“They are always thinking of him, and they say he does everything. They are very, very afraid of him,” said Lilias seriously, “and so am I--he can do whatever he pleases; but I cannot think he is as strong as God.” “And it was he who made you spoil my papers----?” “Oh, Mary, not Nello--only me. Nello is such a little fellow, he did not mean it--he did not know what he was doing----” “And did you?” Lilias pressed very close against Mary’s side. Her heart was beating loudly in her brave little bosom. Her sense of crime had not been lightened by the postponement of the punishment which must, she thought, be coming. But it was not in her to fly as her brother had done. She took a furtive hold of Mary’s gown. No hope of any forgiveness was in her serious soul; yet to whom could she cling in earth and heaven but only to this inflictor of stern justice? She kept her eyes fixed on Mary’s face, that she might see the fearful doom which was coming--that would always be a help in bearing it--and kept close to her, pressing against her. “_Aie-tu peur de moi? cache-toi dans mes bras_”--this was the child’s impulse in her penitence and terror. Mary forgot her vellum and its stains. She put her arm round the child, whose eyes opened a little wider thinking the judgment was coming, but who never shrank. “You will not do it again,” she said. Lilias could not understand that it was over. She bent back a little the better to see Mary’s face. “Will you not punish me?” said the child. Between the fear and the wonder she was breathless. This was the most wonderful of all. “No, dear--you will never do it again.”