oud girl, that I had not acted
right--that some concession was due on my part to the man from whom I
had received so many benefits; and but for very shame I would have
sought his presence, acknowledged my error, and entreated his pardon.

"Oh, why does this stubborn pride so often stand between us and our
best intentions. I let the moment pass, and my heart remained true to
its stern determination, not to yield one inch of what I falsely termed
independence. My reverie was dispelled by Alice. She took my hand
kindly.

"'You look grave, Philip. I have put these serious thoughts into your
head, and you feel sorry for the past. My anger is all gone. I forgive
you from my very heart. So give me a kiss, and let us be friends; but
no more lectures if you please for the future. I will not stand a
scolding--not even from you. You need not fear that I shall disgrace
you: I am too proud to place myself in the power of any one. I like,
yes, I love Theophilus Moncton, but he will never make a fool of me, or
any one else. But--hush--here is Miss Moncton.'

"The blood crimsoned my face as a sudden turning in the woodland path,
brought me within a few paces of one whom at that moment I would gladly
have shunned. To retreat was impossible. I raised my hat, and with, her
usual frankness, Margaret held out her hand.

"I pressed it respectfully between my own without venturing to raise my
eyes to her face. She perceived my confusion, and doubtless defined the
cause.

"'You have been a sad truant, Philip. But you are welcome home. I, for
one, rejoice to see my dear foster-brother again.'

"'Is that possible?' I stammered out--'Dear Miss Moncton, I am only too
happy to be allowed to plead for myself--I feel that I have sinned
against my good and generous benefactor; that this kindness on your
part, is wholly undeserved. What shall I do to regain your good
opinion.'

"'Say nothing at all about it, Geoffrey. It was a boyish fault, and my
father has often repented that he treated it so seriously. For my own
part, I do not blame you for thrashing Theophilus; had I been provoked
in the same manner, and a lad of your age, I would have done it myself.
My quarrel with you, is for leaving the Park, and deserting us all,
before a reconciliation could take place. You knew that my father's
anger was like dew upon the grass, evaporated by the first sunbeam, and
that we loved you dearly--so that your conduct appears inexcusable and
heartless.'