"Yes!" said I, looking at her through blinding tears. "Yes!" Obediently she arose and, crossing to his lordship, placed her hand in his. "I'll go wi' you, old pal," said she. Now as our Ancient Person turned to smile at her, I saw his furrowed cheek was wet with tears also. "Sir, when--when do you start?" I enquired. "At once, Peregrine. We shall be in London to-night." "Then this is--good-bye, sir?" "Yes, my children!" "My lord," said I, rising wearily, "I am leaving with you all I possess, my present joy, my--hope for the future, my loved Diana." "God make me worthy of the charge, Peregrine." All in a moment she was at my feet, upon her knees, her arms fast about me, her face hidden against me, her body shaken with convulsive sobs. "O Perry, I can't--I can't do it--no, no--don't let me go--" At this I knelt also and thus we faced each other on our knees, as when Love first had found us. And so I clasped and kissed and strove to comfort her, until the passion of her grief was abated. "Must I go, dear Peregrine--must I go?" she whispered, beneath my kisses. "Yes, for the sake of the future--yours and mine. God keep you and--good-bye, my own Diana!" Then I arose and left her there upon her knees, looking after me through fast-falling tears and her loved arms stretched out to me in piteous supplication. "Peregrine," she pleaded, "oh, my Peregrine!" But I turned away and rushed from the spot, never daring to look back; but ever as I went, that desolate cry rang and echoed in my ears. CHAPTER XXXIX HOW I CAME HOME AGAIN "Two years! Emptiness! Loneliness! Two years!" It was in the hurry of my footsteps, birds sang it, leaves whispered it, my heart throbbed to it. "Two years! Emptiness! Loneliness! Two years!" Sometimes tears blinded me, sometimes anger shook me, but always was the pain of loss, the yearning for that loved and vanished presence.--"Two years!" More than once I turned to hasten back--to end this misery--back to my Diana, this maid who was more precious, more necessary to my life than I had ever dreamed. I should have but to lift my finger, nay ... one look and she would be in my arms ... so very easy, and therefore ... so utterly impossible. Sometimes I hurried on at breathless speed, sometimes crept on slow, unwilling feet, sometimes stood motionless to stare blindly about me, raged at and torn by conflicting thoughts ... agonising ... irresolute. How long I wandered thus I cannot say, but the sun was low when, amid the leafy whispering of familiar tree, I heard the cheery ring of the Tinker's anvil. At sight of me he dropped his hammer and fell back a step. "Why Peregrine," said he. "Why, Perry lad--don't look so! Is aught wrong?" "Only my heart is breaking, I think!" said I, and casting myself down at the foot of a tree, I covered my face. "God love me!" exclaimed the Tinker; and then he was kneeling beside me. "What is it, lad, what is it?" "I've sent my Diana from me!" "Sent her from ye, lad?"