Before she succeeded in arousing him her aunt and uncle came to her relief, drawn thither by her cry of alarm. They were soon followed by the terrified servants, who, under Mr. Woburn's direction, quickly extinguished the fire and removed Gerald. The young man was soon restored to consciousness, and started up with a bewildered look, but his face assumed an expression of fear and horror as he gradually realized how narrowly he had escaped from a dreadful death. "Oh, Gerald! How did it occur?" asked his mother, giving utterance to the question which had been uppermost in the minds of all. "Don't ask," he almost groaned; "and yet you must know it, sooner or later." "Do tell everything, Gerald," implored Ruth, who, now that the terror and excitement were over, stood pale and shivering. "It was partly my fault, you know; I ought not to have made that promise." Thus entreated, Gerald told them the story of his faults and follies; of his midnight carousals and their discovery by Ruth, of his overwhelming love of pleasure, of half-hours stolen from the office during his father's absence and of work neglected. He went on to say that the chief clerk had told him, a few days before, that he really must inform Mr. Woburn how shamefully neglected were the books under his son's care; that he dreaded his father's anger, and promised to write up the books and finish his work before the end of January. For this purpose he had brought home the books and worked at them stealthily by night until drowsiness overtook him, and he probably knocked over the candle which had done the mischief. Mr. Woburn felt more anger than he dared to show at such a time, just after his son's deliverance from a horrible fate, and he turned the subject by applauding Ruth's presence of mind and bravery. "Don't praise me, I can't bear it! I am as bad as Gerald!" she sobbed, and rushed away to her own room. Before daylight the next morning Mrs. Woburn was at her door with a steaming cup of coffee. "Drink this, my dear," she said. "How your hand trembles! I was afraid that you would feel ill after your dreadful fright. Indeed, dear," she said, her eyes full of tears, "I can never thank you, never feel half grateful enough for your brave rescue of my poor Gerald." "Don't say that, auntie. If--if anything had happened, it would have been my fault. I ought to have told you of his wrong-doing long ago." "It was only your goodness of heart, darling," said her aunt kindly. "But it wasn't _right_, auntie. I deceived you. Oh dear! I feel such a bundle of deceit. I've deceived every one," she said under a sudden impulse. "No, don't stop me; I must tell you all about it." Then she poured into her ear the whole story of the prize as well as her promise to Gerald, and finished by saying that she had been perfectly miserable all through the holidays.