Joyce soon persuaded Bunny that he was not much hurt, and said if they would all come up to the seat under the fir-tree she would read to them. The boys willingly consented, and Joyce ran upstairs and fetched the pretty Bible, bound in purple, with its gilt leaves, which she displayed to her admiring brothers. "But you are not going to read _that_, Joyce," Piers said. "Isn't it dull? Can't you find the Pilgrim's Progress?" "Yes," exclaimed Harry; "I like the Giant Despair part, and the history of all the bones and skulls lying about." "I will read about a giant," Joyce said, "a very pretty story from the Bible." "Oh! I know," said Ralph; "very well, I don't mind hearing it again." Joyce seated herself with her brothers round her, and read the familiar Bible story, with a somewhat slow utterance, but with so much dramatic power in the tones of her voice that her listeners were profoundly attentive. Then she talked to them about David, and said she had read that the story was a type of the great battle we had all to fight against the giant of self. She did not know that she had another listener till her brothers had dispersed, and she was left on the seat with the Bible in her hand. Then Mr. Arundel came through the little gate leading from the copse, and looking up at Joyce, said: "May I come nearer?" Joyce started to her feet. "Take care," she said; "the grass is very dry and slippery;" and as Gilbert Arundel made a rather scrambling ascent, Joyce advanced and held out her hand to him to help him up the last few yards. "I have been in hiding behind that tree by the gate," he said; "I did not like to disturb the boys by my presence, after the pains you had taken to keep them quiet." Joyce's colour rose, and she said: "I would rather you had let me know you were listening, especially when I was talking to the boys." "Do not be vexed with me," Mr. Arundel said. "I am so glad to have found you here alone." "I wanted to speak to you, too," she said, quickly, "about my brother; he is"--she stopped, and then went on; "I think I may say it to you--he is the one cloud over our happy life here at Fair Acres. It used not to be so; he was very different once." "Yes," Mr. Arundel said, "I can quite imagine it was so. Your brother is very weak of purpose, and he got into a bad set at the university where I found him." "What made you care for him?" Joyce said, simply; "you are so different from him." "Well, the story is rather a long one, and I do not know that all of it is fit for your ears, or that I ought to inflict it upon you. Still I think you should know something about it. I feel an interest in poor Melville much the same interest which a man takes in anything that has cost him some trouble." "What made you take any trouble about him?" Joyce asked.