When we got in, and had washed our feet, and had said a prayer of thankfulness together, I tucked her into bed.

Before falling asleep she asked, even implored, me not to say a word to any one, even her mother, about her sleep-walking adventure.
I hesitated at first, to promise, but on thinking of the state of her mother's health, and how the knowledge of such a thing would fret her, and think too, of how such a story might become distorted, nay, infallibly would, in case it should leak out, I thought it wiser to do so.

I hope I did right.

I have locked the door, and the key is tied to my wrist, so perhaps I shall not be again disturbed.

Lucy is sleeping soundly.