Her mother bent over her, looking at her slumbers with the soft eyes of love. How little she dreamed who had looked on her last! Then she went to Edwin, with perhaps less wistful anxiety in her countenance, but more of pride. She took off her things, to go down to supper. Norah saw her no more that night. Beside having a door into the passage, the sleeping-nursery opened out of Mr and Mrs Openshaw's room, in order that they might have the children more immediately under their own eyes. Early the next summer's morning, Mrs Openshaw was awakened by Ailsie's startled call of 'Mother! mother!' She sprang up, put on her dressing-gown, and went to her child. Ailsie was only half awake, and in a not unusual state of terror. 'Who was he, mother? Tell me!' 'Who, my darling? No one is here. You have been dreaming, love. Waken up quite. See, it is broad daylight.' 'Yes,' said Ailsie, looking round her; then clinging to her mother, 'but a man was here in the night, mother.' 'Nonsense, little goose. No man has ever come near you!' 'Yes, he did. He stood there. Just by Norah. A man with hair and a beard. And he knelt down and said his prayers. Norah knows he was here, mother' (half angrily, as Mrs Openshaw shook her head in smiling incredulity). 'Well! we will ask Norah when she comes,' said Mrs Openshaw, soothingly. 'But we won't talk any more about him now. It is not five o'clock; it is too early for you to get up. Shall I fetch you a book and read to you?' 'Don't leave me, mother,' said the child, clinging to her. So Mrs Openshaw sat on the bedside talking to Ailsie, and telling her of what they had done at Richmond the evening before, until the little girl's eyes slowly closed and she once more fell asleep. 'What was the matter?' asked Mr Openshaw, as his wife returned to bed. 'Ailsie wakened up in a fright, with some story of a man having been in the room to say his prayers--a dream, I suppose.' And no more was said at the time. Mrs Openshaw had almost forgotten the whole affair when she got up about seven o'clock. But, by and by, she heard a sharp altercation going on in the nursery--Norah speaking angrily to Ailsie, a most unusual thing. Both Mr and Mrs Openshaw listened in astonishment. 'Hold your tongue, Ailsie! let me hear none of your dreams; never let me hear you tell that story again!' Ailsie began to cry. Mr Openshaw opened the door of communication, before his wife could say a word. 'Norah, come here!' The nurse stood at the door, defiant. She perceived she had been heard, but she was desperate. 'Don't let me hear you speak in that manner to Ailsie again,' he said sternly, and shut the door. Norah was infinitely relieved; for she had dreaded some questioning; and a little blame for sharp speaking was what she could well bear, if cross-examination was let alone.