From the room in which she had been born came the heavy smell of eucalyptus. Peter opened the door; a fire was burning, as when he had first found her there. A cot was drawn up to the fire and from it came a ceaseless tired wailing. In the wailing he made out his name, uttered over and over. As he ran forward, his mother rose to put her arms about him. He rushed past her: she did not count. Bending over the cot, he gazed into the flushed face. The hoarse voice stopped. The lips, cracked with fever, pressed against his mouth. “Little Kay, it's truly Peter. He's never going to leave you.” From the moment he touched her, she began to mend. Some days later, when relief from suspense left leisure for attention to other matters, Mr. Barrington wrote to Miss Rufus, saying that his son would not return. In reply he received a curious confidence. She had advertised her school for sale, and it was Peter's doing. Peter had taught her that, except love, nothing mattered. Peter's father had seen Miss Rufus; he thought that love on her lips was an odd word. Couldn't one love and still keep a school? It was very _Peterish_ of Peter to make a lady with a corrugated countenance do a thing like that. Something lay behind the letter. Later, when the scandal had become public, Jehane informed them what that something was. Peter's father felt penitent. He took his son between his knees, resting his hand on his curly head, and gazed at him intently as though for the first time he was beginning to know him. “Have you forgiven me, little chap?” Then, “I was mistaken about you. Your mother was right. Go on being _Peterish_ to your heart's content. We love you best like that.” To Nan he said, “You should have seen that woman. She was barbed wire all round--impregnable. Absolutely. But Peter--well! We've got a queer little shrimp for our son and heir.” CHAPTER XV--MARRIED LIFE Peter went laughing through the spring-world--it had become all kindness. In some strange way he had saved Kay's life. Everybody said so. He did not know how. And now she was strong and well--more his than ever. “'Appy, Master Peter? H'always 'appy,” Mr. Grace would say when they met on the cab-stand. Yes, Peter was always happy now. His eyes were blue torches of joy which burnt up other people's sadness. His golden little motherkins forgot her dread of when he would become a man; she held him tightly in the nest at Topbury, surrounding him with her gentle love. His father showed his affection in a man's fashion by making Peter his friend. And Kay, racing down the garden-path and dancing with the flowers in the sunshine, put the feeling which they all experienced into words, “The joy's gone into my feet, Peter; I'm so glad.”