Then he began to wonder what punishment he would get; perhaps he would be sent to some very strict school where only bad boys were sent—he had heard of such places—and perhaps little Dorothy, and even Ronald, would not be allowed to see him or to talk about the brother who had brought such disgrace on them all.
Bitter tears filled his eyes at the thought; and yet, mingling with the bitterness and deep sense of shame, there was a feeling of relief that now, at all events, the truth was known, and he need not go about with the awful fear of discovery hanging over him.
A footstep sounded on the stair. Was it his father? His face flushed at the thought of seeing him again. But no, it was too light a step for his, and it was Ronald who pushed the door open and looked cautiously into the room.
His face brightened when he saw that his brother was awake. ‘Look here, old fellow,’ he said, crossing over to where Vivian lay, and shaking a yellow envelope in his face, ‘this came in half-an-hour ago, and father said I might bring it up to you when you were awake. It’s good news this time,’ and his voice shook a little. ‘It’s to say that Isobel is better, so you see God has answered our prayers after all.’
With trembling hands Vivian took the piece of flimsy paper, and read the words which it contained: ‘Isobel distinctly better. Doctors hopeful.’ Then he lay back on his pillow and gazed out of the window without speaking, but with such a curious gladness on his face that Ronald, standing by, dared not break the silence.
To Vivian that message of good news seemed a sign and seal of forgiveness. After all, God had not forsaken him in spite of his sin. ‘And when he was yet a long way off, his father saw him, and had compassion on him.’ The old story seemed very real to the little boy then. It had been told by holy lips, many hundreds of years ago, to a crowd of eager listeners in Galilee; but with a great rush of gladness he felt that it was as true to-day as it was then. He was the prodigal son. He had wandered into a far country—a country of sin and shame and falsehood—and yet, the moment he had turned his face in the direction of the Father’s home, the moment he had shown his repentance by his confession, the Father had heard him, and had had compassion on him, and had answered the unspoken prayer which he had not even dared to offer. And if God had been so ready to help him in his sore need and anxiety, would He not also help him in the ordeal which lay before him, when every one who up till now had loved him and thought much of him would learn what manner of boy he really was.