And there were other secrets Peter learnt--that his uncle had an obscure disease which no one must mention. His uncle was very brave and laughed about it. It could be kept in check, so long as he took his “medicine” regularly. His “medicine” could be obtained at any public house and was frequently obtained on those Saturday excursions to and from Birchdale. When Glory accompanied them, Uncle Waffles contrived to do without it. At Christmas Peter was put in charge of the guard and returned to Topbury. The month that followed was epoch-making--a bitter pleasure. Like a man living on his capital, he was always reckoning how much was left. And then the respite ended and the exile in Egypt recommenced. He clenched his hands. He would not cry. And yet----. It was Kay he wanted. His whole life was wrapt up in her. The first day back at school he noticed that one of his companions was absent. The second and the third day passed; then the news leaked out that he was dead. It dawned on Peter that death was a peril that threatened everybody. No amount of care on the part of Mr. Grace or the policeman could shield Kay from it. The thought became a nightmare. Miss Rufus discovered that he was unhappy; he cried at night in bed. She was hurt; but, when he told her, she was more gentle with him than ever. Midway through the term a telegram arrived. Its message was broken to him by Uncle Waffles. Kay was dangerously ill and calling for him; he was to go back. A drizzling rain hung over London. The streets were clogged with mud, and gas-lamps shone drearily through the drifting murk. Throughout the long and dismal journey he had sat pale-faced; in the intervals between praying he had told himself that, were she to die, he would never forgive his father for having separated him from her. He was stunned and yet fiercely rebellious. In spite of his desperate hope, he was prepared for the worst. At the station Grace met him. Indiscreet through grief, she told him how from the first of her three days' illness his little sister had never ceased calling for him. “'Er temp'rature's runned up with fretting, poor lamb; but you was allaws h'able to quiet 'er, Master Peter.” Before the cab had halted on the Terrace, Peter was up the steps. Someone had been behind the blinds, watching; the door opened almost before he had rung the bell. His father stood before him. In his hot anger Peter dodged beneath his arm and commenced to mount the stairs. If he had been there, he felt sure, this would not have happened.