As the little girl slowly pursued her way homewards she pondered over Gerald's disobedience and the lie he had told her, and grew very low and depressed. She was not aware that her brother had ever directly lied to her before, though she knew he had often prevaricated about different matters. "It would make father very unhappy if he thought Gerald told stories," she reflected, "and I don't think he ought to be troubled now after his having been so ill. I know the doctor told Uncle Edward father must not be worried. I'll speak to Gerald, and see what he has to say before I make up my mind what to do. I wish I knew what was right; I must ask God to show me, as Mrs. Mickle said." In spite of her desire to shield Gerald all she could, she was very indignant with him for behaving so deceitfully. Her cheeks burnt with shame when she remembered how Gilbert had looked at her last Saturday afternoon, when she had informed him Gerald had gone to the cricket-field. She had failed to understand his surprise and hesitation at the time, but now she could understand it all even the look of embarrassment which had crossed the lame boy's tell-tale countenance when, in speaking of Gerald, she had said, "You don't think he'd tell me a story, do you?" Oh, how humiliated she felt! Of course, Gilbert had known that Gerald had told her a story, but he had not liked to say so. It was shameful of Gerald to have put her in such a position. On reaching Haresdown House she found her father and uncle had come home, having returned by a circuitous route. Gerald was in the dining-room preparing his lessons for the morrow; but Angel did not join him. After explaining to Mr. Willis where she had been, she went upstairs to her own room and began to learn her lessons there, not wishing to encounter her brother till she felt more composed. She shed many bitter tears as she bent over her books, and consequently it took her a long while to get over her work. The lessons finished at last, she went to the open window and stood looking out; but she saw nothing of the fair landscape, for her eyes were misty, and her mind too preoccupied to concern itself with the beauties of nature. Presently she heard her brother's voice beneath the window calling to her. "I'm going into the orchard, Angel," he said; "will you come too?" "Yes," she responded quickly. "I'll be with you soon." "All right!" he shouted back as he strolled away. "Be quick; I want a talk with you." The tears had gone from her eyes now; but her heart was throbbing painfully. She knew the time had come when she must speak to Gerald of his misdoings; and with a fervent prayer to God for help, she went soberly downstairs, and a few minutes later joined her brother in the orchard. CHAPTER XVIII In the Orchard ANGEL found her brother seated upon the rustic seat, on the back of which he had been cutting his initials. He shut his pocket-knife as she sat down by his side, and turned his attention to her, remarking—