"Oh, father! is Stella dead?"
"No, Nellie, but she is very ill. George, come to me!"
The boy came slowly towards his father, and lifted his eyes to the usually kind face, which was now stern and severe.
"George, I am ashamed of you! I can hardly believe that a son of mine could be guilty of such a cruel, cowardly trick! Go to your room at once, and do not let me see you again to-night!"
"Father, won't you please forgive me?"
"Forgive you! Unhappy boy! Think of the poor little soul you have nearly killed, my only brother's child, entrusted to my care. Did I not bid you to be loving and kind to her? You are not to be trusted, George. It is only a coward who would try to terrify a timid girl. Go, sir, go!"
George shrank from his father's just wrath, and slunk out of the room, his heart brimful of shame and sorrow. He who prided himself on his pluck and bravery had been called a coward, and had been told he was not to be trusted; and worse than all, his innocent victim was very ill—perhaps she might die after all.
Shut up in the room he shared with his brother, George gave vent to a storm of passionate tears that left him exhausted and worn out. He tried to pray, but could not collect his thoughts, and no words came; only his heart was lifted up in agonized petition to Him who is always ready to hear and answer even the voiceless petition that has never found utterance from the lips.