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“Oh dear! oh dear!” cried little Prue, bursting into tears, “did it kill him?”

A merry laugh from Bernard, followed by a hearty chorus from the rest, restored bewildered little Prue to her senses. But Dudley went on very soberly.

“Bernard screamed as he went over, and with that scream all my anger died in a minute, and I sat down on the stairs, shaking from head to foot. Then I listened, but I didn’t hear a sound. I don’t know how long I sat there, but at last I got up very slowly, and began to come down just like an old man. It was so dreadfully still in the old castle, that I felt in a queer way, as if I must be very careful, too, and I stepped on my tip-toes, and held my breath. When I got to the foot, I felt as if a big hand held my heart tight, and when I tried to walk towards the spot where I thought Bernard must have fallen, I could not move a step. But after a great while–it seemed like a year–I managed to drag myself to the place, and, do you know, no one was there!”

“Why, where could he be?” cried the astonished children.

“Well, I thought he might have fallen, and rolled off under the stairs into that dreadful vault.”

“Oh, don’t have him get in there, please,” cried tender little Prue.

“Then,” said Dudley slowly, “I leaned over the vault, and called his name, ‘Bernard! Bernard!’ and then I jumped back, and almost screamed, for I thought some other boy had spoken. I did not know my own voice; it sounded so strange and solemn. But no one answered, and I dragged myself away, feeling as if that awful hand grew tighter on my heart, and thinking, as I went out of the door, how two of us went in, and why I was coming out alone. Then I sat down on the grass, and though it was warm summer weather, I shivered from head to foot, and I remember thinking to myself, ‘This queer boy sitting here isn’t Dudley Wylde–this boy couldn’t get angry, he’s as cold as an icicle–and Dudley Wylde’s heart used to beat, beat, oh! so lively and quick, but this boy’s heart is under a great weight, and will never stir again–this boy will never run again, nor laugh, nor care for anything–this boy isn’t, he can’t be Dudley Wylde;’ and I felt so sorry for him I almost cried. Then, all of a sudden, I remember, I began to work very hard. I picked up stones out of the path, and carried them a great way off, and worked till I was just ready to drop. Then I took some flowers, and picked them all to pieces–so curious to see how they were put together, and I worked at that till I was nearly wild with headache. Then I sat very still, and wondered if that boy who wasn’t, couldn’t be, Dudley Wylde–was ever going home; and then I thought that perhaps if he sat there a little while longer he would die, and that was the best thing that could happen to him, for then he would never hear any one say–‘Where is Bernard?‘ So I sat there in this queer way, waiting for the boy to die, when I heard a noise, and, looking up, saw–“

“Oh, what?” cried little Prue, clasping her hands, “a griffin, with claws?”

But Dudley could not speak, and Bernard went on. “It’s too bad for ‘Dud’ to tell that story, when he makes himself so much worse than he really was. I was as much to blame as he in that quarrel, and I ought to have had my share of the misery. You see, when he threw me over, my tippet caught on the rough edge of the railing, and held me just a minute, but that minute saved me, for in some way, I hardly know how, I swung in and dropped safely on the steps just under ‘Dud.’ Then I hurried into one of those queer little places in the wall, and hid, for I was angry, and meant to give him a good fright; and as I happened to have a little book in my pocket, I began to read, and got so interested that I forgot everything till it began to grow dark. Then I hurried down, wondering that everything was so still. But when I saw ‘Dud,'” said he, turning with an affectionate glance to his cousin, “I was frightened, for he was so changed I hardly knew him, and I was afraid he was dying. So I ran to him, and took him right in my arms, and called him every dear name I could think of; but he only stared at me, with the biggest, wildest eyes, you ever saw. ‘Dud,’ said I, ‘dear fellow, what is the matter, don’t you know me?’ Then all of a sudden he burst out crying. O girls! you never cried like that, and I hope you never will,–great big sobs, and I helped him. Then he flung his arms tight around my neck, and kissed me for the first time in his life–kissed me over and over, my cheeks and my hair and my hands, and then he laughed, and right in the midst cried as if his heart would break, and I began to understand that poor ‘Dud’ thought he had killed me. No one knows how long we laughed and cried, and kissed each other, but when we grew a little calmer we went back into the old castle, and on the very steps where we had our quarrel, we knelt down, holding each other’s hands, and promised always to love each other, and try to keep down our wicked tempers.”

“And we asked some one to help us to keep the resolution,” said Dudley, gently.

“Well, how is it!” said little Prue with a bewildered air; “was it you and ‘Dud‘ that went and knelt on the steps to pray?”

“Yes, ‘Dud’ and I.”

“Well then, what became of that other wicked boy that wasn’t Dudley Wylde at all?”

Another shout covered poor Prue with confusion, as Bernard answered,–

“Would you believe it, you dear little Prue, we have never seen anything of him from that day to this?”