’But, Sophy, I am sure he did say Mrs. Kendal knew what she was going to say, and said it, and it was worth hearing, and he laughed in Aunt Maria’s face, and told her not to make so many bites at a cherry.’

‘He must have been beside himself,’ said Albinia, in a bewilderment of consternation, but Mr. Kendal’s return put a stop to all, for the sisters never told tales before him, and she would not bring the subject under his notice until she should be better informed.  His suffering was too great, his wrath too stern, to be excited without serious cause; but she spent a wakeful, anxious night, revolving all imaginable evils into which the boy could have fallen, and perplexing herself what measures to take, feeling all the more grieved and bound to him by the preference that, even in this dreadful mood, he had expressed for her.  She fell into a restless sleep in the morning, from which she wakened so late as to have no time to question Gilbert before breakfast.  On coming down, she found that he had not made his appearance, and had sent word that he had a bad headache, and wanted no breakfast.  His father, who had made a visit of inspection, said he thought it was passing off, smiling as he observed upon Mrs. Meadows’s mince-pie suppers and home-made wine.

Lucy said nothing, but glanced knowingly at her sister and at Albinia, from neither of whom did she get any response.

Albinia did not dare to take any measures till Mr. Kendal had ridden out, and then she went up and knocked at Gilbert’s door.  He was better, he said, and was getting up, he would be down-stairs presently.  She watched for him as he came down, looking still very pale and unwell.  She took him into her room, made him sit by the fire, and get a little life and warmth into his chilled hands before she spoke.  ’Yes, Gilbert, I don’t wonder you cannot lift up your head while so much is on your mind.’

Gilbert started and hid his face.

‘Did you think I did not know, and was not grieved?’

‘Well,’ he cried, peevishly, ’I’m sure I have the most ill-natured pair of sisters in the world.’

‘Then you meant to deceive us again, Gilbert.’

He had relapsed into the old habit—­as usual, a burst of tears and a declaration that no one was ever so badly off, and he did not know what to do.

’You do know perfectly well what to do, Gilbert.  There is nothing for it but to tell me the whole meaning of this terrible affair, and I will see whether I can help you.’

It was always the same round, a few words would always bring the confession, and that pitiful kind of helpless repentance, which had only too often given her hope.