FIGHTING WITH SELF.
Meantime Fred had remained upstairs in a state of as utter
restlessness as it was possible for any boy to be in. Fear, remorse,
shame, pride, and even contrition, were at work within him, each
fighting their own fight, and loudly asserting their right to a first
place in his mind: but fear had the strongest position, for at any
moment, Fred knew, the door might open, and his accusers rush in; and
then what would be left for him but disgrace and punishment.
A thousand times he turned his glances towards the doorway, while his
heart beat fast and furiously, thinking each step in the passage was
the footfall of an enemy or the advent of a foe; and when at length
he did hear his aunt's voice in the passage outside, and knew that
she was coming to see him, he feigned sleep, and that so
successfully, that she withdrew from the room with noiseless steps,
and closed the door softly behind her.
"If I had only had the courage to tell Maurice when he brought me up
my breakfast, I should be all right now, or rather the worst would
have been over; but I am the veriest coward living," he murmured to
himself reproachfully, as he tossed to and fro on his bed, his head
aching painfully at every turn. "Why do not Harry and Kathleen come
up to see me; they must know what misery I am in. I wonder whether
Harry would tell it all for me? I will ask him when he comes in."
And Fred planned feverishly the words of confession which he would
dictate to his younger brother, so as to palliate his acts, and make
them appear as little criminal as possible.
But again better thoughts would have temporary sway, and then the
voice of conscience would whisper painfully into his ear, "You ought
to make this confession of your guilt yourself, with your own lips
and in your own words, and not lay the burden of your fault on the
shoulders of another." And then he would writhe and groan under the
pressure of this warning voice; for he knew well whose voice it was
that pleaded with him thus, and that its words were the words of
truth, and ought not to be thrust aside.
While he thus argued, and murmured, and fretted, and feared, the door
opened again, and Harry, followed by Kathleen, came in, with heated
face, and anxious, eager manner.
"Well," cried Fred, starting up in his bed angrily, "so you have come
in at last, have you! A precious long time you have left me by
myself, I must say! But I suppose it was because you knew I was so
happy and comfortable up here that you stayed away so long."
"No indeed; we were walking outside, and thinking what was best to be
done; and afterwards we met Maurice, who was in an awful state about
you, and said all sorts of things. And now we have come up to see if
we could persuade you, Fred, to tell him all; for it's not right that
he should think it was his fault, and blame himself so awfully."
"Why, what did he say?" asked Fred with an air of sullenness, which
even Harry could see was only put on to cover his painful anxiety and
fear.
"He said how it was all his bad temper, and the way he treated you,
which had made everything go wrong; and that he had wished, and so
had they all, to make us so awfully happy, and now he had only made
us miserable."
"And what did you say?" asked Fred with increasing uneasiness.
"I am sure I don't know what I said."
"Did you tell him anything,--did you even give him a hint?"
"No; I only said I would go up and see you, and ask you to explain
all to him, for there were heaps of things he did not know."
"You did?" gasped Fred.
"Yes."
"Then you have actually pinned me into confessing."
"No, not pinned you; for I do not think Maurice believes there is
anything to confess. But surely, Fred, you would not like to be such
an utter coward; and, besides, in a little while he must find it all
out."
"I'd give all the world not to be such an utter coward, as you call
me!" cried Fred, dropping the mask completely from his feelings; "but
the fact is, I feel as if I could never make up my mind to confess.
I have been fighting with myself all this time up here, and I'm not a
bit nearer doing what's right than I was."
"Don't fight with yourself any longer, but do it."
"How should I begin to tell him, Harry?" asked Fred almost piteously.
[Illustration: "Fred, here is mother come to see you."]
"Oh, don't plan beforehand what you'll say. When once you have
started off, you'll see the right words will come into your head. I
know they will," said Harry earnestly.
"How can you know? You have never been in such an awful fix as this."
"I have been in other fixes though, and I have got out of them--I
mean I have been helped to get out of them."
"Helped?" questioned Fred, opening his eyes wide, and staring at his
brother in amazement "Who helped you? Was it mother?"
Harry shook his head, and remained silent, though sudden nervous
blushes covered his face.
"What does he mean?" cried Fred, looking at Kathleen for information,
whose corresponding nervousness showed she was a sharer in Harry's
confusion.
"I think he means that God helped him," she said in a very low voice,
while she tugged at the knots on Fred's counterpane with restless,
trembling fingers.
"Oh, was that it! I could not think what he meant," said Fred, in a
strange, altered voice, while he turned his head away, and looked
vacantly out through the open window where the beech-trees were
glistening in the sunshine, with their branches full of song. "I am
such an awfully queer kind of a fellow, I never think of these kind
of things;" and presently, in the same altered voice, he added, "and
that's, I suppose, why I am always getting into these scrapes."
"Nonsense!" cried Harry, with a rising lump in his throat.
"You say 'Nonsense,' but you know all the same it is perfectly true.
Mother always said so when we were at home. Oh, what will poor
mother say when she hears it all!" And Fred rocked himself to and
fro in the bed.
"If it were only for her sake, you ought to try to be brave," said
Harry sadly.
"If I do speak, to whom ought I to say it,--to Maurice, or to aunt?"
asked Fred after a pause, and with lips which were blanching already
at the thought of the dreaded confession.
"To either. I don't think it matters to which."
"If I had only not smashed that precious chess-box, it would not seem
half so bad a thing to have to confess;--and they will think,
perhaps, I broke it on purpose, out of spite."
"Oh no; I'm sure they won't think that. But listen! I am almost
certain I hear Maurice coming up the stairs. Shall we stay with you,
Fred, while you are telling him, or not?"
"Yes, yes, stay; or--no; I think I should get on better without you."
"But you'll tell him all, won't you--about the bow and everything?"
"I could not."
"Yes, yes, you must. You will be twice as happy, once it is all off
your mind; and don't forget--" But here Harry and his sister had to
make a sudden rush towards the door of Kathleen's room, as Maurice's
voice was heard outside in the passage, demanding, in a somewhat
excited voice, to be admitted.