traightforward, Annie's face grew quiet and peaceful as she listened
to them. The old clergyman assured the girls that God was waiting to
forgive those who truly repented, and that the way to repent was to rise
up and sin no more.

"The present fun is not worth the after-pain," he said, in conclusion.
"It is an old saying that stolen waters are sweet, but only at the time;
afterward only those who drink of them know the full extent of their
bitterness."

This little address from Mr. Everard strengthened poor Annie for an
ordeal which was immediately before her, for Mrs. Willis asked all the
school to follow her to the play-room, and there she told them that she
was about to restore to them their lost privileges; that circumstances,
in her opinion, now so strongly pointed the guilt of the stolen essay in
the direction of one girl, that she could no longer ask the school to
suffer for her sake.

"She still refuses to confess her sin," said Mrs. Willis, "but, unless
another girl proclaims herself guilty, and proves to me beyond doubt that
she drew the caricature which was found in Cecil Temple's book, and that
she changed Dora Russell's essay, and, imitating her hand, put another in
its place, I proclaim the guilty person to be Annie Forest, and on her
alone I visit my displeasure. You can retire to your rooms, young ladies.
Tomorrow morning Lavender House resumes its old cheerfulness."

CHAPTER XXXIX.

HESTER'S HOUR OF TRIAL.

However calmly or however peacefully Annie slept that night, poor Hester
did not close her eyes. The white face of the girl she had wronged and
injured kept rising before her. Why had she so deceived Annie? Why from
the very first had she turned from her, and misjudged her, and
misrepresented her? Was Annie, indeed, all bad? Hester had to own to
herself that to-night Annie was better than she--was greater than she.
Could she now have undone the past, she would not have acted as she had
done; she would not for the sake of a little paltry revenge have defiled
her conscience with a lie, have told her governess that she could throw
no light on the circumstance of the stolen essay. This was the first lie
Hester had ever told; she was naturally both straightforward and
honorable, but her sin of sins, that which made her hard and almost
unlovable, was an intensely proud and haughty spirit. She was very sorry
she had told that lie; she was very sorry she had yielded to that
temptation; but no