'Well, we never had the like of this before!' said Felix, coming down, having locked him in, and heard him begin to bounce about the barrack, like prisoners in the breaking-out frenzy. 'Can it be all about the clothes?'

'I don't think you know what a grievance the having to take to old ones has always been to him, poor little boy!' said Cherry, very nearly crying, for Bernard was so much her own child, that in spite of his having cast her off, she was in full instinct of defence; 'and he dislikes Lance's most of all, because of the Cathedral peculiarities.'

'Ah! you have always humoured him by taking off that chorister's frill,' said Wilmet; 'but there could be no objection to those trousers. They were almost new when Fulbert left them, and Lance has only had them for best one winter.'

Felix could not help laughing. 'Long had she worn, and now Belinda wears,' he quoted. 'My dear Mettie, the effect is better than the detail. You should spare us the pedigree, however respectable.'

'Well, I said nothing about it,' said Wilmet. 'Was it what you said about petticoats, Lance?'

'Lance does tease and aggravate that child unbearably!' exclaimed Cherry, too much vexed not to be relieved to turn her blame upon somebody; 'and it is very unkind of him, for he knows Bernard cannot bear to be laughed at.'

'Hush! Cherry,' said Wilmet; 'if Lance did, he didn't mean it. It has been quite too much—'

'Indeed it has, said Felix. 'You had better lie down at once, Lance.'

A good deal more than Bernard's outbreak had gone to the pain and dizziness that prevented Lance from even attempting to reply to Cherry's accusation, but made him turn quietly back into his room; while Felix was obliged to hurry downstairs again; and Alda made her frequent remark that 'those boys were really unbearable.'

'Poor Lance! it was not his fault,' said Wilmet.

'You don't know, Wilmet!' said Cherry indignantly. 'I did hope that when he came home, my poor little Bernard might get better managed—he used to be so fond of him; but he has done nothing but worry and laugh at him, and I don't at all wonder it has come to this. I shall go up and see about the poor little fellow.'

'Do you mean to let her go and pet him after such outrageous naughtiness?' asked Alda, as Cherry moved to begin the difficult ascent.

'I should not do it myself,' said Wilmet; 'but I daresay she will do him good.'

Alda held up her hands in wonder. How many quarrels might have been going on at that moment, if three of the family at least had not exercised the forbearance she so little understood.

Cherry and her Lord Gerald mounted the attic stairs. It was for the first time in her life, and she was so imperfect in the geography of the upper floor, that she had to open one or two doors before she found 'the barrack,' with Bernard lying kicking his heels fiercely at the beam across the low room. The amazing presence of Geraldine suspended this occupation. 'How did you come here?' he gasped.

'I came to see you, Bear. My poor Bear! I am so sorry!' said Cherry, sitting down on one of the beds; 'how could you go on so?'

There was rebuke and pain in her voice, and Bernard resented it. 'They've no business to bait me,' he said. 'I've no peace in my life!'

'But that doesn't make it right to fly into such dreadful passions.'

'I wouldn't do it if they'd let me alone. I don't see why I should be the one to wear every one's nasty old clothes.'

'Why, Felix and Clement couldn't well wear yours!'

'It was all Lance's doing. Lance has bothered me out of existence ever since he came home.'

'But you should try to bear it, if he is a little cross and tiresome. You know he is not at all well yet, and all this has quite knocked him up.'

'I'm glad of it!' said Bernard viciously. 'Served him right for setting Wilmet on, and then drawing his abominable pictures; as if it wasn't enough to have spoilt all my pleasure, and sold Stingo!'

'What was Stingo?'

'Oh, just a dog—'

'A dog!'

'Yes, my dog; and Lance went and sold him, and then drew a beastly picture of him and me.'

'But, Bernard, how could you have a dog?'

'Oh, I bought him with some money Travis gave me, and a cad down in the town kept him for me; but then Travis didn't give me any more—'

'But, Bernard, you must have known you ought not. Did you get into debt?'

'Ay, just for a few shillings; and the brute threatened me so that I just asked Lance—'

'Was he such a dangerous dog? O Bear!'

'No, no—the man that kept him. I thought Lance would tackle him without making a row.'

'And did he?'

'Ay. He said he hadn't got a penny, and he kept me waiting ever so long; but I fancy he got it from Harewood. He might as well have let me keep Stingo!'

Cherry's views of the relations between Lance and Bernard had begun to adjust themselves, and she began to reason on the impropriety of keeping the dog; but she soon perceived that this was only ranging herself on the side of the enemy, and exciting the obduracy of her favourite, who was determined to be a victim. In truth, Bernard was not repentant enough to treat her with confidence, and his world was so entirely beyond her knowledge, that she did not possess the threads that would have led to it. All that she did perceive was, that much of Bernard's irritation was at the endeavour to keep him out of mischief, and that her own gentle persuasions were almost as distasteful as Lance's jests. She sat on, arguing, talking, entreating, till it had long been quite dark; and Wilmet at last came up to say that she must not stay any longer in the cold, and to ask Bernard whether he would say he was sorry.

'I didn't want her to come here bothering,' was Bernard's grateful remark.

'Well, I advise you to take care you are in a better mood before Felix comes,' said Wilmet.—'Come, Cherry, it is not safe for you to go down alone.'

Cherry could only entreat, 'Do, Bear, do,' and try to kiss the averted cheek.

She did not know that as soon as the door was shut on him and the little flicker of gas, Bernard fell into an anguish of sobs and tears, the work of her persevering love, softening and lessening the obstinate pride so far that the next visitors met with a much better reception than they might have done. The first came stumbling up with a weary step, and pushed open the door, saying, 'Here, Bear, don't bear malice. I'm awfully sorry I ever drew that thing! I'll never do you again. So shake hands, and have done with it.'

'All right,' returned Bernard, outstretching his hand as one who felt that amends were made him, but could not receive them graciously; and Lance's weary and confused senses were satisfied. He never perceived hard lumps of offence unless he ran his head very hard against them, and even now little guessed the amount of annoyance his raillery had given.

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