"And Gerald," she interposed, "you'll remember to pray to God to help you to tell the truth, won't you? You'll—" "Oh, you've said all that before! Yes, yes," he added hastily as he saw her countenance fall, and her eyes fill with tears. "Don't you worry about me; I'm all right." They found supper on the table when they entered the house. Mr. Willis noticed his little daughter's manner seemed unusually subdued; but he thought very probably the hot summer day had tired her. He was looking very bright himself, and was so much better that every one noticed the great improvement in his appearance since his arrival at Wreyford. He had taken up his work again with renewed energy, and declared, when his uncle warned him not to do too much, that there was little fear of that, for he felt nearly well. After supper he sat down on the sofa, and drew Angel down by his side, as he generally did of an evening, and bade her give him an account of her doings that day. She obeyed, and they conversed together until it was time for her to go to bed. Gerald had retired for the night early, and was firm asleep when his sister peeped into his room before going to her own. She stole to his bedside, and kissed him lightly on the forehead. He was utterly unconscious of her presence, for the pressure of her soft lips was not enough to disturb him, and he never knew that she knelt down and prayed God to forgive him his sins, and teach him to be a good boy. So Angel's loving, faithful heart was lifted in prayer for the brother who, after all his promises, had neglected to pray for himself. CHAPTER XIX Gerald's Temper THE following Saturday evening found Angel with her father and uncle in the churchyard on Haresdown hill. They had been for a walk, and now stood leaning over the churchyard wall admiring the view, and watching the sunset. The western sky was gorgeous in its colouring, its hues deepening from delicate shell pink to brilliant crimson and gold, the reflected glory of which lit up the old grey church, and cast a rosy glow over the meadows lying between Haresdown hill and the town, over which a faint grey mist was now rising. There had been silence for some time when Mr. Bailey glanced from one to the other of his companions, and said with a smile— "I wonder what we have been thinking of these last few minutes. Not one of us has spoken a word!" "I was watching that cloud," Mr. Willis returned, indicating a snowy speck in the western sky, "and trying to remember a poem I once read called 'The Evening Cloud,' written, I presume, after watching another such a glorious sight as this. The poet imagined the white cloud slowly floating towards the sunset an emblem of the immortality of the soul. I cannot remember all the poem, only these lines—"