"It isn't easy at all. I don't know what you mean. Oh, I suppose you think I haven't as many temptations to do wrong as you have! I don't know about that; but I know I find it very hard to be good—oh, very hard! Oh, Gerald, why did you tell me such a story? Did you forget how wicked it was, and that God knew all about it?"
He turned his guilty face aside from his sister's accusing eyes as he replied—
"I—I'm sorry I told you that yarn about going to play cricket, I am indeed, though you mayn't believe it. You'll forgive me, won't you?"
"Oh yes, I will! And you'll ask God to forgive you, too, Gerald? You know," she proceeded timidly, fearful lest he should turn upon her and tell her "not to preach," as he sometimes did when she tried to speak to him seriously, "that when we do anything wrong it's really against God we sin. Don't you remember how mother used to tell us that? I remember once when I was quite small I had been naughty, and afterwards when I was really sorry, she taught me a prayer from the fifty-first Psalm, and I always say it now. It was this: 'Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight.' Mother said that if we remembered that, we shouldn't fall into sin so easily. You see what I mean, don't you? You didn't mind telling me a story, but you would have minded if you had thought of God. You'll ask Him to forgive you, won't you?"
"Yes, I will," Gerald responded in an unusually gentle tone, momentarily impressed by the solemn words of the psalmist which his sister had repeated.
"And you'll promise never to go near the clay pits with Reginald Hope again?" she questioned eagerly.
"Oh yes! He's asked me to go on Saturday, but I'll make an excuse. I didn't enjoy myself a bit the other afternoon. You won't tell father or Uncle Edward now, will you, Angel?" Then, as she shook her head, he kissed her with a sudden burst of affection, recalling many occasions on which he had not been so considerate to her as he might have been. "You're a good little soul!" he cried. "If you were like some boys' sisters, you would only be too pleased to get me into a row! But you were never spiteful like that."
"I hope not," she replied, smiling, and flushing with happiness at his loving tone. "It hurts me as much as it does you, I think, when you're in trouble! And—and it makes me so unhappy if you're disobedient—but we won't speak of that any more! What is it you have to say to me?" she asked, suddenly remembering that he had said he wanted a talk with her.
"Oh, nothing much," he answered a little evasively, "only about things in general. It's an age since we had a good long yarn together. Tell me how you are getting on at school."
Angel complied willingly, for she was pleased that her brother showed interest in what concerned her. She told him she was learning music; her mother had commenced teaching her, but she had never had a lesson till now since Mrs. Willis' death. She explained that it had been arranged for her to practise every afternoon at school, as there was no piano at Haresdown House.