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spirits came back to him; but he was only a boy after all, and a very young boy, and by and by, when the green leaves came budding on the trees and the spring voice was waking in the valleys and the fields, when the young lambs answered with their bleating and the young birds sung a chorus of bursting joy, Arthur's face brightened, and his step was bounding again. And his mother was glad to see him with the weary cloud gone, only her heart ached with a deep throb as she thought of the new care that was hanging over him, and of which he knew nothing as yet.
One day, when Arthur was passing the door of his mother's morning-room, he heard his father's voice within, saying, "I think you had better tell him, Louisa." The door was partly open, and if he listened he would easily be able to hear what they were saying. The temptation was very strong, and Arthur yielded to it. It was very wrong, and he knew it.
"Oh, no!" he heard his mother say, "I could not tell him; I don't think I could. It almost breaks my heart to think of it myself."
"Louisa," said his father--and Arthur thought his voice sounded rather sad--"you know it is your own choice, and even now you can change if you like."
"Oh, no, no, dear Ronald!" said his mother--and he could hear that her voice was quivering and trembling--"you know very well I could not. Forgive me, I ought to be very thankful I have you still; and so I am. But tell him yourself, Ronald; you know I am so foolish."
"Very well," said Mr. Vivyan, rising and stirring the fire with great energy, as if he were then acting what he had made up his mind to do.
And then Arthur stole away, feeling very strange with various mingled feelings. Something seemed to say that the conversation concerned him, but what it was all about he could not imagine. Something terrible seemed to be going to happen; something that his mother could not make up her mind to tell. And then he remembered how very wrong it had been for him to listen to this conversation. He had always been taught never to do such a thing, and the consciousness of his fault weighed heavily on his mind. He wished very much that he had not waited at the door, when he had seen it stand so temptingly open. Indeed, so much did he think about what he had done, that the strange things he had heard hardly troubled him.
But by and by, when he was walking through the lanes, where the primroses were dotting the hedgerows with green and yellow tufts, he began to think again of what he had heard, and his step was slow and steady as he thought. He was not the same Arthur who generally bounded along, startling the little lambs who were feeding on the other side of the hedge; and Hector seemed puzzled by the unusual quiet as he ran on first, inviting his master to follow. Altogether it was a very grave and thoughtful walk, and when Arthur came in, the quiet look was on his face still, and a very troubled expression could be seen there.
"Arthur dear, is anything the matter?" asked his mother in the evening, as he sat on his low stool before the fire doing nothing, and thinking again of what he had heard and what he had done.
Arthur started, and blushed a very deep red.
"Why should you think there was anything the matter, mother?"
"Because I see there is," she said quietly.
He did not answer, and Mr. Vivyan looked out keenly at him, from behind the book he was reading. But still Arthur had nothing to say, and the troubled look came deeper on his face. He came nearer to his mother's chair, and presently when he found himself there he laid his head on her lap.
"What is it, my darling?" she asked, laying her hand on his brown hair. Then the tears came into his eyes, and it was not directly that he was able to say, "Mother, I know it was very wrong of me; but I heard what you and papa were saying this morning when you were in the boudoir."
"It was very wrong indeed," said Mr. Vivyan; "I did not think you would have done such a thing, Arthur."
"Oh, Arthur, Arthur!" said his mother very gently and sadly, "why did you, why did you not remember?"
He was crying now, and he did not need to be told that he had done very wrong.
"Well, then, you know all about it, I suppose?" said Arthur's father.
"No, I don't, papa. I only heard that something dreadful was going to happen; and you told