I saw directly that she would never be able to mount the wall, and that help must be had at once or not at all, and I resolved with an inward prayer, to try my power over the creature. I blew a sharp note on my whistle. The bull looked round, and gave a grumble of recognition, as who should say, "wait till I finish this little affair and I will come," but, as I called him, and held out the basket from which he was used to receive his treats, he turned and followed me quietly enough. I led him to his enclosure, tempted him inside, and gave him half a loaf of white bread, which I was carrying to poor Mary. Then securing the gate, as well as I could, I went back to find out what had become of Wilson. I found her sitting flat on the ground, crying as if her heart would break. Her first words were very unexpected— "Oh, Mrs. Corbet, I have used you shameful, and yet you have saved my life. I do believe that nasty creature would have killed me before I could get away. But I beg your pardon for treating you so—that indeed, I do; and I will never do it again, if you will only forgive me!" "I forgive you with all my heart!" said I. "But don't sit there on the wet grass, or you will get a fever, and that will be as bad as the bull." I helped her to rise, and finding that she really trembled so she could hardly stand, I gave her my salts and my arm to lean on back to the hall. She found her voice presently and began to pour out her woes. She hated the place. It was not what she had expected. She was worked almost to death, and my lady was taken up with that grinning French woman, and had never a good word for poor Wilson, as had served her so long. I tried to stop her, but I might as well have tried to stop the Highbeck at flood time. At last the worst of her troubles came out. She was so afraid. She heard such dreadful noises at night, like people walking and whispering in the entry and in the room itself, and cries and groans that seemed to come from far down, and I don't know what all. She slept with a Bible under her pillow, but it did no good. The noises came all the same. "Did I think a Prayer-Book would be better?" Her terror was so real, that I could not but be sorry for her. "Neither Bible nor Prayer-Book will do you any good by lying under your pillow!" said I. "They are not made to be used like adder stones or rowan twigs. Study your Bible and Prayer-Book, confess your sins, ask Divine protection, and then you will not be afraid of the noises the wind makes in this old pile." "But, I can't!" sobbed Wilson. "I am not good like you and Miss Leighton, and I have done so many wicked things. Oh, I wish I had never left my mother's cottage to wait on a great lady."