he door of his mother's morning-room, he
heard his father's voice within, saying, "I think you had better tell him,
Louisa." The door was partly open, and if he listened he would easily be
able to hear what they were saying. The temptation was very strong, and
Arthur yielded to it. It was very wrong, and he knew it.

"Oh, no!" he heard his mother say, "I could not tell him; I don't think I
could. It almost breaks my heart to think of it myself."

"Louisa," said his father--and Arthur thought his voice sounded rather
sad--"you know it is your own choice, and even now you can change if you
like."

"Oh, no, no, dear Ronald!" said his mother--and he could hear that her
voice was quivering and trembling--"you know very well I could not.
Forgive me, I ought to be very thankful I have you still; and so I am. But
tell him yourself, Ronald; you know I am so foolish."

"Very well," said Mr. Vivyan, rising and stirring the fire with great
energy, as if he were then acting what he had made up his mind to do.

And then Arthur stole away, feeling very strange with various mingled
feelings. Something seemed to say that the conversation concerned him, but
what it was all about he could not imagine. Something terrible seemed to
be going to happen; something that his mother could not make up her mind
to tell. And then he remembered how very wrong it had been for him to
listen to this conversation. He had always been taught never to do such a
thing, and the consciousness of his fault weighed heavily on his mind. He
wished very much that he had not waited at the door, when he had seen it
stand so temptingly open. Indeed, so much did he think about what he had
done, that the strange things he had heard hardly troubled him.

But by and by, when he was walking through the lanes, where the primroses
were dotting the hedgerows with green and yellow tufts, he began to think
again of what he had heard, and his step was slow and steady as he
thought. He was not the same Arthur who generally bounded along, startling
the little lambs who were feeding on the other side of the hedge; and
Hector seemed puzzled by the unusual quiet as he ran on first, inviting
his master to follow. Altogether it was a very grave and thoughtful walk,
and when Arthur came in, the quiet look was on his face still, and a very
troubled expression could be seen there.

"Arthur dear, is anything the matter?" asked his mother in the evening, as
he sat on his low stool bef