“It used not to be the fashion to encourage country doctors to be tame cats,” said Lady Belstone, viciously; “but he pretends to like the innovations, and gets round young John; and inquires after Peter, and pleases Mary.”

“Ay, ay; it will be a great moment for her when the boy comes back.  A great moment for you all,” said the canon, absently.

He stood with his back to the tall leather screen which guarded the entrance to the hall, and did not hear the gentle opening of the great door.

“I trust,” said Miss Crewys, “that we are not a family prone to display weak emotion even on the most trying occasions.”

“To be sure not,” said the canon, disconcerted; “still, I cannot think of it myself without a little—­a great deal—­of thankfulness for his preservation through this terrible war, now so happily ended.  And to think the boy should have earned so much distinction for himself, and behaved so gallantly.  God bless the lad!  You are well aware,” said the canon, blowing his nose, “that I have always been fond of Peter.”

“Thank you, canon,” said Peter.

For a moment no one was sure that it was Peter, who had come so quietly round the great screen and into the hall, though he stood somewhat in the shadow still.

A young man, looking older than his age, and several inches taller than Peter had been when he went away; a young man deeply tanned, and very wiry and thin in figure; with a brown, narrow face, a dark streak of moustache, a long nose, and a pair of grey eyes rendered unfamiliar by an eyeglass, which was an ornament Peter had not worn before his departure.

The old ladies sat motionless, trembling with the shock; but the canon seized the hand which Peter held out, and, scarcely noticing that it was his left hand, shook it almost madly in both his own.

“Peter! good heavens, Peter!” he cried, and the tears ran unheeded down his plump, rosy cheeks.  “Peter, my boy, God bless you!  Welcome home a thousand thousand times!”

“Peter!” gasped Lady Belstone.  “Is it possible?”

“Why, he’s grown into a man,” said Miss Crewys, showing symptoms of an inclination to become hysterical.

Peter was aghast at the commotion, and came hurriedly forward to soothe his agitated relatives.

“Is this your boasted self-command, Georgina?” said Lady Belstone, weeping.

“We cannot always be consistent, Isabella.  It was the unexpected joy,” sobbed Miss Crewys.

“Peter! your arm!” screamed Lady Belstone and she fell back almost fainting upon the sofa.

Peter stood full in the light now, and they saw that he had lost his right arm.  The empty sleeve was pinned to his breast.

His aunt tottered towards him.  “My poor boy!” she sobbed.

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Peter, in rather annoyed tones.  “I can use my left hand perfectly well.  I hardly notice it now.”