Presently Aubrey slipped away and ran upstairs to his own room. He then lit a candle, and pulling a box from under an old horse-hair chair, unlocked it, taking out a small morocco case, which, when opened, revealed something that sparkled and scintillated even in the feeble rays of the cheap "composite." It was the precious locket, placed in his hands by his dying mother four years before. Inside were two exquisite miniatures on ivory—the one a handsome, careless-looking man, the other, on which the boy's tender gaze was now fixed, was the portrait of a lady, with just such pure, bright features, and sweet, dark-grey eyes as Aubrey himself.
"Mother, my own darling," he murmured, pressing the picture to his lips, "how can I part with you?" And dropping his head on the hard, prickly cushion, by which he knelt, he cried in a way that would considerably have astonished the youths with whom he had, a few hours earlier, engaged in a vigorous snowball fight. They only knew a bright, mirthful Aubrey Clare, the cleverest lad in his class, and the "jolliest fellow out;" none but Kate had any idea of the deepest affections of his boyish heart, and she truly sympathised with her half-brother in his love for the only portrait and souvenir remaining of the gentle creature who had so well supplied a mother's place for her. Something in Aubrey's face when he left the room had told her of his thoughts, so presently she followed him and tapped at the half-open door. Obtaining no answer, she entered, and saw the boy kneeling before the old chair with his head bent. The open case lay beside him, and Kate easily guessed what it was held so tightly in his clenched hand. She stooped beside him, and stroked his wavy hair caressingly as she said, "It can't be that, Aubrey."
"It must," replied a muffled voice from the chair cushion.
"It sha'n't be," said Kate firmly. "I've thought of a plan——"
But Aubrey sprang to his feet. "See here, Katie," he said excitedly, but with quivering voice; "I've been making an idol of this locket. It ought to have gone before, when aunt lost so much money by those Joneses; but you both humoured my selfishness."
"Being fond of anything, especially anything like that, isn't making an idol of it, I'm sure," said Katie.
"It is if it prevents you doing what you ought, I tell you, Katie; it's downright dishonest of me to keep this," he continued, with burning cheeks, "living as I am upon charity, and aunt so poor. I see it plainly now. Mr. Wallis offered to buy it of me last summer, and if he likes he shall have it now."
"He is gone to Rillford," said Kate, in whose mind an idea was beginning to hatch.
"He'll be back on Saturday, and then I'll ask him. It won't be really losing mamma's likeness, you know," he added, with a pathetic attempt at his own bright smile. "Whenever I shut my eyes I can see her face, just as she looked when——" but he was stopped by a queer fit of coughing and rubbed the curl of his hair that always tumbled over his forehead; so Katie couldn't see his face, but she knew what the sacrifice must cost him, and, girl-like, exalted him to a pedestal of heroism immediately; but when she would have bestowed an enthusiastic embrace, he slipped away from her and ran downstairs.
Left alone, Kate stood long at the uncurtained window, gazing at the unearthlike beauty of the moonlit snow. When at last she turned away, the afore mentioned idea was fully fledged and strong.