The lad, beginning to perceive he had given deep offence, stood stock still—­as if his brave will had brought him into this presence, and impelled him to confession, and the best amends he could make, but had now deserted him, or was extinct, and left his body motionless, until some one else with word or deed made him quit the room.  My lady looked again at him, and saw the frowning, dumb-foundering terror at his misdeed, and the manner in which his confession had been received.

“My poor lad!” said she, the angry look leaving her face, “into whose hands have you fallen?”

The boy’s lips began to quiver.

“Don’t you know what tree we read of in Genesis?—­No!  I hope you have not got to read so easily as that.”  A pause.  “Who has taught you to read and write?”

“Please, my lady, I meant no harm, my lady.”  He was fairly blubbering, overcome by her evident feeling of dismay and regret, the soft repression of which was more frightening to him than any strong or violent words would have been.

“Who taught you, I ask?”

“It were Mr. Horner’s clerk who learned me, my lady.”

“And did Mr. Horner know of it?”

“Yes, my lady.  And I am sure I thought for to please him.”

“Well! perhaps you were not to blame for that.  But I wonder at Mr. Horner.  However, my boy, as you have got possession of edge-tools, you must have some rules how to use them.  Did you never hear that you were not to open letters?”

“Please, my lady, it were open.  Mr. Horner forgot for to seal it, in his hurry to be off.”

“But you must not read letters that are not intended for you.  You must never try to read any letters that are not directed to you, even if they be open before you.”

“Please, may lady, I thought it were good for practice, all as one as a book.”

My lady looked bewildered as to what way she could farther explain to him the laws of honour as regarded letters.

“You would not listen, I am sure,” said she, “to anything you were not intended to hear?”

He hesitated for a moment, partly because he did not fully comprehend the question.  My lady repeated it.  The light of intelligence came into his eager eyes, and I could see that he was not certain if he could tell the truth.

“Please, my lady, I always hearken when I hear folk talking secrets; but I mean no harm.”

My poor lady sighed:  she was not prepared to begin a long way off in morals.  Honour was, to her, second nature, and she had never tried to find out on what principle its laws were based.  So, telling the lad that she wished to see Mr. Horner when he returned from Warwick, she dismissed him with a despondent look; he, meanwhile, right glad to be out of the awful gentleness of her presence.

“What is to be done?” said she, half to herself and half to me.  I could not answer, for I was puzzled myself.