Angel's Brother

by Eleanora H. Stooke

"Don't upset yourself, Angel," he interposed hurriedly; "didn't you hear me say that I don't see a great deal of Hope now? I've hardly spoken to him for days, and I mean to see less of him than ever."

Angel looked decidedly relieved on hearing this, but she was not quite satisfied; however, she let the subject drop.

When Gerald retired to his bedroom for the night, he tied up the sovereign he had taken from the tortoise-shell box in the corner of his pocket-handkerchief, which he placed under his pillow for safety; then jumped into bed, and quickly fell asleep. In the stillness of the night he awoke with a start, under the impression that he had heard his mother's voice speak his name. He sat up in bed and listened, but all was quiet. How could he have heard his dear mother speak when she had been dead for more than two long years? Of course he had been dreaming. His eyes grew dim as he remembered how he would never really hear the loved, well-known voice again as long as he lived; and he fumbled beneath his pillow for his pocket-handkerchief with which to wipe away his tears. Then, as he felt the sovereign, the events of the evening returned to his memory, and he trembled at the thought that he was a thief. He had committed a crime—such a crime as people were sent to prison for. There, in the darkness, with only the all-seeing eye of God to witness his terror, he realized the depths to which he had fallen. Supposing, when Mrs. Vallance discovered her loss, she sent for the police, and it was proved that he had robbed her? Oh, how he wished he had kept his prying fingers from that desk! He must have been mad to have acted as he had done. He would put the sovereign back at once. Swiftly he arose, and lighting a candle, untied the sovereign from the corner of the pocket-handkerchief; then silently opened the door, and stole softly downstairs. He hardly dared breathe properly, and when a stair creaked beneath his footstep, his heart almost stopped beating. But he reached the kitchen without disturbing any one; the desk was there, but the key was gone, and the desk itself was locked. He could not put back the sovereign where he had found it, and he dared not put it anywhere else.

He returned to his room with his heart full of despair, and, shutting the door, pondered what he could do. The idea of paying Reginald Hope had become a secondary consideration now; the awful dread that the money would be found upon him, and that he would be arrested for theft was uppermost in his mind. He looked around the room for some place wherein to conceal the coin, and at last re-tied it up in his pocket-handkerchief, which he thrust behind the damper in the chimney. That done, he drew a breath of relief, and got into bed once more, hoping that the next day he would have an opportunity of putting the money back. If Mrs. Vallance had not startled him by returning to the house when he had not been expecting her, he would not have taken the sovereign, he told himself, trying to quiet his conscience; he had acted impulsively, and if he had had time to consider the matter, it would have been different. Now he was a thief—yes, that was what he had come to be—a common thief! Was it not well that his mother had died rather than she should have lived to be disgraced by her son? That was the thought which appealed to him most, and brought him nearer real repentance than anything else could have done.

The following morning, Mrs. Vallance complained that candle-grease had been dropped upon the stair-carpets, and told Polly she was a very careless girl, and that she must learn to be more careful. Polly, of course, declared she was innocent of the offence, and the real culprit slunk off to school, feeling very guilty and mean. The housekeeper had evidently not discovered the loss of the sovereign yet.

In the playground, after morning school, Gerald was accosted by Reginald Hope, who clapped him familiarly on the shoulder, and addressed him in friendly tones—

"Hulloa, youngster! One would think you were in the depths of trouble, judging by your woe-begone face! What are you looking so gloomy about? Come, cheer up! What's wrong, eh?"

"Oh, nothing!" Gerald responded, with palpable untruthfulness.

"Nothing!" the other echoed incredulously. "Oh, that's nonsense! What's up? Are you in some scrape or other, or what is it? You needn't let your indebtedness to me weigh upon your mind, you know."

"It's awfully good of you to say that!" Gerald exclaimed gratefully. "I shall pay you as soon as ever I can, but, you see—"