ering the
unspoken promise, and looking down at her with one of his sweet, kindly
smiles. "It will be a comfort to my wife as well as myself. She is
very nervous about you. She was upstairs three times in the night, to
satisfy herself that you were well after your fright, and is too tired
herself to come downstairs this morning. She is always bright and
cheery, but she is not very strong. You would be sorry to make her
ill."

No answer, only another grip of the hand, and a sudden straightening of
the lips, as if they were pressed together to avoid an involuntary
trembling. There is something especially touching in the sight of
restrained emotion; and as the vicar thought of his own two daughters,
his heart was very tender over the girl whose parents were separated
from her by six thousand miles of land and sea.

"Well now, dear, I have said my say, and that is an end of it. I don't
like finding fault, but my dear wife has thrown that duty on my
shoulders by being too tender-hearted to say a word of blame even when
it is needed. Her method works very well, as a rule, but there are
occasions when it would be criminal to withhold a just reprimand." The
vicar stopped short, and a spasm of laughter crossed his face. Peggy's
fingers had twitched within his own as he spoke those last two words,
and her eyes had dilated with interest. He knew as well as if he had
been told that she was gloating over the new expression, and mentally
noting it for future use. Nothing, however, could have been sweeter or
more natural than the manner in which she sidled against him, and
murmured--

"Thank you so much. I am sorry! I will truly try;" and he watched her
out of the room with a smile of tender amusement.

"A nice child--a good child--feels deeply. I can rely upon her to do
her best."

Robert was hanging about in the passage, ready, as usual, to fulfil his
vows of support, and Peggy slid her hand through his arm and sauntered
slowly with him towards the schoolroom. Like the two girls, he had been
at no loss to understand the reason of the call to the study, and would
fain have expressed his sympathy, but Peggy stopped him with uplifted
finger.

"No, no--he was perfectly right. You must not blame him. I have been
guilty of reprehensible carelessness, and merited a reprimand!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

JEALOUS THOUGHTS.

Peggy felt weak and shaken for some days after her fright, and was
thankful to stay quietly