CHAPTER IX. THEN— I was so taken aback with the question, I sat and stared at Mary. For it was about the last thing in the world I looked for, that she should offer to take a message from me to her brother. "Am I to say—nothing?" she asked. It rushed over me then how I'd been longing all the morning to let him know that I had kept my promise. And I never waited to think if that was the sort of message Mary had in her mind. "Yes, please," I said, trembling. "Please tell Mr. Russell it wasn't my fault." I don't think I shall soon forget the astonished look that came over Mary's face. She had got something she didn't expect; that was clear. "What wasn't your fault?" said she. "About—about its getting known," I whispered, twisting a corner of the tablecloth into a little rope, and dreadfully afraid mother would come back before I could explain. "I'm afraid he'll think it was me, and indeed it wasn't. I never let out a word." "Is that all you care for, Kitty?" said she, in a sad tone. "No," I said, and I found it hard to speak. "No, I do care, and I am sorry. It's been wrong, I know. Only—I can't bear him to think—" "Walter's thinking either way is worth very little, poor weak boy that he is," said she. "Kitty, have you never thought how all this has been in the sight of God?" I said "Yes," very low; and it was true, for I had not forgotten that. Only it had weighed second with me, not first; and so Mary understood. "Perhaps you have thought in a passing way, but you have not cared," said she. "At least, not much. Not half so much as you have cared about what people may say of you." If she had said "Walter" instead of "people," she would have been in the right. "I don't know," was all I could answer. After a minute, she began again. "What am I to say to Walter about your watch?" I began to see what sort of a message Mary had meant, and I didn't speak. "Mind, Kitty," said she, "your words may have power one way or another—for good or for evil. I don't say they will have, for I'm not sure whether you have any power at all over Walter; but they may. Most people have some sort of power over pretty nearly every one else. Walter has robbed you. What am I to say?" "Oh, not robbed," I said. "He has robbed you," she said again firmly. "It is no thanks to Walter that you have the watch again. He has acted with downright dishonesty, and nothing less. He got the watch from you on false pretences—yes, false!" she repeated, as I whispered "O no!" again. "He is my own brother, but that is no reason for explaining away the sin. Because I love him, I am only the more grieved. Loving him can't make me love evil. I want you to look the truth in the face; not to mince matters. No good is ever gained by saying that black is white. Walter robbed you of your watch, under pretence of borrowing it." Yes, she was stern; she could be almost hard. At least, I tried to think so, trying still to defend Walter in my heart.