He had been hovering about her ever since six o'clock in almost
a pitiable way.
It was characteristic of this small boy that when he had been tempted
into departing from the paths of truth he was absolutely wretched
until he had confessed, and rubbed his little unclean hands into
his wet eyes until he was "a sight to dream of, not to tell."
Pip said it was because he was a coward, and had not the moral
courage to go to sleep with a lie on his soul, for fear he might
wake up and see an angel with a fiery sword standing by his
bedside. And I must sorrowfully acknowledge this seemed a truer
view of the case than believing the boy was really impressed
with the heinousness of his offence and anxious to make amends.
For the very next day, if occasion sufficiently strong offered,
he would fall again, and the very next night would creep up to
somebody and whimper, with his knuckles in his eyes, that he had
"t--t--told a s--s--story, boo--hoo!"
By seven o'clock this particular, evening he was miserably
repentant; several tears had trickled down, his cheeks and mingled
with the ink of the map he was engaged upon for Miss Marsh. He
established himself at Meg's elbow, and kept looking up into her
face in a yearning love-and-forgive-me kind of way that she found
infinitely embarrassing; for she had begun to suspect, from his
strange conduct, that he had in some way learned the contents
of her note, and was trying to discourage her from her enterprise.
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