CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
AFTER SEVEN YEARS.
Sir Francis, as I afterwards learned, did not insist upon the matter, but the very next day, as I was in the peach-house, I heard the door open, and I felt anything but comfortable as I saw Courtenay enter the place and come slowly up to me.
I was prepared for anything, but I had no cause for expecting war.

He had come in peace.
"We're going away directly after lunch," he said in a low, surly tone, as if he resented what he was saying.

"I'll--, I'll--there! I'll try-- to be different when I come back again." He turned and went hurriedly out of the place, and he had not been gone long when the door at the other end clicked, and I found, as soon as he who entered had come round into sight, that it was Philip.
He came up to me in a quick, impetuous way, as if eager to get his task over, and as our eyes met I could see that he had evidently been suffering a good deal.
"I'm going away this afternoon," he said quickly.

"I wish I hadn't said and done all I have.

I beg--" He could not finish, but burst into a passionate fit of sobbing, and turned away his face.
"Good-bye!" I said.