e fate, and he turned the
subject by applauding Ruth's presence of mind and bravery.

"Don't praise me, I can't bear it! I am as bad as Gerald!" she sobbed,
and rushed away to her own room.

Before daylight the next morning Mrs. Woburn was at her door with a
steaming cup of coffee.

"Drink this, my dear," she said. "How your hand trembles! I was afraid
that you would feel ill after your dreadful fright. Indeed, dear," she
said, her eyes full of tears, "I can never thank you, never feel half
grateful enough for your brave rescue of my poor Gerald."

"Don't say that, auntie. If--if anything had happened, it would have
been my fault. I ought to have told you of his wrong-doing long ago."

"It was only your goodness of heart, darling," said her aunt kindly.

"But it wasn't _right_, auntie. I deceived you. Oh dear! I feel such a
bundle of deceit. I've deceived every one," she said under a sudden
impulse. "No, don't stop me; I must tell you all about it."

Then she poured into her ear the whole story of the prize as well as her
promise to Gerald, and finished by saying that she had been perfectly
miserable all through the holidays.

Mrs. Woburn was surprised and somewhat shocked at this recital; but she
was good-natured, and her sense of wrong had been growing dull so many
years that she failed to understand Ruth's emotion.

"Poor child!" she said gently, "it has been very bad for you, but it is
all over now, and you will do better in future."

"Oh, auntie, how can I?" she exclaimed, as she thought what a different
reply her mother would have made.

"I must tell Miss Elgin," she said resolutely; "and I suppose all the
girls must know, and Julia, and--and father and mother."

"Do you think that necessary, dear? You are very sorry, I am sure. Is
not that enough?"

"Nothing can make it right, I know, auntie; but I cannot, and will not,
deceive them any longer."

Ruth burst into a fit of hysterical crying, and was only quieted by her
aunt's promise to go with her that very day to call upon Miss Elgin.

"Poor Ruth seems quite ill," said Mrs. Woburn at breakfast-time. "I
persuaded her to stay in bed a little while, and I think she will be
better soon. She has made quite a confession to me."

"What was it about?" inquired Julia.

Then, according to her niece's wish, she repeated the whole story,
concluding with the remark that, after all, it was not quite such a
serious matter as the poor child seemed to think. S