when I lived at home. She used to take me out
walking," said Rose, pressing closer to his protecting breast, and
pausing as though still afraid of her own words.

"Well," he said, beginning to perceive, "and was it than that you saw
this Maddox?"

"Yes, he used to come and walk with us, and sit under the trees in
Kensington Gardens with her. And sometimes he gave me lemon-drops, but
they said if ever I told, the lions should have me. I used to think I
might be saved like Daniel; but after I told the lie, I knew I should
not. Mamma asked me why my fingers were sticky, and I did say it was
from a lemon-drop, but there were Maria's eyes looking at me; oh, so
dreadful, and when mamma asked who gave it to me, and Maria said, 'I
did, did not I, Miss Rose?' Oh, I did not seem able to help saying
'yes.'"

"Poor child! And you never dared to speak of it again?"

"Oh, no! I did long to tell; but, oh, one night it was written up in
letters of fire, 'Beware of the Lions.'"

"Terror must have set you dreaming, my dear."

"No," said Rose, earnestly. "I was quite awake. Papa and mamma were gone
out to dine and sleep, and Maria would put me to bed half an hour too
soon. She read me to sleep, but by-and-by I woke up, as I always did at
mamma's bed time, and the candle was gone, and there were those dreadful
letters in light over the door."

She spoke with such conviction that he became persuaded that all was not
delusion, and asked what she did.

"I jumped up, and screamed, and opened the door; but there they were
growling in papa's dressing-room."

"They, the lions? Oh, Rose, you must know that was impossible."

"No, I did not see any lions, but I heard the growl, and Mr. Maddox
coughed, and said, 'Here they come,' and growled again."

"And you--?"

"I tumbled into bed again, and rolled up my head in the clothes, and
prayed that it might be day, and it was at last!"

"Poor child! Indeed, Rose, I do not wonder at your terror, I never heard
of a more barbarous trick."

"Was it a trick?" said Rose, raising a wonderfully relieved and hopeful
face.

"Did you never hear of writing in phosphorus, a substance that shines at
night as the sea sometimes does?"

"Aunt Ailie has a book with a story about writing in fiery letters, but
it frightened me so much that I never read to the end."

"Bring it to me, and we will read it together, and then you will see
that such a cruel use can be made of phosphorus."

"It was unkind of