"You must not be agitated, darling; there's nothing. You have been asleep, and I suppose you have had a dream. Were you asleep?" Lady Haworth had caught her sister fast by the arm with both hands, and was looking wildly in her face. "Have _you_ heard nothing?" she asked, again looking towards the wall of the room, as if she expected to hear a voice through it. "Nonsense, darling; you are dreaming still. Nothing; there has been nothing to hear. I have been awake ever since; if there had been anything to hear, I could not have missed it. Come, sit down. Sip a little of this water; you are nervous, and over-tired; and tell me plainly, like a good little soul, what is the matter; for nothing has happened here; and you ought to know that the Three Nuns is the quietest house in England; and I'm no witch, and if you won't tell me what's the matter, I can't divine it." "Yes, of course," said Mary, sitting down, and glancing round her wildly. "I don't hear it now; _you_ don't?" "Do, my dear Mary, tell me what you mean," said Lady Walsingham kindly but firmly. Lady Haworth was holding the still untasted glass of water in her hand. "Yes, I'll tell you; I have been so frightened! You are right; I had a dream, but I can scarcely remember anything of it, except the very end, when I wakened. But it was not the dream; only it was connected with what terrified me so. I was so tired when I went to bed, I thought I should have slept soundly; and indeed I fell asleep immediately; and I must have slept quietly for a good while. How long is it since I left you?" "More than an hour."