To do him justice, he had no idea how boastfully his letters read; he had not the art of expressing himself on paper, and he was always in a hurry.  The moments when he was moved by a vague affection for his home, or his mother, were seldom the actual moments which he devoted to correspondence; and the passing ideas of the moment were all Peter knew how to convey.

Lady Mary could not but be aware of her son’s complete independence of her, but the realization of it no longer filled her with such dismay as formerly.  Her outlook upon life was widening insensibly.  The young soldier’s luck deserted him at last.  Barely six weeks before the declaration of peace, Peter was wounded at Rooiwal.  The War Office, and the account of the action in the newspapers, reported his injuries as severe; but a telegram from Peter himself brought relief, and even rejoicing, to Barracombe—­

“Shot in the arm.  Doing splendidly.  Invalided home.  Sailing as soon as doctor allows.”

CHAPTER X

“I never complain, Canon Birch,” said Lady Belstone, resignedly; “but it is a great relief, as I cannot deny, to open my mind to you, who know so well what this place used to be like in my dear brother’s time.”

The canon had been absent from Youlestone on a long holiday, and on his return found that the workmen, who had reigned over Barracombe for nearly two years, had at length departed.

The inhabitants had been hunted from one part of the house to another as the work proceeded; but now the usual living-rooms had been restored to their occupants, and peace and order prevailed, where all had been noise and confusion.

“I should not have known the place,” said the canon, gazing round him.

“Nor I. We make a point of saying nothing,” said Miss Crewys, pathetically, “but it’s almost impossible not to look now and then.”

“Speak for yourself, Georgina,” said her sister, with asperity.  “One can’t look furniture out of one room and into another.”

The old ladies sat forlornly in their corner by the great open hearth, whereon the logs were piled in readiness for a fire, because they often found the early June evenings chilly.  But the sofa with broken springs, which they specially affected, had been mended, and recovered; and was no longer, they sadly agreed, near so comfortable as in its crippled past.

The banqueting-hall, which was the very heart of Barracombe House, had been carefully and skilfully restored to its ancient dignity.

The paint and graining, which had disfigured its mighty beams and solid panelling, had been removed; and the freshly polished oak shone forth in its noble age, shorn of all tawdry disguise.

The spaces of wall and roof between the beams, and above the panels, were now of a creamy tint not far removed, as the two indignant critics pointed out, from common whitewash.  A great screen of Spanish leather sheltered the door from the vestibule, and secured somewhat more privacy for the hall as a sitting-room.