Even the light Lucy was alarmed at the sound of her own words. The same idea had thrilled across Albinia; but on turning her eyes on Sophy, she saw a countenance flushed, anxious, but full rather of trembling hope than of dismay. In a few seconds Mr. Kendal came back with a thick red pocket-book in his hand, and produced the certificate of the private baptism of Sophia, daughter of Edmund and Lucy Kendal, at Talloon, March 17th, 1838. Sophy’s face had more disappointment in it than satisfaction. ‘I can explain the circumstances to you now,’ said her father. ‘At Talloon we were almost out of reach of any chaplains, and, as you know, were almost the only English. We always intended to take you to the nearest station, as had been done with Lucy, but your dear mother was never well enough to bear the journey; and when our next little one was born, it was so plain that he could not live, that I sent in haste to beg that the chaplain would come to us. It was then that you were both baptized, and before the week was over, he buried little Henry. It was the first of our troubles. We never again had health or spirits for any festive occasion while we continued in India, and thus the ceremony was never completed. In fact, I take shame to myself for having entirely forgotten that you had never been received into the congregation.’ ‘Then I have told a falsehood whenever I said the Catechism!’ burst out Sophy. Lucy would have laughed, and Albinia could almost have been amused at the turn her displeasure had taken. ‘It was not your fault,’ said Mr. Kendal, quietly. He evidently wished the subject to be at an end, excepting that in silence he laid before Albinia’s eyes the certificate of the baptism of the twin-brothers, not long after the first arrival in India. He then put the book in his pocket, and began, as usual, to read aloud. ‘Oh, don’t go, mamma,’ said Sophy, when she had been carried to her own room at bed-time, and made ready for the night. Albinia was only too glad to linger, in the hope to be admitted into some of the recesses of that untransparent nature, and by way of assistance, said, ‘I was not at all prepared for this discovery.’ Sophy drew a long sigh, and said, ‘If I had never been christened, I should have thought there was some hope for me.’ ‘That would have been too dreadful. How could you imagine your papa capable--?’ ‘I thought I had found out why I am so horrid! exclaimed Sophy. ‘Oh, if I could only make a fresh beginning! Mamma, do pray give me a Prayer Book.’ Albinia gave it to her, and she hastily turned the pages to the Order for Private Baptism. ‘At least I have not made the promises and vows!’ she said, as if her stern conscientiousness obtained some relief. ‘Not formally made them,’ said Albinia; ‘but you cannot have a right to the baptismal blessings, except on those conditions.’