"Dear heart! That noise you hear is not the Halting Knight," said I. "I cannot tell you just what makes it, but very likely it is the wind knocking a branch of ivy against the wall. Do not think about such frightful things, but remember how you have asked God to take care of you, and think about the holy angels that he sends to have charge of us." Then I repeated the ninety-first psalm to her, and by degrees, she grew more composed. "So you don't think it is the Halting Knight?" said she, presently. "No, I don't," I answered: "and I will tell you why. If the knight was a good man when he was alive, and served God, I am sure he is in heaven, and that he would never care to come from that holy and happy place to walk up and down all night in the dark windy gallery. And if he is with wicked spirits, I am quite sure that God will not let him come out of prison to hurt them who put their trust in Him." So I soothed her to sleep, and the rest of the night she rested tranquilly. She has been better to-day, though not well enough to go out of doors, and I have tried in every way to keep her mind diverted. Poor thing, she has trouble enough, without any fanciful fears. _June 4._ My Lady asked me to-day some questions about my friends in London. I told her I had none except my aunt Willson and Felicia, who was also my aunt, though I had never called her so, we being brought up together, and so near of an age. I spoke warmly, as I felt, in praise of Aunt Willson, and told how nobly she had come forward to help us in our troubles. Then she asked me about Felicia. I hesitated, and then said, frankly: "To tell you the truth, my Lady, I would rather not talk of her. We were never good friends, and I am afraid I might say more than I ought." "Well, well!" said my Lady. "I will not ask you any more questions. My sister seems to think highly of her, but she is apt to take sudden fancies, especially when people are of her own way of thinking." "Felicia must have changed a good deal if she is of Lady Jemima's way of thinking," said I. "But she can be very pleasant when she pleases, and she is very pretty. I hope she gets on well with my Aunt Willson. I hope she will not be discontented, and go back to mother again. I was so glad she went away before I did." "Now you have told me all I wished to know," said my Lady. Then laughing merrily at my discomfiture, she bade me not be disturbed—she should think none the less of me. _June 8._ Mr. Penrose has finished all his decorations, and called me in to see them. There is a deal of gold lace and purple cloth, with silver-gilt candlesticks, and other trinkets, of which I do not even know the names. He would have me say how I liked it all. "Honestly?" said I. "Honestly, of course!" said he.