her lovely head she mingled her tears with mine. "Dear foolish boy," she murmured passionately, "how can you think there could ever be any other but just you. Ah, Perry dear, don't send me away; I should hate to be a lady now. Oh, be content with me as I am--don't send me away--" "I must--for your sake," I groaned, "for your future, to help you to the better thing. Though God knows I love you well enough as you are, and want you, Diana, want you with every nerve and fibre of me, with every breath. Oh, sir, sir," I cried, "help me to be strong for--her sake!" "You are, boy!" answered his lordship, and I saw he had crossed to the doorway and stood with his back to us. "Diana," he continued after a moment, "in this world of change, of doubt and uncertainty, one thing is very sure and beyond all cavil and dispute: Peregrine loves you far better than he loves himself, since he is strong enough to forego so much of present happiness for your future welfare. He honours me by placing you in my charge, I who love you as a daughter and will treat you as such. So, Diana, will you give yourself to my care awhile, will you become my companion and loved child?" "Must I, Peregrine?" she sobbed. "Oh, must I?"