Dr. Blundell uttered an exclamation that did not sound like a blessing.

“Look here, Birch,” he said, “this is no time to mince matters.  If the boy can’t be stopped—­and under the circumstances he’s got us on toast—­he can’t cry off active service—­as the boy can’t be stopped, you must just keep this news to yourself.”

“But I must tell Sir Timothy!”

“You must not tell Sir Timothy.”

“Though all my sympathies are with the boy—­for I’m a patriot first, and a parson afterwards—­God forgive me for saying so,” said Birch, in a trembling voice, “yet I can’t take the responsibility of keeping Peter’s father in ignorance of his action.  I see exactly what you mean, of course.  Sir Timothy will make unpleasantness, and very likely telegraph to his commanding officer, and disgrace the poor boy before his comrades; and shout at me, a thing I can’t bear; and you kindly think to spare me—­and Peter.  But I can’t take the responsibility of keeping it dark, for all that,” said the canon, shaking his head regretfully.

“I take the responsibility,” said the doctor, shortly.  “As Sir Timothy’s physician, I forbid you to tell him.”

“Is Sir Timothy ill?” The canon’s light eyes grew rounder with alarm.

“He is to undergo a dangerous operation to-morrow morning.”

“God bless my soul!”

“He desires this evening—­possibly his last on earth—­to be a calm and unclouded one,” said the doctor.  “Respect his wishes, Birch, as you would respect the wishes of a dying man.”

“Do you mean he won’t get over it?” said the canon, in a horrified whisper.

“You always want the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted,” said Blundell, impatiently.  “Of course there is a chance—­his only chance.  He’s a d——­d plucky old fellow.  I never thought to like Sir Timothy half so well as I do at this moment.”

“I hope I don’t dislike any man,” faltered the canon.  “But—­”

“Exactly,” said the doctor, dryly.

“But what shall I do with Peter’s letter?” said the unhappy recipient.

“Not one word to Sir Timothy.  Agitation or distress of mind at such a moment would be the worst thing in the world for him.”

“But I can’t let Peter sail without a word to his people.  And his mother.  Good God, Blundell!  Is Lady Mary to lose husband and son in one day?”

“Lady Mary,” said the doctor, bitterly, “is to be treated, as usual, like a child, and told nothing of her husband’s danger till it’s over.  As for Peter—­well, devoted mother as she is, she must be pretty well accustomed by this time to the captious indifference of her spoilt boy.  She won’t be surprised, though she may be hurt, that he should coolly propose to set off without bidding her good-bye.”

“Couldn’t we tell her in confidence about Peter?” said the canon, struck with a brilliant idea.

“Certainly not; she would fly to him at once, and leave Sir Timothy alone in his extremity.”