"Explain what you mean," he said, laying his hand on his son's shoulder. "Don't spare yourself—or me. I must know everything. Tell me." And Gerald did tell him. It was a miserable tale—difficult to relate, most painful to hear—of weakness and moral cowardice leading to deception and worse, but it was told at last. Dead silence followed. "Does your sister know all this?" Mr. Willis asked at length. "No, no! She guesses that I have been betting, but she knows nothing about the money I took." "Gerald, you must give it back at once. That is the first thing to be done. You must tell Mrs. Vallance exactly how it was you took it, and restore it to her.' "Oh, father!" "You assure me you are truly sorry,"' Mr. Willis proceeded, his voice full of pain, "and that you repented of your sinful act the very night you stole the money, and would have replaced it if you had not found the key gone and the desk locked. You must explain all this to Mrs. Vallance. Go and get the sovereign, and bring it to my studio." Gerald knew he must obey. Five minutes later he entered the studio, and found his father waiting for him. Mr. Willis rang the bell the instant his son appeared, and requested Polly, who answered the summons, to ask Mrs. Vallance to spare him a few minutes of her time. When the housekeeper came in, Mr. Willis gave her a chair, saying Gerald had something to tell her; and Gerald, in a low, shamed tone, commenced his tale afresh, but, to his intense surprise, he had not proceeded far before he was stopped. "I know all about it, Master Gerald," Mrs. Vallance interposed, her eyes fixed on the sovereign, which he had placed in her hand. "I missed the money the same evening you took it. I found I had left the key in my desk, and when I counted the coins in my little tortoise-shell box—it was Mr. Bailey's money, by the way, what he had given me for housekeeping expenses and in case of emergencies—I found I was a sovereign short. Well, I knew only two people had had an opportunity of touching it—you and Polly. I thought Polly was honest, and, at the same time, it did not appear likely you would have touched it, so I hardly knew what to do. After pondering over the matter a long while, I decided to hold my tongue about my loss, for I couldn't bear the idea of accusing any one wrongfully. So I kept watch, and felt very uneasy, I can tell you. I couldn't find out whether it was you or Polly who had taken the money. Indeed, I am thankful to know the truth, for I've been very uncomfortable and troubled." "I should have put it back, only you took the key out of your desk," Gerald said eagerly, "I went down in the night, and it was I who dropped the candle-grease over the stair-carpets—not Polly. You can't think how mean and wicked I've felt, Mrs. Vallance. I hope you'll forgive me for prying into your desk, and—and—" He broke down completely, and hid his face in his hands.