Arthur suffered himself passively to be led to bed, after which, Dick continued. “I suppose, when the old woman broke her word with you, after you had saved the life of her child, she thought _she_ had a particular license to lie! And the old man, too, when he tells me to say that I am selling things ‘under cost,’ while he is getting a good profit on them. So I thought, as _they_ are good _church-going_ people, there could be no possible harm, in a poor _dog_ like myself, following their example. And when they asked me where you were gone, I would not say what you had told me to, for I thought it better you should get the start of them; so I told them I did not know,” and with this Dick fell asleep, leaving Arthur to his own melancholy reflections. * * * * * Spring again appeared in all her loveliness. The full-orbed moon rode above on her chariot of clouds, now smiling upon the tranquil earth, now veiling her face in their misty folds. And as her smiles beamed forth, they shone through a window upon a bunch of drooping violets. The little flower-spirit awakened, beheld before it the child of yore; but oh, how changed! That brow, though still so beautifully fair, had lost the halo of its purity. The brilliant beings of the mind, pluming their pinions to the distant spheres, were dragged to earth. Love, too, with the bright beings that adore, was bound, but a rosy light played round its fetters, while ministers of flesh were tracing, with barbed arrows, dark, fearful characters upon the throbbing heart. The angel’s face was veiled, but sorrowful supplications still went up to heaven. The boy started from his feverish slumbers, and looked fearfully around. Awakening his companion, he cried, “Dick! Dick! do wake up! Oh, I have had such horrible dreams I cannot sleep! Oh, this weight upon my heart will kill me! I cannot deceive Mr. Buckler any longer—I must go tell him all, or my heart will break.” “Go, and be kicked away as a _poor alms-house boy_ for your pains.” “I cannot help it, Dick. I’d rather be called any thing, bear any thing, than feel this weight upon my heart. Before this I could feel that my mother and sister were near me; but now that I am guilty of wrong, they are gone, and every thing is so awful!” “Oh, Arthur, you have had the _nightmare_, and are frightened.” “There was a time, Dick, that I knew not fear. I was a very small boy, then. But if there were nothing else, Dick, to meet Mr. Buckler and _feel_ that I have deceived him, when he has reposed so much confidence in me!” “Arthur, if you _peach_, you know that I shall be sent away in disgrace, and it would break my poor father’s heart—that father who was so kind to you; who took you home and saved you from perishing of cold. ’Twas but little, ’tis true, that he did, but that little was much to you.” Arthur groaned. After a few moments, he continued, “Dick, do you never feel unhappy when you have done wrong?”