Think of that other summer day when we couldn't bear even to look at the roses because little Peter was so ill, and we were afraid he was going back to heaven." Her soft, rapid words touched Sir Timothy to a vague feeling of pity for her, and for Peter, and for himself.

But the voice of the charmer, charm she never so wisely, had no power, after all, to dispel the dark cloud that was hanging over him.
The sorrow gave way to a keener anxiety.

The calmness of mind which the great surgeon had prescribed--the placid courage, largely aided by dulness of imagination, which had enabled poor Sir Timothy to keep in the very background of his thoughts all apprehensions for the morrow--where were they?
He repressed with an effort the emotion which threatened to master him, and forced himself to be calm.

When he spoke again his voice sounded not much less measured and pompous than usual.
"My dear, you are agitating yourself and me.

Let us confine ourselves to the subject in hand." Lady Mary dropped the unresponsive hand she held so warmly pressed between her own, and stepped back.
"Ah, forgive me!" she said in clear tones.