to her before, but it suddenly struck her
now, with the force of positive conviction,
that the new nurse was not in her right
senses.

All that was unaccountable in her behaviour
— her odd disappearances behind the
curtains, at the foot of the bed; her lingering,
stealthy, over-familiar way of using the
hair-brush; her silence at one time, her
talkativeness at another; her restlessness,
her whispering to herself, her affectation of
being deeply engaged in doing something
which she was not doing at all— every one of
her strange actions (otherwise
incomprehensible) became intelligible in a moment on
that one dreadful supposition that she was
mad.

Terrified as she was, Rosamond kept her
presence of mind. One of her arms stole
instinctively round the child; and she had half
raised the other to catch at the bell-rope
hanging above her pillow, when she saw Mrs.
Jazeph turn and look at her.

A woman possessed only of ordinary nerve
would, probably, at that instant, have pulled
at the bell-rope in the unreasoning desperation
of sheer fright. Rosamond had courage
enough to calculate consequences, and to
remember that Mrs. Jazeph would have time
to lock the door, before assistance could
arrive, if she betrayed her suspicions by ringing
without first assigning some plausible
reason for doing so. She slowly closed her
eyes as the nurse looked at her, partly to
convey the notion that she was composing
herself to sleep,—partly to gain time to
think of some safe excuse for summoning her
maid. The flurry of her spirits, however,
interfered with the exercise of her ingenuity.
Minute after minute dragged on heavily, and
still she could think of no assignable reason
for ringing the bell.

She was just doubting whether it would not
be safest to send Mrs. Jazeph out of the
room, on some message to her husband, to
lock the door the moment she was alone, and
then to ring —she was just doubting whether
she would boldly adopt this course of
proceeding, or not, when she heard the rustle of
the nurse's silk dress approaching the
bedside.

Her first impulse was to snatch at the
bell-rope; but fear had paralysed her hand;
she could not raise it from the pillow.

The rustling of the silk dress ceased. She
half unclosed her eyes, and saw that the
nurse was stopping midway between the part
of the room from which she had advanced,
and the bedside. There was nothing wild or
angry in her look. The agitation which her
face expressed, was the agitation of perplexity
and alarm. She stood rapidly clasping and
unclasping her hands, the image of bewilderment
and distress —stood so for nearly a
minute -- then came forward a few steps
more, and said inquiringly, in a whisper:—

"Not asleep? not quite asleep, yet?"

Rosamond tried to speak in answer, but the
quick beating of her heart seemed to rise up
to her very lips, and to stifle the words on
them.

The nurse came on, still with the same
perplexity and distress in her face, to within
a foot of the bedside— knelt down by the
pillow, and looked earnestly at Rosamond —
shuddered a little, and glanced all round her,
as if to make sure that the room was empty
—bent forward— hesitated— bent nearer, and
whispered into her ear these words:—

"When you go to Porthgenna, keep out of
the Myrtle Room!"

The hot breath of the woman, as she spoke,
beat on Rosamond's cheek, and seemed to
fly in one fever-throb through every vein in
her body. The nervous shock of that
unutterable sensation burst the bonds of the
terror that had hitherto held her motionless
and speechless. She started up in bed with a
scream, caught hold of the bell-rope, and
pulled it violently.

"O, hush! hush!" cried Mrs. Jazeph,
sinking back on her knees, and beating her
hands together despairingly with the helpless
gesticulation of a child.

Rosamond rang again and again. Hurrying
footsteps and eager voices were heard outside
on the stairs. It was not ten o'clock yet—
nobody had retired for the night—and the
violent ringing had already alarmed the
house.

The nurse rose to her feet, staggered back
from the bedside, and supported herself
against the wall of the room, as the footsteps
and the voices reached the door. She said
not another word. The hands that she had
been beating together so violently, but an
instant before, hung down nerveless at her
side. The blank of a great agony spread
over all her face, and stilled it awfully.

The first person who entered the room was
Mrs. Frankland's maid, and the landlady
followed her.

"Fetch Mr. Frankland," said Rosamond,
faintly, addressing the landlady." I want to
speak to him directly. You," she continued,
beckoning to the maid, "sit by me here, till
your master comes. I have been dreadfully
frightened. Don't ask me questions; but
stop here."

The maid stared at her mistress in amazement;
then looked round with a disparaging
frown at the nurse. When the landlady left
the room to fetch Mr. Frankland, she had
moved a little away from the wall, so as to
command a full view of the bed. Her eyes
fixed with a look of breathless suspense, of
devouring anxiety, on Rosamond's face. From
all her other features, the expression seemed
to be gone. She said nothing, she noticed
nothing. She did not start, she did not move
aside an inch, when the landlady returned,
and led Mr. Frankland to his wife.

"Lenny! don't let the new nurse stop
here to-night— pray, pray don't! " whispered