occurring. But, be that as it may, she is in extreme danger
of her life."

"Thank you," said Rosamund.

"Then you don't want to say anything more?"

"I don't think I do."

"I will come in again to-night. The child's case is interesting. She is
a dear little creature."

The doctor went away, and Rosamund entered the schoolroom. The girls
were trying to perform their usual tasks. Irene was bending over a
history-book. There was such a sadness now pervading the house, such a
necessary stillness, that all life seemed to have gone out of it. The
wintry weather continued, and it was as gloomy outside as in. Miss
Archer was in vain explaining a rather interesting point in English
history, to which no one was attending much, when Rosamund entered the
room. All the girls seemed to feel that she had news.

She had. She marched up to the top of the room and stood there. Irene
only raised her head; but Lucy, who was pale and had black shadows under
her eyes, and Phyllis Flower, who had certainly looked far from well for
the last fortnight, glanced at her with considerable interest.

"I have something to say," said Rosamund.

There was a dead silence for a moment; then Miss Archer said, "I am
giving my history lecture, my dear."

"You will postpone it, for life--human life--is more precious than facts
in old history," said Rosamund.

"Certainly, my dear," said Miss Archer in quite a meek voice; and she
sat down and prepared to listen with as much interest as the others.

"It is this," said Rosamund. "Little Agnes Frost--I have just seen the
doctor--is most dangerously ill." Phyllis Flower gave a gasp. "I won't
go into the particulars of her illness; but the doctor says that unless
a certain load of terror can be immediately removed from her mind she
will die. Yes, she will die. Now, girls, it is quite plain to me, as it
is doubtless to all of you, that a most cruel practical joke was played
on little Agnes. Some people can stand practical jokes; some people
cannot. But those who are cruel enough to exercise them upon little
children are really too contemptible even to be spoken about. I wish
this girl or that girl joy who knows that she may be the cause of the
death of so sweet a child as Agnes Frost."

Irene lifted a face of agony. She struggled to speak, but no words came.

"You most of you think," continued Rosamund, who had watched Irene, and
saw the look on her face, "that my friend Irene Ashleigh is the guilty