"Really, it is too ridiculous," declared Theodosia. Lettice heard no answer, and was not at first aware that Theodosia had left the room. After a while, she felt the firm touch of Dr. Bryant's hand. "Now drink this." Lettice obeyed silently. When she had finished he took from her the empty cup, and she leant back with closed eyes, anxious to escape questioning; but presently he said: "Look at me." She obeyed again; and the steadfast gaze led to an inward remark on the part of Dr. Bryant, "I never saw guilt more like innocence." Aloud he said, "The tea has done your head good." "Yes, thank you." "What has happened this afternoon?" She demurred painfully what to say. "I was—worried," came at length. "About leaving home? . . . Is that it? . . . The prospect of going with this cloud upon you?" She could truly answer, "Yes;" though after the "Yes," was a qualifying "Partly." "One course lies open to you still—the course of frank confession. Nothing can undo what has been done; but next to the undoing of evil comes the confession of it . . . Have you no wish for my forgiveness, Lettice?" There was a pause of some seconds before she answered, "If I had done what you think, uncle, I should wish to be forgiven." "Still obstinate!" And the Doctor sighed. Lettice lifted one of his hands, and pressed it to her lips. He drew it away. "No. I would give anything to have back the old state of matters between us, and to some extent it is not impossible even now. But only one road lies open. Until you take that road—" She moved her head slightly,—a quick involuntary negation. "Some day I shall be cleared," she whispered, with unsteady lips. "Some day it will be made plain. I can't say what is not true." "Hush! We will not discuss the question any further. Let me know what time you go on Friday, and I will take care that you have enough money." Dr. Bryant quitted her abruptly, and Lettice's tears fell fast. The next moment, two warm arms were flung round her. "Lettice, you're crying. What are you crying about? Has Mamsie been scolding? My pictures are all arranged. Don't you mean to come and help me paste them in?" She tried to say, "Yes, when you like." "I want to get them done before you go. I do wish you wouldn't go. It'll be so horrid. Lettice, you mustn't cry." "Keith, if you knew how hard it is—to have uncle think such things of me!" "I wouldn't if I was him," said Keith. "He does. And how can he help it—not knowing? But I am going to try to be patient. I will ask God to help me. And some day—some day the truth will come out." "Does God love you, Lettice?" Lettice burst into fresh tears. "I don't know what I should do, if I did not feel sure of that," she whispered. "Then I'll ask Him to make you happy. Shall I? And I'll say my prayers every day, all the time you are away: and I really will try to be a good boy, Lettice."