Mrs Atheling was disturbed more than she would tell; what she did say, as Agnes and she sat over their silent breakfast-table, was an expedient which herself had visibly no faith in. “My dear, we must try to prevent him saying anything,” said Mrs Atheling, with her anxious brow: it was not necessary to name names, for neither of them could forget the scene of last night. Then by-and-by Mamma spoke again. “I almost fancy we should go home; she might forget it if she were away. Agnes, my love, you must persuade him not to say anything; he pays great attention to what you say.” “But, mamma--Marian?” said Agnes. “Oh, Agnes, Agnes, my dear beautiful child,” said Mrs Atheling, with a sudden access of emotion, “it was only friendship, sympathy--her kind heart; she will think no more of it, if nothing occurs to put it into her head.” Agnes did not say anything, though she was extremely doubtful on this subject; but then it was quite evident that Mamma had no faith in her own prognostications, and regarded this first inroad into the family with a mixture of excitement, dread, and agitation which it was not comfortable to see. After their pretended breakfast, mother and daughter once more stole up-stairs. They had not been in the room a moment, when Marian woke--woke--started with fright and astonishment to see Agnes dressed, and her mother standing beside her; and beginning to recollect, suddenly blushed, and turning away her face, burning with that violent suffusion of colour, exclaimed, “I could not help it--I could not help it; would you stand by and see them drive him mad? Oh mamma, mamma!” “My darling, no one thinks of blaming you,” said Mrs Atheling, who trembled a good deal, and looked very anxious. “We were all very sorry for him, poor fellow; and you only did what you should have done, like a brave little friend--what I should have done myself, had I been next to him,” said Mamma, with great gravity and earnestness, but decidedly overdoing her part. This did not seem quite a satisfactory speech to Marian. She turned away again petulantly, dried her eyes, and with a sidelong glance at Agnes, asked, “Why did you not wake me?--it looks quite late. I am not ill, am I? I am sure I do not understand it--why did you let me sleep?” “Hush, darling! because you were tired and late last night,” said Mamma. Now this sympathy and tenderness seemed rather alarming than soothing to Marian. Her colour varied rapidly, her breath came quick, tears gathered to her eyes. “Has anything happened while I have been sleeping?” she asked hastily, and in a very low tone. “No, no, my love, nothing at all,” said Mamma tenderly, “only we thought you must be tired.” “Both you and Agnes were as late as me,--why were not you tired?” said Marian, still with a little jealous fear. “Please, mamma, go away; I want to get dressed and come down stairs.”