For the first time since her return to Ireland Grace that night slept soundly; slept a sleep unbroken by dreams; undisturbed by the perplexities that troubled her waking moments.
How long she had been in bed she could not tell, but at length from this depth of unconsciousness she was slowly aroused by little fingers that spread themselves over her face and hair, by a childish voice crying,—
“Oh! lady, please waken, please, please do.”
Thus entreated, the “lady,” for by this name Nettie’s more especial favourite had elected to call Miss Moffat, struggled back to a due remembrance of where she was.
“What is it?” she asked between sleeping and waking.
“Mam-ma, oh! Mam-ma she frightens Minnie,” explained the little one.
With an effort Grace roused herself fully.
“Minnie darling, is that you?” she asked, taking the child in her arms. “What has frightened you?”
“Mam-ma,” repeated the shrill treble. “She talks so funnily—”
In an instant Grace had on her slippers and dressing-gown.