“I cannot help it, Dick. I’d rather be called any thing, bear any thing, than feel this weight upon my heart. Before this I could feel that my mother and sister were near me; but now that I am guilty of wrong, they are gone, and every thing is so awful!”
“Oh, Arthur, you have had the nightmare, and are frightened.”
“There was a time, Dick, that I knew not fear. I was a very small boy, then. But if there were nothing else, Dick, to meet Mr. Buckler and feel that I have deceived him, when he has reposed so much confidence in me!”
“Arthur, if you peach, you know that I shall be sent away in disgrace, and it would break my poor father’s heart—that father who was so kind to you; who took you home and saved you from perishing of cold. ’Twas but little, ’tis true, that he did, but that little was much to you.”
Arthur groaned. After a few moments, he continued, “Dick, do you never feel unhappy when you have done wrong?”
“Yes, I used to be as chicken-hearted as you when I first came here; but now that I see that every one’s for himself, and that a man is respected for his cloth, not his worth, I try to shake off such feelings. But I cannot always banish them when I think of my father and mother.”
“Let us go to Mr. Buckler, Dick, and tell him all—I know that he will forgive us.”
“The old flint! I know him too well for that. But, Arthur, if you want to peach, you may.”
“On no, Dick, you know I would not do that; but, if you will only consent.”
“But what have I done, after all, only taken a little of my own!”