"Only in spirit, and my spirit will be very tender, and full of love to you." "Love to me?" said Pen. "Of course, Penelope. Can you doubt it?" Penelope could not look in those eyes, which were full of matchless love, eyes such as she had never before encountered. She burst into a torrent of tears, struggled with her emotions, and finally laid her curly head with its wealth of red-gold hair on Miss St Just's white dress. The slender hand touched the head once or twice, but Pen was allowed to cry until the pain in her heart was eased a little. "It was this way," she said, and then she told her story. "I spoke to Jim first, I was driven to it, and--and Nesta was so persistent. But I don't want to excuse myself." "I wouldn't," said Angela, "for of course you have no excuse." Her words were perfectly gentle, perfectly firm. Pen looked up at her. "Ah," she said, "you and my conscience say the same thing." "I hope so; your conscience is sure to tell you the right thing." "Well, anyhow, I told Jim, and Jim agreed with me. He said there was only one thing to do. Only, you see, it was like this; he had promised to help me, and he didn't. He went away instead. I wrote to him, and he took no notice of my letter, no notice at all. I know he must have got it, and I couldn't speak, although I tried. Then Saturday came, and father has discovered all about the lost sovereign, and Clay said he was in a thundering rage, quite wild with rage. She said he was fit to kill any one who had done it, and he accuses Betty, our new under-housemaid, Betty Wren is her name, and of course, Betty is innocent. He says unless she confesses she will be sent away; that's quite awful. I don't know how I am to tell him; I can't imagine how I am to do it, for he'll half kill me, and I shall die, die, if Betty Wren is sent away. Oh, I am so frightened. I wish Jim were here. What shall I do?" "You must do this," said Angela, "you must give your fears to God, he will take care of them, and of you. You must not think of what your father will do, you must simply think of what is right. The very moment he comes in you must go and tell him what you have told me, that in a moment of impulse you took the money, that afterwards you were afraid to tell him, that all the week von have been frightened, that this morning your fears kept you away from him, but that now you wish him to know the truth, and he--but never mind about him; he must know the truth." "I can't, Angela, I can't. Oh, if only Jim were here!" "Do you think I should do instead of Jim?" "You?" exclaimed Penelope. "Oh, Angela! Angela!" CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. WRONG SET RIGHT.