ted, and ill-used. If
_only_ Mother would come!

All sorts of fancies, too, began to make the dark corners of the room
dreadful, and chief amongst them loomed the form of Aunt Enticknapp just
as Freddie had pictured her that day. In another minute Susan felt she
should scream out with fear; but she must not do it, because it would
frighten Freddie, and make Mother so angry. What was that sudden gleam
on the wall? The fire or the lamps? Neither, because it jigged about
too much; it was the light of a candle, coming nearer and nearer, and
there was a step on the stairs at last. Almost directly someone gave
the half-open door a little push and came quickly into the room; it was
Mother in her pink dressing-gown which Susan always thought so
beautiful, and her fair hair all plaited up in one long tail for the
night. She came up to the bed, shading the flame of the candle with one
hand:

"What, awake?" she said, "and crying! Oh, naughty Susan! What's the
matter?"

Susan gulped down her tears. It was all right now that mother had not
forgotten to come.

"I thought you weren't coming," she said.

"Well, but here I am, you see. And now you must be a good little girl,
and go to sleep directly. Kiss me and lie down."

In another second Mother would be out of the room again Susan knew. She
put up her hand and took hold of the lace frilling round the neck of the
pink dressing-gown to keep her from going away.

"I've got something to ask you," she whispered eagerly.

"Well, what is it? Make haste, there's a good child, for I must go to
Freddie; he's very restless to-night."

Susan's head felt in a whirl. What should she ask first? She must do
it directly, or Mother would be gone. It all seemed confusion, and at
last she could only stammer out:

"What's her other name? Is she cross?"

"Whose? Oh, you little goose, you mean Aunt Enticknapp, I suppose. Her
name is Hannah. She's a very nice kind old lady, and she'll spoil you
dreadfully, I don't doubt. Now Susan," in a graver tone, "remember
you've promised not to give trouble, and if you're going to cry it will
trouble me very much. You must think of poor Freddie and not be silly
and selfish, but go away cheerfully on Monday. Will you?"

"Are you coming with me?" asked Susan, lifting her large eyes anxiously
to her mother's face.

"All the way to Ramsgate! No, indeed, I shouldn't have time. You know
we start ourselves the next day. Maria's goi