Mr. Willis scanned the boy's pale countenance with some anxiety. It was true that Gerald had been much worried about Dora; but in addition to that trouble had been the fears he had suffered from having been unable to restore the sovereign he had stolen. The coin was still hidden in his bedroom chimney, for he had never had an opportunity of putting it back in the little tortoise-shell box, as Mrs. Vallance had not left the key in the lock of her desk again. Remorse had preyed upon his mind and left its traces in dark circles around his blue eyes, and in a nervousness of manner which was painful to witness.
"Tell me what you have done," Mr. Willis said gravely; "don't be afraid of me, Gerald," he added quickly, as the boy appeared to cower beneath his steady gaze.
"I will, I will tell you! Oh, father, will you quite hate me, I wonder? I have spent my money in betting, and—and—I am a thief."
Mr. Willis turned perfectly white, and a look of alarm crossed his face.
"Explain what you mean," he said, laying his hand on his son's shoulder. "Don't spare yourself—or me. I must know everything. Tell me."
And Gerald did tell him. It was a miserable tale—difficult to relate, most painful to hear—of weakness and moral cowardice leading to deception and worse, but it was told at last. Dead silence followed.
"Does your sister know all this?" Mr. Willis asked at length.
"No, no! She guesses that I have been betting, but she knows nothing about the money I took."
"Gerald, you must give it back at once. That is the first thing to be done. You must tell Mrs. Vallance exactly how it was you took it, and restore it to her.'
"Oh, father!"