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 else, I suppose. That's the law of life.&quot;

Mrs. Peyton sat upright, gazing at him with a kind of solemnity. &quot;Is it the law of love?&quot; she asked.

He looked down on her with a smile that trembled a little. &quot;My dear romantic mother, I don't want her pity, you know!&quot;

Dick, coming home the next morning shortly before daylight, left the house again after a hurried breakfast, and Mrs. Peyton heard nothing of him till nightfall. He had promised to be back for dinner, but a few moments before eight, as she was coming down to the drawing-room, the parlour maid handed her a hastily pencilled note.

&quot;Don't wait for me,&quot; it ran. &quot;Darrow is ill and I can't leave him. I'll send a line when the doctor has seen him.&quot;

Mrs. Peyton, who was a woman of rapid reactions, read the words with a pang. She was ashamed of the jealous thoughts she