And blank looked the life before him. He had suffered himself to dwell upon the thought of a naval or military career until it had become a part of his life. He foresaw that the same strange weakness on his mother’s part which kept him from joining the navy might keep him out of the army. True, if there should be war between the French and English in the Northwest it would be his duty to defend his country, and no pleadings could keep him back then; but that was only a contingency. And, in any event, he could not again ask the help, in getting a commission, of the only persons who could serve him--his brother Laurence and Lord Fairfax--after this unfortunate ending of his first attempt. And, worst of all, he was not sure that he was right, and he was very sure his mother was wrong. That of itself was a staggering blow. He had always fancied his mother perfect, and her weakness, her blind partiality for him over the rest of her children, at once shattered his ideal. She was a true and devoted mother, but in a great emergency she showed a tender unwisdom that seemed foreign to her character. George did not love her any the less for this, but he realized that after this he must think and act for himself. She had not thought of how far he was committed in the matter, or that his brother Laurence might be justly offended at his course--she only thought of the anguish of giving him up. It was all hard and inscrutable to the boy, sitting with rigid face and dry eyes, gazing before him and seeing nothing. He did not know how long he sat there. He heard Betty’s light step and lighter tap upon the door, and she called him, softly, through the keyhole.