"I wish you were more open with your father and me," she said presently, "but you wrap yourself up in yourself, and seldom confide in us. If we were unsympathetic parents it would be different. I cannot understand why you do not open your mind to us, Gilbert. You know how dear you are to us, and how there is nothing, in reason, we would not do for your happiness. Why cannot you be frank with us?" "I don't know, mother," the boy answered. "I think I am frank with you generally, because you're more patient with me than I deserve; and so is father, too, for that matter. But I hate Tom and the girls to know all I'm doing." "Tom is a great tease," Mrs. Mickle allowed, "but he is a well-meaning boy and as honest and open as the day." "I know he is, mother, and I'm not. Every one likes Tom, even little Miss Goodwin, and no one cares about me—I mean, no outsiders." "Don't you think that's your own fault? You cannot expect people to like you if you persist in showing them the worst side of your character; if you are unsociable and reserved, no one will want to be friendly with you. Why did you not say how you were employing your time in the attic? The others would not have intruded on you if you had asked them not to. Instead of explaining, you act so as to arouse their curiosity. Oh, you foolish boy!" Gilbert flushed, and looked rather ashamed of himself, but he did not resent his mother's plain speaking. His face softened as she continued talking to him, and presently he looked at her with a smile in his usually sombre eyes. "Gilbert," she said tenderly, "I wish you had found the secret of happiness; perhaps you will some day. I pray you may. If only you could learn to put your faith in God, to forget yourself and think of others more!" The boy made no answer in words, but he laid his hand on one of the crutches which rested against the arm of his chair, and his mother understood the action as a reminder of the heavy cross he had to bear. The tears rushed to her eyes, but did not fall. It was minutes before she could be certain of speaking steadily; then, when she could control her voice, she laid her hand on his, which rested on the crutch, and smiled into his face. "Remember, dear," she said earnestly, "no cross, no crown." CHAPTER IX An Exodus from London THE time was drawing near when Mr. Bailey intended leaving London to make his abode at Haresdown House; Gerald had returned to school after the Christmas holidays; and Angel was regretfully counting the days which had yet to elapse before Uncle Edward would take his departure for good, when Mr. Willis suddenly fell ill, much to the dismay and consternation of all. He had been working very hard on his exhibition picture, but his illness had nothing to do with overwork; somehow he caught a severe chill which turned to pneumonia, and before his children realized that he was seriously ill, he lay at death's door.