"Yes, go with her—go for heaven's sake!" said Rosamund; and Lucy found herself going.
They went up the softly carpeted stairs and down the silent corridor, and then the two girls paused before a door which was partly ajar. The room was darkened, and Miss Frost was sitting by a little bed, and a little voice kept on crying suddenly, "Oh, there never was any Irene, there never was any Irene, and I loved her so! I loved her so! But she was a fairy, and the fairies took her back again, and—and—oh, I want to die! I want to die!"
The little hot hands were stretched outside the bedclothes, the beautiful dark eyes were open wide, and just at that moment Irene, very pale, still holding Lucy's hand, entered the room. Miss Frost stood up in speechless horror.
"Do sit down again, Miss Frost," said Irene; and she went straight up to little Agnes, who, to the astonishment of every one, no longer shrank from her, but, on the contrary, allowed her to hold one of her hands. Irene then turned to Lucy.
"Lucy," she said, "speak the truth now this minute, and I will forgive you."
"It was I who did it," said Lucy. "Go to sleep, and forget all about it. Irene isn't a changeling at all, and she never had anything to do with the fairies. I was jealous because you loved her and only her, and I wanted you to hate her, and I got Phyllis Flower to help me, and we put the hedgehog into your bed; but we didn't guess—we couldn't guess—that it would make you so ill."
Little Agnes looked with wide eyes at the speaker.
"Go away now," said Irene. "I think she understands. You go away also, Frosty. Please, please go!"
Miss Frost and Lucy found themselves impelled to leave the room, while Irene lay down on the bed beside the little girl, and taking both her hands, held them fast and whispered softly in the little ear:
"I am no changeling, but your own Irene, and I would rather die than injure one hair of your head. Come close, darling; come close. It wasn't I, but another, and I am no changeling."