Feeling as though the bad dreams of a night had taken shape and life, Albinia stood by the fire in her sitting-room the next morning, trying to rally her judgment, and equally dreading the sight of those who had caused her grief, and of those who would share the shock she had last night experienced.

The first knock announced one whom she did not expect—­Gilbert, wretchedly pale from a sleepless night, and his voice scarcely audible.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said; ’but I thought I might have led you to be hard on Lucy:  I do believe it was against her will.’

Before she could answer, the door flew wide, and in rushed Maurice, shouting, ‘Good morning, mamma;’ and at his voice Mr. Kendal’s dressing-room door was pushed back, and he called, ‘Here, Maurice.’

As the boy ran forward, he was met and lifted to his father’s breast, while, with a fervency he little understood, though he never forgot it, the words were uttered,

’God bless you, Maurice, and give you grace to go on to withstand temptation, and speak the truth from your heart!’

Maurice was impressed for a moment, then he recurred to his leading thought—­

’May I have the cannon, papa?  I did kick—­I broke the bottle, but may I have the cannon?’

’Maurice, you are too young to understand the value of your resistance.  Listen to me, my boy, for you must never forget this:  you have been taken among persons who, I trust, will never be your companions.’

‘Oh!’ interrupted Maurice, ‘must I never be a jockey?’

’No, Maurice.  Horses are perverted to bad purposes by thoughtless men, and you must keep aloof from such.  You were not to blame, for you refused to do what you knew to be wrong, and did not know it was an improper place for you.’

‘Gilbert took me,’ said Maurice, puzzled at the gravity, which convinced him that some one was in fault, and of course it must be himself.

‘Gilbert did very wrong,’ said Mr. Kendal, ’and henceforth you must learn that you must trust to your own conscience, and no longer believe that all your brother tells you is right.’

Maurice gazed in inquiry, and perceiving his brother’s downcast air, ran to his mother, crying, ‘Is papa angry?’

‘Yes,’ said Gilbert, willing to spare her the pain of a reply, ’he is justly angry with me for having exposed you to temptation.  Oh, Maurice, if I had been made such as you, it would have been better for us all!’

It was the first perception that a grown person could do wrong, and that person his dear Gilbert.  As if the grave countenances were insupportable, he gave a long-drawn breath, hid his face on his mother’s knee, and burst into an agony of weeping.  He was lifted on her lap in a moment, father and mother both comforting him with assurances that he was a very good boy, and that papa was much pleased with him, Mr. Kendal even putting the cannon into his hand, as a tangible evidence of favour; but the child thrust aside the toy, and sliding down, took hold of his brother’s languid, dejected hand, and cried, with a sob and stamp of his foot,