'My dear Dickie, you had better lie down, and settle it as you go to sleep,' said Ethel, her flesh creeping at the notion of his going up again.
'But if I go to sleep now, I shall not know when to say my prayers.'
'Had you not better do so now, Dickie?'
Next came the child's scruple about not kneeling; but at last he was satisfied, if Aunt Ethel would give him his little book out of the drawer—that little delicately-illuminated book with the pointed writing and the twisted cipher, Meta's hand in every touch. Presently he looked up, and said: 'Aunt Ethel, isn't there a verse somewhere about giving the angels charge? I want you to find it for me, for I think they helped me to hold on, and helped Leonard upon the narrow place. You know they are sure to be flying about the church.'
Ethel read the ninety-first Psalm to him. He listened all through, and thanked her; but in a few minutes more he was fast asleep. As she left the room she met Leonard coming down and held out her hands to him with a mute intensity of thanks, telling him, in a low voice, what Dickie had said of the angels' care.
'I am sure it was true,' said Leonard. 'What else could have saved the brave child from dizziness?'
Down-stairs Leonard's reception from Dr. May was, 'Pretty well for a nervous man!'
'Anybody can do what comes to hand.'
'I beg your pardon. Some bodies lose their wits, like your friend Aubrey, who tells me, if he had stood still, he would have fainted away. As long as nerves can do what comes to hand, they need not be blamed, even if they play troublesome tricks at other times, as I suspect they are doing now.'
'Yes; my face is aching a little.'