Then she remembered that she had not asked God's pardon for the wicked, resentful temper she had been indulging in, and, sinking on her knees by the window-sill, she covered her face with her hands and prayed earnestly. When she rose from her knees she saw a stream of people descending the hill, and by-and-by was able to distinguish the forms of those she knew. She noticed that her father and uncle had joined Mr. and Mrs. Mickle, and that Gerald was following behind with the Mickle children. She changed her mind about going to the gate, and determined to remain where she was, for she was shy about answering the good-natured, anxious questions she knew would be put to her concerning her headache if she encountered her friends just then. So she drew back from the window, and allowed the Mickles time to say good-bye at the gate before she peeped out again; presently, hearing footsteps on the gravel path outside, she glanced out, and saw her father. "Well, Angel, how's the headache?" he asked, as she appeared in sight. "Better, eh?" "Yes, father, thank you," she answered, "much better." "That's right. We came down the hill with the Mickles. Uncle Edward wanted them all to come in, but they thought it too near dinner-time. Yes, you are certainly looking better—a little pale still, but you make a charming picture, standing there framed in roses and honeysuckle!" She laughed, and, leaning her arms upon the window-sill continued to converse with him. He saw she was her usual cheerful self again, and was pleased that the shadow had gone from her face; he had guessed her pain had been as much mental as physical. "Uncle Edward and Gerald have gone a short distance down the hill with the Mickles," he informed her. "Come out into the garden with me, Angel; or, do you think the sun will be too hot for you? I am considering your poor head, my dear." "Oh, my head is all right now," she assured him. She put on a shady hat, and running downstairs joined Mr. Willis, who had gone around to the front door to meet her. They strolled about the garden, looking at the flowers, until Mr. Bailey and Gerald returned. The latter glanced at Angel rather dubiously; but his face brightened instantly when he met her eyes. "I'm so glad your headache is gone!" he exclaimed heartily. "It is gone, isn't it?" "Yes," she nodded. "We have had many inquiries to answer about you, Angel," Mr. Bailey said. "Mrs. Mickle was much concerned to hear you were not well, and suggested several remedies for headache, which I see I need not give you now. You are looking almost yourself again." Before going into the house to dinner, Angel seized an opportunity to draw her brother aside out of hearing of the others, and said earnestly: "Gerald, will you forgive me for being so unkind and ill-tempered last night? I know you didn't mean to hurt me, and—and—"