She could see
that she had first despised Sophia Jane, and then been jealous of her;
first been conceited and proud, and then mean and deceitful. Good Susan
no longer, but far far worse than her poor little friend, whom she had
always considered so naughty. Little by little the web had become more
and more twisted and confused. Would it ever be straight again? She
made no excuse for herself now. Her heart was so full of sorrow and
repentance that she hardly knew how to bear it, and, creeping
sorrowfully up into the attic, she cast herself down on the big black
box and cried. She had thought herself so good since she had come to
Ramsgate, they had all told her so, and yet how naughty she had been--
naughtier and naughtier, until at last she had told a story. What
should she do? An old rhyme of Maria's came into her head as she lay
there sobbing:

"A fault confessed
Is half redressed."

That was what she must do. Confess it all to Sophia Jane. But what a
humbling, miserable thing! She could see the expression on Sophia
Jane's face when she heard that Susan--good Susan--who had always been
held up as an example, had deceived Mademoiselle and told a story. "Oh,
I _couldn't_!" said Susan to herself. "Anything else--any other
punishment I would bear, but _not_ that." And then she went on to
remember Monsieur and Mademoiselle would know too, and they would never
like her again, or think her a good little girl--it would be too
dreadful. "I shall never never be happy again any way," said Susan half
aloud. "If I don't tell I shall be miserable, and if I do tell I shall
be miserable too."

Nanna's voice calling her down to tea put an end for the moment to these
thoughts; but they came back during the evening with yet greater force,
and when she went to bed she felt unhappier than she had ever been in
her life. She was still, however, undecided about confessing her fault.

During the next few days she did not see Sophia Jane, though the
improvement continued. It was a relief not to see her; and yet to go
about with a feeling like a lump of lead in her bosom was not, Susan
found, a comfortable thing. It did not get lighter as each day passed,
and at last something happened which so increased its weight that she
thought any punishment--any open disgrace--would be easier to bear.
For, how it happened no one could tell, Sophia Jane managed to catch a
chill, the fever returned with renewed violence, and she