Gilbert only put him back, saying,
'You had better go away from me, Maurice: you cannot understand what
I have done. Pray Heaven yon may never know what I feel!'
Maurice did but cling the tighter, and though Mr. Kendal had not yet
addressed the culprit, he respected the force of that innocent love
too much to interfere. The bell rang, and they went down, Maurice
still holding by his brother, and when his uncle met them, it was
touching to see the generous little fellow hanging back, and not
giving his own hand till he had seen Gilbert receive the ordinary
greeting.
Though Mr. Ferrars had been told nothing, he could not but be aware
of the symptoms of a family crisis--the gravity of some, and the
pale, jaded looks of others. Lucy was not one of these; she came
down with little Albinia in her arms, and began to talk rather
airily, excusing herself for not having come down in the evening
because that 'horrid ink' had got into her hair, and tittering a
little over the absurdity of her having picked up the inkstand in the
dark. Not a word of response did she meet, and her gaiety died away
in vague alarm. Sophy, the most innocent, looked wretched, and
Maurice absolutely began to cry again, at the failure of some
manoeuvre to make his father speak to Gilbert.
His tears broke up the breakfast-party. His mother led him away to
reason with him, that, sad as it was, it was better that people
should be grieved when they had transgressed, as the only hope of
their forgiveness and improvement.
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