CHAP, XIV.—MY MASTER’S PUPILS.

YYVHE sound of my master’s voice ceased at last ;
but I made no remark—I could not. It had
dawned upon me some time before, why and with
what intent my master was thus dwelling upon his
sister’s history ; and I listened with burning cheeks
and downcast eyes, utterly self-condemned and re-
pentant. It was not my mastcr’s way to force a
moral home; and when I did look up, I only met the
calm, kindly eyes, fixed with a gentle, enquiring
look upon my own. My impulse was to throw
myself at his feet, and give way to a flood of tears,
while I confessed my folly and besought his pardon.
But I only said, “I am very sorry, sir. I have

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been behaving very badly, but I will try
here the tears would not be kept back, and I was
forced to stop.

“T believe it, my son; I believe it,” replied my
master. Then he turned back to the window, and
presently continued in a quiet, narrative voice—