CHAPTER X. THE WAR AGAIN
“ One is a fool,” said Lilly, “to be lachrymose. The thing to do is to get a move on.”
Aaron looked up with a glimpse of a smile. The two men were sitting before the fire at the end of a cold, wet April day: Aaron convalescent, somewhat chastened in appearance.
“ Ay,” he said rather sourly. “A move back to Guilford Street.”
“ Oh, I meant to tell you,” said Lilly. “I was reading an old Baden history. They made a law in 1528—not a law, but a regulation—that: if a man forsakes his wife and children, as now so often happens, the said wife and children are at once to be dispatched after him. I thought that would please you. Does it?”
“ Yes,” said Aaron briefly.
“ They would have arrived the next day, like a forwarded letter.”
“ I should have had to get a
