She slipped into an adjoining room, where she was quite alone, and kneeling down, whispered softly, with low sobs and many tears, "Dear Father in heaven, I've been a very, very naughty girl; I disobeyed my dear mamma; please forgive me for Jesus' sake and make me good. Please Lord Jesus, help me to know if I ought to tell mamma."
A text—one of the many she had learned to recite to her mother in that precious morning half hour—came to her mind as she rose from her knees. "He that covereth his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy."
"I didn't cover them;" she said to herself, "I told God: but then God knew all about it before; he sees and knows everything; but mamma doesn't know. Perhaps it means I musn't cover them from her. I think Jesus did tell me."
Wiping away her tears she went back into the drawing-room. The gentlemen were just leaving it, her father among the rest. A sudden resolution seized her and she ran after them.
"Papa!"
He turned at the sound of her voice. "Well daughter?"
"I—I just want to ask you something."
"Another time then, pet, papa's in a hurry now."
But seeing the distress in the dear little face he came to her and laying his hand on her head in tender fatherly fashion, said, "Tell papa what it is that troubles you. I will wait to hear it now."
"Papa," she said, choking down a sob, "I—I don't know what to do."