Poor little Emmie was not a general favorite, and no relief parties had as yet charged up the garret stairs; no odd-shaped parcels had been smuggled under black silk aprons, and passed on by sleight of hand under Miss Titheridge's very nose; nevertheless, comfort was close at hand. As Queenie closed the door of the little parlour she could hear the voices of the girls in the lower entry. There was not a moment to be lost if she wished to elude discovery. As she sped up the broad stone staircase she could hear the harsh, rebuking tones of Miss Tozer, the English governess, with her favorite "Silence, young ladies, if you please; no infringement of the rules can be permitted." Queenie knew well what she would see as she opened the garret door--the line of stooping shoulders against the light, the childish figure cowering down on the high, broad window-ledge; but she was hardly prepared for the words that greeted her. "I am not a bit afraid; I have said my prayers twice over; but I sha'n't open my eyes till you speak." "Em, darling, what do you mean?" exclaimed her sister, much startled. "Why it is only I, only Queenie." A gasp and long-drawn sigh of relief answered her, and then a pair of cold arms were thrown delightedly round her neck, and a still colder cheek laid against her own. "Oh, you dear old thing to come to me. However did you manage it, with the Ogre and the Griffin at home?" by which delightful sobriquets Miss Titheridge and Fraulein were often designated. "Never mind how I managed it; I was determined to see you for a moment. I shall not be able to stop; the gong will sound for tea directly. Tell me what you meant just now." "Oh, it was nonsense; you will be angry with me," returned Emmie, in a queer, ashamed voice, but nevertheless creeping closer to her sister. "Am I ever angry with you, darling?" "Never, never," vehemently; "only of course you must think it silly." "What if I do?" with reassuring calmness. "At twelve years old one ought to be wiser," returned poor Emmie, in a self-convicted tone. "Of course I knew there was no old man wrapped in a cloak in that corner, only it was so dark, and Jane had forgotten to bring me a candle, and the stairs would creak, and there was such a funny noise, and----" "Oh, Em, Em!" exclaimed her sister, in such a troubled voice that the child could only hang about her fondly, and promise not to be so silly any more. "It was so wrong and foolish of me," continued Emmie, penitently, "after all the beautiful stories you have told me about guardian angels; but I suppose I am wicked because I can't bear the dark; and when there is a great silence I always seem to hear voices like little men underground, talking and laughing in a muffled sort of way; oh, such funny little voices, only they are not quite nice."