At the cost of truth and honour, of right principle and self-respect. It was a very poor exchange for them, and the unhappy girl would gladly have given it up, would have borne any disappointment, anything but the humiliation of confession, to have been her old light-hearted innocent self again. But she had done wrong, and although she shrank from pain, she had to bear what, in her state of mind, was indeed a trial--the kind congratulations of her school-fellows, and the praises of her teacher and friends. Even when she reached home the trial was not over, for her uncle and cousins had each some kind word to say. "And now, my dear, you must write to your father and mother," said Mrs. Woburn that afternoon. "How proud and delighted they will be to hear of your success!" _That letter!_ It was the hardest task of all to write and tell her parents what she knew would give them so much pleasure, while she was concealing the fact which would, if known, give them far greater pain. She spent the afternoon writing and re-writing it, and at last sent off a stiff, constrained little note, informing them that she had been successful, and hoped they were all well. When Mrs. Arnold received the letter, she read it again and again. She felt convinced, from the absence of any playful remarks, from Ruth's unusual brevity and lack of detail, that something was wrong; but she knew that if her daughter did not write freely she could not _force_ her confidence. So she carried the trouble to her Heavenly Father, and asked Him to lead and guide her absent child. Christmas was upon them almost before Ruth was aware of it, the gayest and most festive Christmas time that she had ever known, a round of parties, pleasure and merriment. It needs a mind at peace to be able to enter into and enjoy the innocent pleasures of life, and to feel no bitterness when they are past. And Ruth, in spite of the presents she received, the parties to which she was invited, and the pretty dresses she wore, was troubled in mind, and therefore unhappy. Two things weighed heavily upon her, her own deceit, and her promise to Gerald. She had been so carefully trained, and so early taught the difference between right and wrong, that she could not look upon her prize without being reminded of the temptation to which she had so suddenly yielded, and the equivocation to which she had resorted in order to hide it. Then her promise to Gerald troubled her greatly. She felt almost sure, though she could not prove it, that he was not keeping his word. He came down in the morning very late, looking pale and haggard, scarcely tasted his breakfast, and hurried away to the office; and when he returned in the evening either pooh-poohed his mother's anxious inquiries about his health, or answered her curtly and snappishly. Everything was going wrong, Ruth said to herself continually.