He groaned; and it was not long before she drew from him a sincere avowal of his follies and repentance. He had been led on by assurances that ‘every one’ did the like, by fear of betraying his own timidity, by absurd dread of being disdained as slow; all this working on his natural indolence and love of excitement, had combined to involve him in habits which had brought on him this disgrace. It was a hopeful sign that he admitted its justice, and accused no one of partiality; the reprimand had told upon him, and he was too completely struck down even to attempt to justify himself; exceedingly afraid of his father, and only longing to hide himself. Such was his utter despair, that Albinia had no scruples in encouraging him, and assuring him with all her heart, that if taken rightly, the shock that brought him to his senses, might be the blessing of his life. He did not take comfort readily, though soothed by her kindness; he could not get over his excessive dread of his father, and each attempt at reassurance fell short. At last it came out that the very core of his misery was this, that he had found himself for part of the journey, in the same train with Miss Durant and two or three children. He could not tell her where he was going nor why, and he had leant back in the carriage, and watched her on the platform by stealth, as she moved about, ‘lovelier and more graceful than ever!’ but how could he present himself to her in his disgrace and misery? ‘Oh, Mrs. Kendal, I forgive my father, but my life was blighted when I was cut off from her!’ ‘No, Gilbert, you are wrong. There is no blighting in a worthy, disinterested attachment. To be able to love and respect such a woman is a good substantial quality in you, and ought to make you a higher and better man.’ Gilbert turned round a face of extreme amazement. ‘I thought,’ he said, ‘I thought you--’ and went no farther. ‘I respect your feeling for her more than when it was two years younger,’ she said; ‘I should respect it doubly if instead of making you ashamed, it had saved you from the need of shame.’ ‘Do you give me any hope?’ cried Gilbert, his face gleaming into sudden eager brightness. ‘Things have not become more suitable,’ said Albinia; and his look lapsed again into despondency; but she added, ‘Each step towards real manhood, force of character, and steadiness, would give you weight which might make your choice worth your father’s consideration, and you worth that of Genevieve.’ ‘Oh! would you but have told me so before!’ ‘It was evident to your own senses,’ said Albinia; and she thought of the suggestion that Sophy had made. ‘Too late! too late!’ sighed Gilbert. ‘No, never too late! You have had a warning; you are very young, and it cannot be too late for winning a character, and redeeming the time!’ ‘And you tell me I may love her!’ repeated Gilbert, so intoxicated with the words, that she became afraid of them.