I wish you could," said the child nervously.

"But I can't. I have an awfully stiff piece of work to get through
before the morning, and I am determined to be first in my form,
otherwise Lucy Merriman will get ahead of me, and that she shall not."

"But I sha'n't be nervous really."

"No, of course not, dear. What is there to be nervous about?"

Irene was really absorbed in an intricate calculation which she had to
make with regard to a very advanced sum, and sat down at a distant
table, and forgot for the time being even little Agnes. Agnes,
therefore, went up to bed alone. There was no Miss Frost to help her to
undress, there was no one to take any notice of her, and there were the
fearful stories that Lucy kept hinting at ringing in her ears. Yes,
Irene had done dreadful things. Yes, she had. But Irene to her was
perfect. She had no fear with her; she was happy with her. But then,
Lucy Merriman had said that that was because little Agnes was so well
protected. She had Rosamund sleeping practically in the same room, and
Miss Frost, her own sister, not far away. Irene did not dare to do
anything dreadful. But she had done dreadful things. She had nearly
killed poor Miss Carter. She had made her own beloved sister swallow
insects instead of pills. In short, she was just what Lucy had described
her to be. And Lucy had said another dreadful thing to-night. She had
hinted that Irene was not exactly to blame, for she was not like an
ordinary girl; she was a sort of fairy girl. Now, Agnes had read several
fairy-tales, and knew, supposing such a wonderful thing as a fairy
really lived in the world, that she might be influenced by some other
fairies, who would guide her, and help her, and force her to do things
whether she liked them or not. But still she never would be unkind to
little Agnes.

"It is a perfect shame of me even to think of it," said the little girl
to herself. "I am ever so sleepy, but still I'll just look under the
pillow. Oh, suppose Fuzz or Buzz were there, wouldn't I just scream with
terror?"

But the pillow was quite innocent and harbored no obnoxious thing; the
bed was smooth and white as usual; and little Agnes undressed, not quite
as carefully as when Miss Frost was looking after her, and getting into
bed, laid her head on the pillow, and presently fell fast asleep.

She had not been asleep more than a quarter of an hour before the room
door was opened most carefully (the lock had been oiled in