“What can I say to you, Wilton? you know that I have liked you, but I never thought that you could act like this.”
“Nor I, Kenrick, a short time ago; but the devil tempted me, and I have never learned to resist.”
“From my very heart I do pity you; but I fear I must tell; I fear it’s my duty, and I have neglected so many that I dare neglect no more; though indeed, I’d rather have had any duty but this.”
Wilton was again clasping his knees and harrowing his soul by his wild anguish, imploring to be saved from the horror of open shame, and, accustomed as Kenrick was to grant anything to this boy, he was reduced to great distress. Already his whole manner had relented from the loathing and anger he first displayed. He could stand no more at present.
“O Wilton,” he said, “you will make me ill if you go on like this. I cannot, must not, will not make you any promise now; but I will think what to do.”
“I will go,” said Wilton, deeply abashed; “but before I go, promise me one thing, Ken, and that is, even if you tell of me, don’t quite cast me off. I shouldn’t like to leave and think that I hadn’t left one behind me to give me a kind thought sometimes.”
“O Ra, Ra, to think that it was you all the while who were committing all these thefts!”
“You will cast me off then?” said Wilton, in a voice broken by penitence; “O! what a bitter bitter thing it is to feel shame like this.”
“I have felt it too in my time, Raven. Poor, poor fellow! who am I that I should cast you off? No, you unhappy child, I may tell of you, but I will not cease to be fond of you. Go, Wilton; I will decide between this and tea-time—you may come and hear about it after tea.”
He was already outside the door when Kenrick called out “Wilton, stop!”