had not made that horrible blunder, she would have had the whole
household waiting on her, talking about her and being sympathetic! Oh!

May brought a chair to the bed, and began to smooth the dark hair away
from Gwen's face.

"I think you would be cooler with those handkerchiefs off," she said. "I
can't get to your forehead very well with the Eau-de-Cologne."

Gwen signified her consent with a deep sigh, and May slipped the bandage
off and put it away on the dressing-table.

Then she dabbed some of the Eau-de-Cologne softly on to the girl's
forehead.

"I suppose you _know_," whispered Gwen, as the scent of the perfume came
into her nostrils.

"Yes," said May.

"I hope the servants don't know," groaned Gwen.

"I don't think any one knows, but just ourselves," said May, in a
soothing voice; "and no one but ourselves need know about it."

"Oh, it's horrible!" groaned Gwen again. "I can't bear it!"

"It is hard to bear," said May, as she smoothed the girl's brow.

After a little silence Gwendolen suddenly said--

"You don't believe in that ghost?"

"The ghost?" said May, a little surprised at this sudden deviation from
the cause of Gwendolen's grief.

"You thought it was silly?" said Gwen, tentatively.

"Not silly, but fanciful," said May.

Gwendolen moved her head. "I think I was; but I still see him, and I
don't want to. I have begun to think about him, now, this evening. I had
forgotten before----"

"You must make up your mind not to think of it. It isn't a real person,
Gwen."

Gwendolen still kept her head slightly round towards May Dashwood,
though she had her eyes closed so as not to interfere with the movements
of May's hand on her brow.

"Do you think the devil does things?" she asked in an awed voice.

May hesitated for a moment and then said: "We do things, and some of us
call it the devil doing things."

"Then you don't believe in the devil?" asked Gwendolen, opening her
eyes.

"I don't think so, Gwen," said May. "But God I am sure of."

Gwendolen lay still for a little while. She was thinking now of her
troubles.

"You don't do any wrong things?" asked Gwendolen, tentatively.

"We all do wrong things," said May.

"I mean wrong things that people make a fuss about," said Gwendolen,
thinking of Mrs. Potten, and the drawing-room at Potten End.

"Some things are more wrong than others," said May. "It depends upon
whether they do much harm or not."

Gwendolen pondered. This was a