he was sorry she had done wrong; she
could repent in sorrow and silence, and never do wrong again. Her father
and her sister would despise her if they knew she had done such a wicked
and unladylike thing as to set the boat-house on fire. She could save
all this pain and mortification, and repent just the same. Besides, she
could not take upon herself the responsibility of driving Noddy away
from Woodville, for that would cause Bertha a great deal of pain and
uneasiness.

Fanny had not yet learned to do right though the heavens fall.

"Well, I won't say anything about it, Noddy," said she, yielding to what
seemed to her the force of circumstances.

"That's right, Fanny. Now, you leave the whole thing to me, and I will
manage it so as to keep you out of trouble; and you can repent and be
sorry just as much as you please," replied Noddy, as he began to row
again. "There is nothing to be afraid of. Ben will never know that we
have been on the river."

"But I know it myself," said the conscience-stricken maiden.

"Of course you do; what of that?"

"If I didn't know it myself, I should feel well enough."

"You are a funny girl."

"Don't you ever feel that you have done wrong, Noddy?"

"I suppose I do; but I don't make any such fuss about it as you do."

"You were not brought up by a kind father and a loving sister, who would
give anything rather than have you do wrong," said Fanny, beginning to
cry again.

"There! don't cry any more; if you do, you will 'let the cat out of the
bag.' I am going to land you here at the Glen. You can take a walk
there, and go home about one o'clock. Then you can tell the folks you
have been walking in the Glen; and it will be the truth."

"It will be just as much a lie as though I hadn't been there. It will be
one half the truth told to hide the other half."

This was rather beyond Noddy's moral philosophy, and he did not worry
himself to argue the point. He pulled up to the landing place at the
Glen, where he had so often conveyed Bertha, and near the spot where he
had met with the accident which had placed him under her kindly care.
Fanny, with a heavy heart and a doubting mind, stepped on shore, and
walked up into the grove. She was burdened with grief for the wrong she
had done, and for half an hour she wandered about the beautiful spot,
trying to compose herself enough to appear before the people at the
house. When it was too late, she wished she had not consented to Noddy's