"How can you say so. Gerald? Did you not know that you ought not to scribble in books? Can you say that Miss Morley has not often spoken to you about the Atlas?"

"If you call 'O Sir Gerald!' and 'O you sad boy,' desiring me in a rational way, I don't," said Gerald, imitating the tones, "laughing and letting me go on; I thought she liked it."

"Now seriously, Gerald."

"Well, I mean that she did not care. If people tell me a thing they should make me mind them."

"You should mind without being made, Gerald.

"I would if I thought them in earnest. But now, Marian, was it not a horrid shame of her to speak just as if I had been always disobeying her on purpose, making Mrs. Lyddell go into a rage with me for what was entirely her own fault?"

"No, no, Gerald, you cannot say it was her fault that you spoilt the picture."

"I think she ought to beg my pardon for telling such stories about me,"

repeated Gerald sullenly.

"Recollect yourself, Gerald, you know she meant that she had put you in mind that you ought not; and don't you think that, true or not, your speech was very rude?"

"If I was to beg her pardon it would mean that she spoke the truth, which she did not, for she never took any pains to prevent me from drawing in the map-book, or any where else."

"It would not mean any such thing if you were to say, 'Miss Morley, I misunderstood you, and I am sorry I was so rude.' I am sure you must be sorry for that, for it was not at all like a gentleman. Will you come and say so?"

"You're like the rest," mumbled Gerald, turning his back upon her, and sitting like a stock.

"Don't you think it would be the best way? Would it not make you happier? O what is the use of being obstinate and disobedient? Think of going to school in disgrace. O! Gerald, Gerald, what is to be done?"

Still she spoke with earnest pauses and anxious looks, but without the least effect, and at last she said, "Well, Gerald, I must go, and very much grieved I am. How would dear mamma like to see her little boy going on in this way?"

She went to the door and looked back again there, and beheld Gerald, with his hands over his face, striving to suppress a burst of sobbing.

She sprung to him, and would have thrown her arms round his neck, but he pushed her off roughly, and with strong effort, drove back the tears, and put on an iron face again. Again she entreated, but he would not open his lips or give the least sign of listening, or of attending to any persuasion, and she was obliged to leave him at last without hope of subduing his obstinacy. How far he was now from being the gentle, good child that he once had been! and by whose fault was it? Her spirit burned with indignation against those who, as she thought, had worked the change, and O! where was the influence from which Edmund hoped so much?

The next day was long and miserable, for Gerald gave no sign of yielding, but remained shut up in his room, maintaining an absolute silence, when, at different times, Mrs. Lyddell went to visit him, and a.s.sure him that Mr. Lyddell was fixed in his determination to send him to school if he did not yield before the time of grace was up.

The time of grace was at an end the next morning, and at nine o'clock, Gerald was summoned to the dining-room, where Mr. and Mrs. Lyddell were at breakfast. He wanted to carry it off with a high hand, but his long day of solitude had dulled him, and he looked pale and weary.

"Gerald," said Mrs. Lyddell, "I am sorry you have so persisted in your misbehaviour to oblige us to punish you, as we threatened to do. Are you now willing to own that you did wrong?"

"I ought not to have spoilt the book," said Gerald boldly, "and I was rude to Miss Morley."

"There is a brave boy," said Mr. Lyddell, very much relieved. "Well, Gerald, I am glad you have given, in at last; I hate obstinacy, as I told you yesterday, but that is over, and we will say no more about it; only you know we told you that you should be sent to school, and we must keep our word."

"Yes," said Gerald, trying not to let a muscle of his face relax; though now the die was cast, his consternation at the thought of school was considerable.

"Well, you may go," said Mr. Lyddell, "and remember that obstinacy must be got out of a boy some way or other."

Gerald went, and soon entered the schoolroom, where he walked up to Miss Morley, saying, "I am sorry I was rude to you the day before yesterday."

"Ah! Sir Gerald, I was sure your better sense--your generous spirit--but I hope your submission--I hope Mr. Lyddell forgives--overlooks--"

"I am to go to school when Lionel does, if that is what you mean,"

replied Gerald, and then he came up to his sister, and looked earnestly, yet with an inquiring shyness into her face. Marian might have been hopeful, for his manner showed that it was for her opinion that he really cared; but she was sad and unhappy at seeing his pride still so far from being subdued, and though her heart yearned towards him, she shook her head and looked coldly away from him to her book.

Gerald was chilled and went back to Lionel, who had plenty of ready sympathy for him; a story half caught from his mamma's report, half guessed at, that the old lady had looked full at the beast's curly tail, and had said she had never seen anything so like Lady Marchmont; the a.s.sertion of his own certainty that Gerald would never give in nor own that poor unfortunate had spoken the truth, and Gerald felt triumphant, as if his self-will had been something heroic, and his imprisonment and going to school a martyrdom. It did not last, Gerald's nature was gentle and retiring; he dreaded strangers, and his heart sank when he thought of school. He wanted his sister to comfort him, but he would soon be out of her reach. No Marian--all boys--all strange, and there was no help for it now. Gerald rested his forehead against the window and gulped down rising tears. But when he found himself on the point of being left alone with Marian, his pride rose, and he would not confess that he had been wrong or that he was unhappy, so he ran down stairs to find the other boys and to get out of her way.

So it went on, Marian was very unhappy at this loss of his confidence; but the more she attempted to talk to him, the more he avoided her, being resolved not to show how great his dislike and dread of school was.

"Gerald," said Lionel, the last day before they were to go, "I have been thinking I should like to give Marian something instead of that book."

"So should I," said Gerald, delighted with the idea, for he was feeling all the time that he was vexing his sister, and wishing to do something by way of compensation.

"I did not mean you," said Lionel, "for it----for you would never have been sharp enough to think of the beast for yourself. I only told you because you could tell me what she would like best. Papa has just given me a sovereign."

"He has given me another," said Gerald, "and we will put them together, and do it handsomely."

"Well, what shall it be? Not that stupid book over again."

"O no, no, she has had enough of that already, and there are plenty of other books that she wants."

"No, don't let it be a book," said Lionel; "I can't think how anybody can like reading, when they can help it."

"Well, I do like some reading, when it is a shipwreck, or a famous b.l.o.o.d.y battle," said Gerald.

"Yes, but then it makes one's eyes ache so."

"It does not mine."

"Well, if I go on long it always makes mine ache," said Lionel. "And don't the letters look green and dance about, when you read by candle light?"

"No," said Gerald. "How funny that is, Lionel. But I'll tell you what, we will get Walter to take us out, and we shall be sure to see something famous, in some shop-window or other."

Walter was at home for the Easter vacation, and under his protection the boys were allowed to go out. Very patient he was, and wisely did he give his counsel in the important choice which, if left to the boys themselves, might probably have been really something famous. Marian would have been grateful to him, had she known all that he averted from her, a stuffed fox, an immense pebble brooch, a pair of slippers covered with sportive demons. At every shop which furnished guns, knives, or fishing tackle, they stopped and lamented that she was not a boy, there was nothing in the world fit for girls; they tried a bazaar, and p.r.o.nounced everything trumpery, and Walter was beginning to get into despair, when at last Lionel came to a stop before a print shop, calling out, "Hollo, Gerald, here's Beauty and the Beast itself!"

It was the beautiful engraving from Raphael's picture of

Saint Margaret in meekness treading Upon the dragon 'neath her spreading.

And Walter, rejoicing that their choice was likely to fall on anything which a young lady might be so glad to possess, conducted them into the shop, and gave all the desired a.s.sistance in effecting the purchase. It was a fine impression, and the price was so high as to leave the boys'

finances at rather a low ebb; but Walter, in his secret soul, thought this by no means to be regretted, since it was much better for them that it should be generously spent at once in this manner, than that it should be frittered away in the unaccountable and vain manner in which he had usually seen schoolboys' money wasted.

So S. Margaret was bought and rolled up, and so afraid were the boys that she should not be rightly sent home, that they insisted on carrying her themselves, and almost quarrelled as to which should have the first turn.

Marian, on coming into her room, found both the boys on the top of the chest of drawers, trying to pin the print up against the wall, and though her arrival caused them some discomfiture, it was on the whole a fortunate circ.u.mstance, since it saved the corners from extensive damage.

"O Lionel! O Gerald! how beautiful! how very nice! What a lovely face!

Is it really for me? How I do thank you, but I am afraid you have spent all your money."

"It is a better Beauty and the Beast than the old one," said Gerald, "Isn't it, Marian?"