Rosamund.

"You will lock it to-night, because I order you to," said Irene.

"I shall do nothing of the sort. It is my room, and I will do exactly as
I like."

Irene sat up in bed. Nothing could be more picturesque than her general
appearance. She was in the red frock that she usually wore; her wild
hair curled in elf-locks all over her head; her eyes, bright as stars,
shone in the middle of her little elfin face; her charming lips pouted
just for a moment. Then she said in a clear tone, "What if I get up and
strike you right across the face? Will you lock the door in preference
to that?"

"I will not lock the door."

Like a flash, Irene was out of bed and had struck Rosamund a resounding
blow on her cheek. Rosamund felt the blow tingling, but she stood firm.

"Will you lock the door now?"

"No."

"What if I give you a blow on the other cheek?"

"Here it is for your majesty," said Rosamund, turning her other cheek to
the foe.

Irene burst into a laugh.

"What a creature you are! But you know we are in danger. I have such a
lot to say to you, and any one may nab us. Won't you lock the door just
to please me? I won't slap you any more. I am sorry I hurt your dear
cheek. I came because I could not help myself, and because I could not
live without you any longer. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and no
sign of you, and I just hungered for you. I am pining for you through
all the days and all the nights, through every hour, in the midst of
every meal; not speaking about you, for that is not my way, but just
hungering and hungering, and yet you say you will not lock the door."

"No, Irene; and you ought not to be here. What is to be done?"

Poor Rosamund had never felt more bewildered in her life. She had given
her word of honor; and her word of honor was, to her, worthy of respect.
She had never yet broken it. Should she break it now? Irene looked at
her for a few minutes in wonder. The two girls were standing in the
centre of the room, for, of course, Irene was fully dressed. Compared to
Rosamund, she was a small girl, for Rosamund was tall and exceedingly
well developed for her age. Irene was a couple of years younger, but she
was as lithe as steel. Her little fingers could crush and destroy if
they pleased. Her thin arms were muscular to a remarkable degree for so
young a girl. She had not a scrap of superfluous flesh on her body. At
this moment she looked more spirit than girl; and if Rosamund could h