Chapter XVI: 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.

"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.