"I wonder if I could trust you children to go out alone this morning," said Mrs. Ferrars. "I don't want to deprive nurse of her holiday, and I must see Cousin Lily: she is not so well to-day."

"Oh! yes, mother," cried Dolly and Ralph together. "May we go on the ice?"

"Well, it is just because I said you might, that I feel a little anxious," said Mrs. Ferrars, stroking Dolly's fair hair. "My Dolly sometimes forgets mother's wishes for her own; still, as it is the last day at home, I feel inclined to trust you."

"Of course, mother," said Ralph confidently, "I'll take care of Dolly; all the boys will be there, and heaps of people we know."

"You won't skate beyond the point?" said mother; "never mind if the others do or not; remember you are both on your honor."

Full of delight, the children bounded off, skates in hand, and soon arrived at the gay scene by the frozen lake. The ice was already crowded with skaters, big and little, and Ralph and Dolly espied two or three of their friends as busy as themselves fastening on skates.

The band played, the sun shone, and merry voices and laughter echoed through the frosty air.

"Let's have races!" cried Frank, one of Ralph's schoolfellows. "You take your sister, I'll take mine."

They all four flew across the ice, backwards and forwards again and again, Frank and his sister winning at every turn.

"Now change partners," said Frank, pairing off with Dolly, "perhaps that will be fairer."

"I'm rather tired of going over the same road," said Dolly presently, as she and Frank stood resting, while the other two ran a short race by themselves. "It looks so lovely out there. A broad sheet of ice without any one on it, and all the trees at the foot of the terrace bending over the lake. See, Frank, icicles are hanging from every twig; wouldn't you like to go close to them?"

"Perhaps it isn't safe," replied Frank. "No one seems to venture so far; I shouldn't wonder if the ice were thin."

"But our weight would be nothing on such a great space," urged Dolly. "I don't mean far off, only just beyond the point."

Mother's words came back to her, but mother did not know. She was not there to see how beautiful it all was, and of course Dolly did not mean to run into danger.

They began skating near the point. Again Dolly turned towards the terrace.

"Oh, Frank! I must," she said. "I see a long icicle like a sword with a hilt; it's on a low branch—you can reach it for me." She sped away, and Frank followed. In a moment they were side by side, and close to the coveted icicle. As Frank raised himself to grasp it, he saw a thin stream of water welling up from beneath the ice on to the bank. He seized Dolly's hand. "Back, back!" he cried wildly. "The ice is giving, we shall go in." Away they fled. The ice creaked, but their weight was light, and once more the point was gained in safety.

"Dolly," said Ralph, hurrying up to his sister, "have you forgotten what mother said?"

"No," replied Dolly, trying to laugh, though really ready to cry after the fright she had undergone; "but mother isn't here to see the icicles. I wanted one for her, and—"

"We are on our honor," said Ralph, "and I trusted you too, when you went off with Frank."

Dolly's tears began to fall. "I won't tell tales of you," said Ralph. "Perhaps I am partly to blame, I ought not to have left you. Come and skate with me, now."

"I don't want to. I'll go home," said Dolly.

Mother did not come back to lunch. She sent round a note to say she was staying with Lily; and by and by when she returned, her heart was so full of sorrow for the suffering child that she forgot to ask about the morning's pleasure. If Dolly was silent, mother thought it was from sympathy with herself.

The next day school began. All thoughts of skating were banished; there was a prize to be fought for, and Dolly had set her heart on winning it.

Somehow the spirit that had hitherto animated her now failed. The world seemed all out of tune. Again and again she was on the point of confessing her wrong-doing, as mother bent above her for a good-night kiss. But weeks passed, and still the words remained unspoken. Ralph never mentioned the ice; yet Dolly fancied he had loved her less since that morning.

"You musn't be too anxious about the prize, Dolly, darling," said her mother, noticing the tired face, "or I am afraid you will fall ill from worry. I am quite glad to think the breaking-up party is to-morrow. Mind, dear, I shall not be disappointed if you fail. I can trust my child, and I know she has done her best."

Dolly flushed crimson. Her mother trusted her, and imagined she knew every thought of her childish heart. How little mother knew the misery Dolly was enduring!

All was excitement at the school. The prize-giving only took place once a year, and many and great were the hopes and fears on that eventful day. Some girls were of opinion that Dolly would carry off the coveted prize, others that she had lost ground of late, and failed utterly. Dolly, quite aware of her shortcomings, was yet vaguely longing for success. Her rival in the class was older and cleverer than herself, but without the perseverance that characterized Dolly, therefore Dolly hoped on until the prize-giving began.

Everything passed as in a dream, until Dolly's class was mentioned, when Miss Danvers, the head mistress, in a short speech declared that the prize had been won, after a severe struggle, by Lucy Trevor. At the same time she was giving a special prize, because of the good conduct and perfect uprightness and truth of the unsuccessful competitor. This prize she awarded to Dolly Ferrars. She held up a beautiful Bible, bound in white vellum.

"This is the prize of honor," she said.

Dolly's heart stood still. She had forgotten her disappointment about the class prize in an overwhelming sense of shame.

"Go up, Dolly," said mother proudly.

"I can't," said Dolly. "I—I—"

"Go on, darling," said mother, gently pushing her. And Dolly went.

In silence she accepted the Bible, and laid it on her mother's knee.

"I am so tired," she said.

"We will go now," whispered mother. "The excitement has been too much for you."

They slipped quietly away and returned home.

"Mother!" cried Dolly, as they were alone. "Oh, mother dear, I can't take that prize, I don't deserve it. I have failed in truth and honor. I am so miserable!"

Mrs. Ferrars, bewildered at Dolly's words, soothed her while she poured out the story of her conduct on the ice.

"And I have no right to the prize," she said. "What shall I do?"

"We will return it to Miss Danvers," said mother, gently; "at least for a time." She looked very pale and sad. "But, darling," she added, as she folded Dolly in her arms, "if you are really sorry and have through repentance learned to conquer in the fight between right and wrong, you are still a winner of the true prize of honor!"

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