"I wish," he said earnestly, "I do wish, Bubbles, that you and I could have a nice, old-fashioned Christmas. They sent up to-night to know if Mr. Varick would allow some of his holly to be cut for decorating the church--why shouldn't we go down to-morrow and help? Do, Bubbles--to please me!" "I will," she said penitently. "I will, dearest." Donnington sighed--a short, quick sigh. He could remember the exquisite thrill it had given him when she had first uttered the word--in a crowd of careless people. Now, when Bubbles called him "dearest" it did not thrill him at all, for he knew she said it to a great many people--and yet it always gave him pleasure to hear her utter the dear, intimate little word to him. "Get up and go to bed, you naughty girl!" he said good-humouredly, but there was a great deal of tenderness in his low, level tone. She rose quickly to her feet. All her movements were quick and lightsome and free. There was a touch of Ariel about Bubbles, so Bill Donnington sometimes told himself. They walked up the few shallow steps together, she still very close to him. And then, when they were opposite her door, she exclaimed, but in a very low whisper: "Now you must say the prayer with me--for me!" "The prayer? What _do_ you mean, Bubbles?" "You know," she muttered: "Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, Bless the bed that I lie on-- "What's after that?" she asked. He went on, uttering the quaint words very seriously, very reverently: "Four corners to my bed, Four Angels round my head; One to watch and one to pray, One to keep all fears away"-- "No," she exclaimed fretfully. "'One to keep my soul in bed.' That's what _I_ say. I don't want my poor little soul to go wandering about this beautiful, terrible old house when I'm asleep. Good-night, Goody goody!" She put up her face as a child might have done, and he bent down and kissed her, as he might have kissed a wilful, naughty child who had just told him she was sorry for something she had done. "God bless you," he said huskily. "God bless and keep you from any real harm, Bubbles my darling." CHAPTER VI As regarded Lionel Varick, the second day of his house-party at Wyndfell Hall opened most inauspiciously, for, when approaching the dining-room, he became aware that the door was not really closed, and that Mr. Burnaby and his niece were having what seemed to be an animated and even angry discussion. "I don't like this place, and I don't care for your fine friend, Mr. Varick--" Such was the very unpleasant observation which the speaker's unlucky host overheard. There came instant silence when he pushed open the door, and Helen with heightened colour looked up, and exclaimed: "My uncle has to go back to London this morning. Isn't it unfortunate? He's had a letter from an old friend who hasn't been in England for some years, and he feels he must go up and spend Christmas with _him_, instead of staying with us here."