t to tell
her that you love her more than ever, and that you trust her more than
ever. Now, will you or will you not? If you will not, I believe that all
our efforts will be fruitless, and Irene will become just as bad as
ever. But if you do, you will have done a brave and noble act. You are
not a coward, Agnes; you are a girl with a good deal of character, when
all is said and done, and you ought to exercise it now for your friend.
Just think what she has done for you. Think what she has done for your
sister, and"----

"It was to Emmie that she gave the awful wood-lice," said Agnes.

"She did it as an ignorant girl, not in the least knowing the danger and
the naughtiness of her own trick. I do not pretend to defend her; but
she would not do such a thing now to anybody, and certainly not to you.
And yet, because you hear a few bad stories about her, you give up the
girl who has sheltered and loved and petted you; who has influenced Lady
Jane to make your brother a gentleman, not a shopman; who will help you
all through your life, as you, darling, are helping her. Oh! I know you
are a little girl, and cannot understand perhaps all that I say; but if
you give Irene up to-night I shall be in despair."

Tears came to Rosamund's bright eyes. She sat quite still, looking at
the child.

"I won't give her up! I won't be frightened at all. I will run back to
her now."

"There's a darling! Go this very second. Where are your slippers? Here
is your little blue dressing-gown. You will find her in my room. I won't
go back for a minute or two, for I will explain to Frosty. Now, off with
you, and remember that I am close to you; but you needn't even think of
that, for Irene herself would fight the fiercest and most savage
creature to shield and protect you, little Agnes."

It seemed to little Agnes as Rosamund spoke that the terrors that Lucy's
words had inspired rolled away as though they had never existed. The
brightness came back to her pretty dark eyes. She put her small feet
into her little felt slippers, wrapped herself round with her little
blue dressing-gown, and ran down the corridor. It was too late for any
of the girls to be up, and the corridor was deserted. Lucy had gone to
bed, to wrestle and cry and wonder by what possible means she could
revenge herself on Rosamund Cunliffe.

Irene was sitting in Rosamund's room, feeling more and more that wild
living thing inside her--that wild thing that would not be subdued,