“Boys, boys, you’ll kill me if you say such things!  I have more now than I can bear.  Don’t drive me wild with your reproaches to each other!” cried their mother, her heart rent with the remorse that came too late.

“No fear of that; you are not a Carrol,” answered Harry, with the pitiless bluntness of a resentful and rebellious boy.

Augustine turned on him with a wrathful flash of the eye, and a warning ring in his stern voice, as he pointed to the door.

“You shall not insult your mother!  Ask her pardon, or go!”

“She should ask mine!  I’ll go.  When you want me, you’ll know where to find me.”  And, with a reckless laugh, Harry stormed out of the room.

Augustine’s indignant face grew full of a new trouble as the door banged below, and he pressed his thin hands tightly together, saying, as if to himself: 

“Heaven help me!  Yes, I do know; for, night after night, I find and bring the poor lad home from gambling-tables and the hells where souls like his are lost.”

Here Christie thought to slip away, feeling that it was no place for her now that her errand was done.  But Mrs. Carrol called her back.

“Miss Devon—­Christie—­forgive me that I did not trust you sooner.  It was so hard to tell; I hoped so much from time; I never could believe that my poor children would be made the victims of my mistake.  Do not forsake us:  Helen loves you so.  Stay with her, I implore you, and let a most unhappy mother plead for a most unhappy child.”  Then Christie went to the poor woman, and earnestly assured her of her love and loyalty; for now she felt doubly bound to them because they trusted her.

“What shall we do?” they said to her, with pathetic submission, turning like sick people to a healthful soul for help and comfort.

“Tell Bella all the truth, and help her to refuse her lover.  Do this just thing, and God will strengthen you to bear the consequences,” was her answer, though she trembled at the responsibility they put upon her.

“Not yet,” cried Mrs. Carrol.  “Let the poor child enjoy the holidays with a light heart,—­then we will tell her; and then Heaven help us all!”

So it was decided; for only a week or two of the old year remained, and no one had the heart to rob poor Bella of the little span of blissful ignorance that now remained to her.

A terrible time was that to Christie; for, while one sister, blessed with beauty, youth, love, and pleasure, tasted life at its sweetest, the other sat in the black shadow of a growing dread, and wearied Heaven with piteous prayers for her relief.

“The old horror is coming back; I feel it creeping over me.  Don’t let it come, Christie!  Stay by me!  Help me!  Keep me sane!  And if you cannot, ask God to take me quickly!”