Then I started up, struck with a feeling of remorse that Essie had missed her accustomed twilight story for the first time this winter. I smoothed my hair and hurried into the nursery. Silence reigned there; Félicie sat by the dim light, quietly pursuing her work. I asked for Essie, and she rather sullenly pointed to the bed. It was unusual for her to sleep at this hour; indeed at all hours she was a light sleeper, and I had never before known her to be willing to lie down even in the daytime, so it was with some surprise that, on stooping down, I saw she was sleeping, and sleeping heavily. "Why does she sleep so soundly, Félicie?" I said, looking up. "Because she's sleepy, I suppose, mademoiselle," she answered, rather shortly. It was not worth while being angry with the woman, and indeed I did not feel like resenting any impertinence to myself, as I looked down at the quiet face of the little girl. Asleep, and free from the haggard, restless expression that her features ordinarily wore, she was almost pretty, almost child-like, but even in sleep there was a weary look about her that was pitiful. "Poor little mite," I murmured, "I've been unkind to you all day. Why won't you wake up and kiss me?" But she did not wake; and when, in the selfishness of my self-reproach, I lifted her up and kissed her, in the hope that it would rouse her, the little arms fell down, limp and lifeless, and the little head sunk heavily back on the pillow, and she slept on unmoved. My interference in the morning had not been without its effect; as I left by one door, my aunt entered by another. She had been up twice since morning, and I could see she was uneasy; but, looking down at the child, I heard her say, in a tone of relief: "Ah! she's sleeping nicely now!" and the voice of Félicie responded blandly. I think it was a load off her mind, for at dinner she was unusually affable. Phil and Captain McGuffy were dining with us, and were to accompany us in the evening. The captain was extremely gracious to me; and as on former occasions he had appeared as nearly unconscious of my presence as was possible, I simply concluded that the sagacious captain was like the rest of the world, and was better satisfied to trust looking through his neighbors' glasses than through his own. "Ever so many people," he said to me, as the soup was being removed (the captain rarely conversed much while there was anything engrossing on the table), "ever so many people have asked me about sending you invitations, and I've told 'em by all means; for you certainly were going out." "Why didn't you remind them of Grace and Esther, and let them have the whole of the nursery, while they were about it?" asked Josephine, scornfully.