While she spoke, there was something of the “new bracing” visible in every movement, as she set her dress to rights, and arranged her curls, which of late she had been used to allow to hang in a deplorable way, that showed how little vigour or inclination to bear up there was about her whole frame. “O no, do not stay with me,” said Queen Bee, “I am going”--to mamma, she would have said, but she hardly knew how to use the word when speaking to Henrietta. “Yes,” said Henrietta, understanding her. “And tell her, Bee--for I am sure I shall never be able to say it to her,--all about our thanks, and how sorry I am that I cared so little about her or her comfort.” “If I had only believed, instead of blinding myself so wilfully!” she almost whispered to herself with a deep sigh; but being now ready, she ran downstairs and entered her brother’s room. His countenance bore traces of weeping, but he was still calm; and as she came in he looked anxiously at her. She spoke quietly as she sat down by him, put her hand into his, and said, “Thank you, dear Fred, for making me go.” “I was quite sure you would be glad when it was over,” said Fred. “I have been reading the service with Aunt Geoffrey, but that is a very different thing.” “It will all come to you when you go to Church again,” said Henrietta. “How little I thought that New Year’s Day--!” said Fred. “Ah! and how little we either of us thought last summer’s holidays!” said Henrietta. “If it was not for that, I could bear it all better; but it was my determination to come here that seems to have caused everything, and that is the thought I cannot bear.” “I was talking all that over with Uncle Geoffrey last night,” said Fred, “and he especially warned us against reproaching ourselves with consequences. He said it was he who had helped my father to choose the horse that caused his death, and asked me if I thought he ought to blame himself for that. I said no; and he went on to tell me that he did not think we ought to take unhappiness to ourselves for what has happened now; that we ought to think of the actions themselves, instead of the results. Now my skating that day was just as bad as my driving, except, to be sure, that I put nobody in danger but myself; it was just as much disobedience, and I ought to be just as sorry for it, though nothing came of it, except that I grew more wilful.” “Yes,” said Henrietta, “but I shall always feel as if everything had been caused by me. I am sure I shall never dare wish anything again.” “It was just as much my wish as yours,” said Fred. “Ah! but you did not go on always trying to make her do what you pleased, and keeping her to it, and almost thinking it a thing of course, to make her give up her wishes to yours. That was what I was always doing, and now I can never make up for it!”