I do not believe that it could fail to come to your father's
knowledge, even if I did not know it was my duty to tell him, and how
much better to confess it yourself.'
For this, however, Gilbert seemed to have no force; he cried
piteously, bewailed himself, vowed incoherently that he would never
do so again, and if she had not pitied him so much, would have made
her think him contemptible.
She was inexorable as to having the whole told, though dreading the
confession scarcely less than he did; and he finally made a virtue of
necessity, and promised to tell, if only she would not desert him,
declaring, with a fresh flood of tears, that he should never do wrong
when she was by. Then came the apology. It was most necessary, and
he owned that it would be much better to be able to tell his father
that his grandmother had forgiven him; but he really had not nerve to
set out alone, and Albinia, who had begun to dread having him out of
sight, consented to go and protect him.
He shrank behind her, and she had to bear the flood of Maria's
surprises and regrets, before she could succeed in saying that he was
very sorry for yesterday's improper behaviour, and had come to ask
pardon.
Grandmamma was placable; Gilbert's white face and red eyes were
pleading enough, and she was distressed at Mrs. Kendal having come
out, looking pale and tired. If she had been alone, the only danger
would have been that the offence would be lost in petting; but Maria
had been personally wounded, and the jealousy she already felt of the
step-mother, had been excited to the utmost by Gilbert's foolish
words.
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