the
young and sensitive mind was not to be removed by persuasion. Marian
could give no explanation of the panic of terror that had seized her.
She was quite unable to say why the spot on the ceiling looked like the
colour of a spot of blood. She only knew that she should die of terror
if she saw it again. Under these circumstances, but one alternative
was left. It was arranged that the child should pass the night in the
room occupied by her two younger sisters and the nurse.

In half an hour more, Marian was peacefully asleep with her arm around
her sister's neck. Lady Montbarry went back with Agnes to her room to
see the spot on the ceiling which had so strangely frightened the
child. It was so small as to be only just perceptible, and it had in
all probability been caused by the carelessness of a workman, or by a
dripping from water accidentally spilt on the floor of the room above.

'I really cannot understand why Marian should place such a shocking
interpretation on such a trifling thing,' Lady Montbarry remarked.

'I suspect the nurse is in some way answerable for what has happened,'
Agnes suggested. 'She may quite possibly have been telling Marian some
tragic nursery story which has left its mischievous impression behind
it. Persons in her position are sadly ignorant of the danger of
exciting a child's imagination. You had better caution the nurse
to-morrow.'

Lady Montbarry looked round the room with admiration. 'Is it not
prettily decorated?' she said. 'I suppose, Agnes, you don't mind
sleeping here by yourself.?'

Agnes laughed. 'I feel so tired,' she replied, 'that I was thinking of
bidding you good-night, instead of going back to the drawing-room.'

Lady Montbarry turned towards the door. 'I see your jewel-case on the
table,' she resumed. 'Don't forget to lock the other door there, in
the dressing-room.'

'I have already seen to it, and tried the key myself,' said Agnes.
'Can I be of any use to you before I go to bed?'

'No, my dear, thank you; I feel sleepy enough to follow your example.
Good night, Agnes--and pleasant dreams on your first night in Venice.'

CHAPTER XXII

Having closed and secured the door on Lady Montbarry's departure, Agnes
put on her dressing-gown, and, turning to her open boxes, began the
business of unpacking. In the hurry of making her toilet for dinner,
she had taken the first dress that lay uppermost in the trunk, and had
thrown her travelling costume on the be