ute want of rest and change
before entering upon the struggle which he supposed might await him,
and for which he would probably need all the good humour and good
sense he possessed. So far as he was personally concerned, there
was no doubt that his proceedings had been dictated by wisdom and
judgment.

The fatigue and irritability, consequent upon too much mental labour,
and too little fresh air and exercise, had vanished. John was in good
health and good spirits, clear of brain and eye, and vigorous of
person, when he arrived at Barracombe; in the mild, wet, misty weather
which heralded the approach of a typical Devonshire autumn.

But when he looked at Lady Mary, he knew that he would have been
better able to dispense with that holiday interval than she was to
have endured it.

She had always been considered marvellously young-looking for her age.
The quiet country life she had led had bestowed that advantage upon
her; and her beauty, fair as she was, had always been less dependent
on colouring than upon the exquisite delicacy of her features and
general contour. But now a heaviness beneath the blue eyes,--a little
fading of her brightness--a little droop of the beautifully shaped
mouth,--almost betrayed her seven and thirty years; and the soft,
abundant, brown hair was threaded quite perceptibly with silver. Her
sweet face smiled upon him; but the smile was no longer, he thought,
joyous--but pathetic, as of one who reproaches herself wonderingly for
light-heartedness.

John looked at her in silence, but the words he uttered in his heart
were, "I will never leave you any more."

Perhaps his face said everything that he did not say, for Lady Mary
had turned from him with a little sob, and leant her forehead on her
hands, looking out at the rain which swept the valley. She felt, as
she had always felt in John's presence, that here was her champion and
her protector and her slave, in one; returned to restore her failing
courage and her lost self-confidence.

"So you saw something of Peter in London?" she said tremulously,
breaking the silence which had fallen between them after their first
greeting. "Please tell me. You know I have seen almost nothing of him
since he came home."

"So I gather," said John. "Yes, I saw something--not very much--of
Master Peter in London. You see I am not much of a society man;" and
he laughed.

"Was Peter a society man?" said his mother, laughing also, but rather
sadly.

"He