"You are an angel! When I think that you, my sweet, will be mixed up in this, and-and injured by it, and brought to low esteem by it, oh, my dearest, what can I say?"

Audrey was silent for a moment. She bent her head and looked down; then she spoke.

"It is a trial," she said, "but I am not to be pitied as Evelyn is to be pitied. Mother darling, there is but one thing to be done."

"What is that, dearest?"

"To get her to repent-to get her to confess between now and the morning after next. Oh mother! leave her to me."

"I will, Audrey. If any one can influence her, you can; you are so brave, so good, so strong!"

"Nay, I have but little influence over her," said Audrey. "Let me think for a few moments, mother."

Audrey sank into a chair and sat silent. Her sweet, pure, high-bred face was turned in profile to her mother. Lady Frances glanced at it, and thought over the circ.u.mstances which had brought Evelyn into their midst.

"To think that that girl should supplant her!" thought the mother; and her anger was so great that she could not keep quiet. She was going out of the room to speak to her husband, but before she reached the door Audrey called her.

"What are you going to do, mother?"

"It is only right that I should tell you, Audrey. An idea has come to me. Evelyn respects your father; if I told him just what I have told you he might induce her to confess."

"No, mother," said Audrey suddenly; "do not let us lower her in his eyes. The strongest possible motive for Evelyn to confess her sin will be that father does not know; that he need never know if she confesses.

Do not tell him, please, mother; I have got another thought."

"What is that, my darling?"

"Do you not remember Sylvia-pretty Sylvia?"

"Of course. A dear, bright, fascinating girl!"

"Evelyn is fond of her-fonder of Sylvia than she is of me; perhaps Sylvia could induce her to confess."

"It is a good thought, Audrey. I will ask Sylvia over here to dine to-morrow evening."

"Oh, mother darling, that is too late! May I not send a messenger for her to come in the morning? Oh mother, if she could only come now!"

"No dearest; it is too late to-night."

"But Evelyn ought to see her before she goes to school."

"My dearest, you have both to be at school at nine o'clock."

"Oh, I don't know what is to be done! I do feel that I have very little influence, and Sylvia may have much. Oh dear! oh dear!"

"Audrey, I am almost sorry I have told you; you take it too much to heart."

"Dear mother, you must have told me; I could not have stood the shock, the surprise, unprepared. Oh mother, think of the morning after next!

Think of our all standing up in school, and Evelyn, my cousin, being proclaimed guilty! And yet, mother, I ought only to think of Evelyn, and not of myself; but I cannot help thinking of myself-I cannot-I cannot."

"Something must be done to help you, Audrey. Let me think. I will write a line to Miss Henderson and say I am detaining you both till afternoon school. Then, dearest, you can have your talk with Evelyn in the morning, and afterwards Sylvia can see her, and perhaps the unhappy child may be brought to repentance, and may speak to Miss Henderson and confess her sin in the afternoon. That is the best thing. Now go to bed, and do not let the trouble worry you, my sweet; that would indeed be the last straw."

Audrey left the room. But during that night she could not sleep. From side to side of her pillow she tossed; and early in the morning, an hour or more before her usual time of rising, she got up. She dressed herself quickly and went in the direction of Evelyn's room. Her idea was to speak to Evelyn there and then before her courage failed her. She opened the door of her cousin's room softly. She expected to see Evelyn, who was very lazy as a rule, sound asleep in bed; but, to her astonishment, the room was empty. Where could she be?

"What can be the matter?" thought Audrey; and in some alarm she ran down-stairs.

The first person she saw was Evelyn, who was making straight for her uncle's room, intending to go out with the well-loaded gun. Evelyn scowled when she saw her cousin, and a look of anger swept over her face.

"What are you doing up so early, Evelyn?" asked Audrey.

"May I ask what are _you_ doing up so early," retorted Evelyn.

"I got up early on purpose to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk just now."

"Do come with me, Evelyn-please do. Why should you turn against me and be so disagreeable? Oh, dear! oh dear! I am so terribly sorry for you!

Do you know that I was awake all night thinking of you?"

"Then you were very silly," said Evelyn, "for certainly I was not awake thinking of you. What is it you want to say?" she continued.

She recognized that she must give up her sport. How more than provoking!

for the next morning she would be no longer at Wynford Castle; she would be under the safe shelter of her beloved Jasper's wing.

"The morning is quite fine," said Audrey; "do come out and let us walk."

Evelyn looked very cross, but finally agreed, and they went out together. Audrey wondered how she should proceed. What could she say to influence Evelyn? In truth, they were not the sort of girls who would ever pull well together. Audrey had been brought up in the strictest school, with the highest sense of honor. Evelyn had been left to grow up at her own sweet will; honorable actions had never appealed to her.

Tricks, cheating, smart doings, clever ways, which were not the ways of righteousness, were the ways to which she had been accustomed. It was impossible for her to see things with Audrey's eyes.

"What do you want to say to me?" said Evelyn. "Why do you look so mysterious?"

"I want to say something-something which I must say. Evelyn, do not ask me any questions, but do just listen. You know what is going to happen to-morrow morning at school?"

"Lessons, I suppose," said Evelyn.

"Please don't be silly; you must know what I mean."

"Oh, you allude to the row about that stupid, stupid book. What a fuss!

I used to think I liked school, but I don't now. I am sure mistresses don't go on in that silly way in Tasmania, for mothery said she loved school. Oh, the fun she had at school! Stolen parties in the attics; suppers brought in clandestinely; lessons shirked! Oh dear! oh dear! she had a time of excitement. But at this school you are all so proper! I do really think you English girls have no s.p.u.n.k and no spirit."

"But I'll tell you what we have," said Audrey; and she turned and faced her cousin. "We have honor; we have truth. We like to work straight, not crooked; we like to do right, not wrong. Yes, we do, and we are the better for it. That is what we English girls are. Don't abuse us, Evelyn, for in your heart of hearts-yes, Evelyn, I repeat it-in your heart of hearts you must long to be one of us."

There was something in Audrey's tone which startled Evelyn.

"How like Uncle Edward you look!" she said; and perhaps she could not have paid her cousin a higher compliment.

The look which for just a moment flitted across the queer little face of the Tasmanian girl upset Audrey. She struggled to retain her composure, but the next moment burst into tears.

"Oh dear!" said Evelyn, who hated people who cried, "what is the matter?"