"Stay a minute, Rose," said Madame de Castella, laying her hand upon the impulsive girl. "Adeline, this person is very skilful; her judicious treatment did you a great deal of good in the spring. I feel inclined to ask her to come here now for a week." Adeline looked up from her writing, the faint colour in her cheeks becoming a shade brighter. "Surely, mamma, you do not think I require two nurses! It has seemed to me of late that the one already here is superfluous." "My dear child! don't suppose I wish her to come here as a nurse. Only for a few days, my child! it would be the greatest satisfaction to me. I'll say a word of explanation to the _garde_," added Madame, "or we shall make her jealous. These nurses can be very disagreeable in a house, if put out." She rang the bell as she spoke, and Rose made her escape, finding Mrs. Brayford in one of the downstairs rooms. Rose, a very Eve of curiosity, liking to know every one's business, whether it concerned her or not, as her mother did before her, poured out question upon question. Mrs. Brayford, not having the slightest objection to answer, told all she knew. Rose was rather indignant upon one point: why had they left the poor little fellow at Ypres? Why was he not taken to Alnwick? The nurse could not tell: Prance had been surprised too. She supposed Mrs. St. John was too much absorbed by grief to think of it. "Does Charlotte--does Mrs. St. John feel it _very_ much?" asked Rose. "Oh, miss! my firm belief is, that"--the woman stopped, glanced over her shoulder to see that they were alone, and lowered her voice to a whisper--"the sorrow has turned her brain." "Nonsense!" uttered Rose, after a pause. "You don't mean it!" "It's the truth, Miss Darling, I'm afraid. She was always having visions of--did you know, miss, that the eldest little boy died through an accident, a paper church taking fire that his nursemaid had left him alone with?" "Of course I know it," replied Rose. "That nursemaid ought to have been transported for life!" "Well, miss, poor Mrs. St. John used to fancy that she saw the boy with his lighted church. I heard of this first from little George; but after his death she was worse, and I witnessed one of these attacks myself. She seemed to have an awful dread of the vision. If her brain's not affected, my name's not Nancy Brayford." "I never heard of such a thing," cried Rose. "Fancies she sees---- Oh, it can't be."