"Being a man of action, uncle George was never much of a talker, as you know--but he is more silent than ever these days. In London he would sit all day long in a dreadful apathy, and all night long I would hear him go tramping, tramping to and fro in his chamber--" "O Perry dear--if he could only weep!" "Aunt Julia, there is but one power on earth could bestow on him such blessed relief, and that is your love, the certain assurance that you do love him--the touch of your lips--" "O Peregrine--oh, hush! Do you mean--" and my goddess-like aunt faltered and sat there, lovely eyes downcast, blushing like the merest girl. "Yes, you beautiful Aunt," said I, "this is what I mean--this whose simple mention has turned you into a girl of sixteen, this wonderful truth that uncle Jervas had divined already." And I told her of his dying words: "'You will marry her after all, George--our Julia. I see now that she always loved you best!'" "Oh, dear Jervas!" she murmured. "He has left uncle George who loved him so greatly, very solitary--listen, dear Aunt!" Up to us through the open lattice, borne upon the fragrant air, came that small, soft sound where my uncle George paced ceaselessly to and fro amid the gathering dusk. "Poor George!" she whispered tenderly. "He is so--utterly forlorn, Aunt." "Dear George!" "And so very much a man, Aunt!" "And such a child!" she murmured. "So big and strong and such a helpless baby! Dear George!" Here I turned to my writing again, heard the door close softly and, glancing up, found myself alone. Then, tossing down my pen, I arose and from a cupboard reached forth a hat and well-filled knapsack which last I proceeded to buckle to my shoulders; this done, I took a stout stick from a corner and stood ready for my wanderings. Thus equipped, I crossed to the window that I might see if the coast was clear, since I meant to steal away with no chance of tears or sorrowful farewells. They were standing on the terrace in the gathering dusk; as I looked, Aunt Julia reached up and, taking his haggard face between her gentle hands, drew it down lower and lower; and when she spoke, no ear save his might catch her soft-breathed words. And then his great arms were fast about her and there broke from him a sobbing cry of ecstasy. "O Julia--at last. He was right then--our Jervas was right!" And so my uncle George learned to weep at last and found within her loving arms the blessed relief of tears. CHAPTER XII HOW I WENT UPON AN EXPEDITION WITH MR. SHRIG I had been ringing ineffectually at the bell of my chambers for perhaps five minutes and was about to visit the adjacent mews in quest of my groom, when a voice spoke my name, and turning about, I beheld Mr. Shrig, the Bow Street officer.