'He will always depend more on what you _do_ than on what you say.'
'But what can I do? all the schoolboy temptations that I know nothing about. And Elliot--O, Edmund! think of Elliot, and say if it is not dreadful that Mr. Lyddell should have the management of our own Gerald? Papa never could have known--'
'I think, while he is still so young, that there is not much harm to be apprehended from that quarter,' said Edmund; 'afterwards, I believe I may promise you that he shall not be left entirely to Oakworthy training.'
'And,' said Marian, 'could you not make him promise to keep away from the stables? Those men--and their language--could you not, Edmund?'
'I could, but I would not,' said Edmund. 'I had rather that, if he transgresses, he should not break his word as well as run into temptation. There is no such moral crime in going down to the stables, as should make us willing to oblige him to take a vow against it.'
'Would it not keep him out of temptation?'
'Only by substituting another temptation,' said Edmund. 'No, Marian; a boy must be governed by principles, and not by promises.'
'Principles--people are always talking of them, but I don't half understand what they are,' said Marian.
'The Creed and the Ten Commandments are what I call principles,' said Edmund.
'But those are promises, Edmund.'
'You are right, Marian; but they are not promises to man.'
'I could do better if I had any one to watch me, or care about me,' said Marian.
Edmund's face was full of sadness. 'We--I mean you, are alone indeed, Marian; but, depend upon it, it is for the best. We might be tempted not to look high enough, and you have to take heed to yourself for Gerald's sake.'
'I do just sometimes feel as I ought,' said Marian; 'but it is by fits and starts. O, Edmund, I would give anything that you were not going.'
'It is too late now,' said Edmund, 'and there are many reasons which convince me that I ought not to exchange. In a year or two, when I have my promotion, I hope to return, and then, Marian, I shall find you a finished young lady.'
Marian shuddered.
'Poor child,' said Edmund, laughing.
'And you are going home,' said Marian, enviously.
'Home, yes,' said Edmund, in a tone which seemed as if he did not think himself an object of envy.
'Yes, the hills and woods,' said Marian, 'and the Wortleys.'
'Yes, I am very glad to go,' said Edmund. 'Certainly even the being hackneyed cannot spoil the beauty or the force of those lines of Gray's.'
'What, you mean, 'Ah! happy hills; ah! pleasing shade?''
'Yes,' said Edmund, sighing and musing for some minutes before he again spoke, and then it was very earnestly. 'Marian, you must not go wrong, Gerald must not--with such parents as yours----.' Marian did not answer, for she could not; and presently he added, 'It does seem strange that such care as my uncle's should have been given to me, and then his own boy left thus. But, Marian, you must watch him, you must guard him. If you are in real difficulty or doubt how to act, you have the Wortleys; and if you see anything about which you are seriously uneasy with regard to him, write to me, and I will do my utmost, little as that is.'
