"Now, Emmie, do you know this is quite absurd," returned her sister, suppressing I know not what pangs of pity and fond terror, and trying to speak firmly. "I wonder what mamma would say if she knew her little girl were such a coward, and thought such foolish things. I don't think we ought to be afraid in the darkness which God has made," continued Queenie, whose healthy young vitality knew none of the mysterious terrors that afflict weaker and more imaginative temperaments. "And then we are never alone, dear, never in any sense of the word. I am sure our good guardian spirit would never be allowed to leave us for a moment." "It would be nice if one saw the angel," replied the child, doubtfully. "Anyhow we must have faith, dear. I am afraid your head has ached terribly over those horrid lessons." "Yes, it has been pretty bad," in a patient voice. "And you are cold; oh, so cold, Emmie." "I got the creeps, you know, and that always makes me cold; but I can bear that," stoically. "The meat was burnt, and so you had hardly any dinner, and now Miss Titheridge says you must have no tea; you must be starved, absolutely starved," continued poor Queenie, rocking her in her strong young arms. "Not quite, I only feel rather sick," returned the little prisoner, bravely. Emmie would not have confessed for worlds the odd gnawing and emptiness that preceded her feelings of sickness. She was somewhat dainty and fastidious with regard to food, and the burnt flavor had so nauseated her that she had literally eaten nothing of the portion sent her. No wonder she had the creeps, as she phrased it in her childish way, and she was shivering with cold and superstitious terror. "You are making me miserable," returned Queenie, in a broken voice. "I am punished as well as you, Emmie. Are you sure that you really attend in class? Fraulein declares that you never know your lessons." "I wish Miss Titheridge would not insist on my learning that tiresome German," sighed Emmie. "She wants me to keep up with May Trever. May is ever so much stupider than I," continued Em, with no special regard to grammar; "but Fraulein never raps her over the knuckles with a ruler, or gives her disgrace tickets." "Because May Trever is a canon's daughter," returned her sister, bitterly. "She is not poor, or friendless, or an orphan--three sins for which we must answer. But tell me truly, do you try your hardest to please Fraulein?" "I do, I do indeed," protested the child, earnestly. "Sometimes I know my lesson quite perfectly, and then, when she looks at me with those hard steel eyes, and comes out with that sharp 'Now, little Meess, now,'"--with a faint, dreary attempt at mimicry,--"it all goes out of my head; and then the mark is put down, and I go on from bad to worse. I don't think I am really stupid, Queenie, but I am afraid I shall get so."