‘I am very sorry,’ said Gillian, feeling convicted of having neglected her little sister in the stress of her own work and of the preparation for that of her pupil, who was treading on her heels; ’but indeed, Val, if you had told me it was important, I should have listened.’

’Ah I but when one is half-frightened, and you are always in a hurry,’ sighed the child.  And, indeed, I did do my best over my own work before ever I looked; only those two are so lazy and stupid, they would have ever so much more help than Maura or I ever wanted; and at last I was so worried and hurried with my French and all the rest, that I did scramble a whole lot down, and that was the way it was found out.  And I am glad now it is over, whatever happens.’

‘Yes, that is right,’ said Gillian, ’and I am glad you told no stories; but I wonder Emma Norton did not see what was going on.’

‘Oh, she is frightfully busy about her own.’

‘And Kitty Varley?’

’Kitty is only going up for French and German.  Miss Leverett is so angry.  What do you think she will do to me, Gill?  Expel me?’

‘I don’t know—–­I can’t guess.  I don’t know High School ways.’

It would be so dreadful for papa and mamma and the boys to know,’ sobbed Valetta.  ‘And Mysie! oh, if Mysie was but here!’

‘Mysie would have been a better sister to her,’ said Gillian’s conscience, and her voice said, ’You would never have done it if Mysie had been here.’

‘And Mysie would be nice,’ said the poor child, who longed after her companion sister as much for comfort as for conscience.  ’Is Aunt Jane very very angry?’ she went on; ’do you think I shall be punished?’

’I can’t tell.  If it were I, I should think you were punished enough by having disgraced the name of Merrifield by such a dishonourable action.’

‘I—–­I didn’t know it was dishonourable.’

‘Well,’ said Gillian, perhaps a little tired of the scene, or mayhap dreading another push into her own quarters, ’I have been saying what I could for you, and I should think they would feel that no one but our father and mother had a real right to punish you, but I can’t tell what the School may do.  Now, hush, it is of no use to talk any more.  Good-night; I hope I shall find you asleep when I come to bed.’

Valetta would have detained her, but off she went, with a consciousness that she had been poor comfort to her little sister, and had not helped her to the right kind of repentance.  But then that highest ground—–­the strict rule of perfect conscientious uprightness—–­was just what she shrank from bringing home to herself, in spite of those privileges of seniority by which she had impressed poor Valetta.

The worst thing further that was said that night, when she had reported as much of Valetta’s confidence as she thought might soften displeasure, was Aunt Ada’s observation:  ’Maura!  That’s the White child, is it not?  No doubt it was the Greek blood.’