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Three-quarters of an hour later Rose was cuddled up in Christian's bed. When the two heads were almost touching, and the brown cheek and the pale one were pressed close together, and two little hands were clasped tightly under the bedclothes, then Christian began to unburden her mind. The door was shut; the house was quiet—that is, the nursery part of the house; Miss Thompson, the governess, had a headache, and would certainly not appear on the scene again until morning; nurse was noted for her deep and long sleep; the servants were far away. If father and mother came in long past midnight, they would not trouble Christian in her distant bedroom; she was safe. She felt that she was quite safe; but the feeling that if she were discovered she would most certainly be punished added to the fascination of the moment.

"Rose," she said, "I must not speak loud, but I have something most important to tell you. What do you think is going to happen?"

"Well, Miss Christian," replied Rose, "the whole house seems to be, so to speak, on a twitter. There's my great-aunt; she don't seem to know whether she's on her head or her heels. There's something up, but I don't know what it is."