“Are you fond of dreams?”

“Of course I am. I delight in them, for whether they are sense or gibberish when you wake, they are real whilst you are asleep.”

“Do you believe in dreams?”

“Indeed, Mr. Stanford, I do not.”

“Do you like hearing them told?”

“I do, very much, when they are worth telling. Have you been dreaming anything? If you have, do tell it to me.”

“I will be glad to do so. It is about a dream which I had that concerns you, that I came here to tell you.”

“About me. Oh, how nice. Do, go on.”

I told her all my dream, after calling her attention to our conversation in the boudoir as a means of introducing the subject. I did not attempt to heighten the effect in any way or to draw any inferences. I tried to suppress my own emotion and merely to let the facts speak for themselves. She listened with great eagerness, but, as far as I could see, without a particle of either fear or belief in the dream as a warning. When I had finished she laughed a quiet, soft laugh, and said—

“That is delicious. And was I really the girl that you saw afraid of ghosts? If papa heard of such a thing as that even in a dream what a lecture he would give me! I wish I could dream anything like that.”

“Take care,” said I, “you might find it too awful. It might indeed prove the fulfilling of the ban which we saw in the legend in the old book, and which you heard from your aunt.”

She laughed musically again, and shook her head at me wisely and warningly.

“Oh, pray do not talk nonsense and try to frighten me—for I warn you that you will not succeed.”

“I assure you on my honour, Miss Fothering, that I was never more in earnest in my whole life.”

“Do you not think that we had better go into the room?” said she, after a few moment’s pause.

“Stay just a moment, I entreat you,” said I. “What I say is true. I am really in earnest.”

“Oh, pray forgive me if what I said led you to believe that I doubted your word. It was merely your inference which I disagreed with. I thought you had been jesting to try and frighten me.”

“Miss Fothering, I would not presume to take such a liberty. But I am glad that you trust me. May I venture to ask you a favour? Will you promise me one thing?”

Her answer was characteristic—

“No. What is it?”

“That you will not be frightened at anything which may take place to-night?”

She laughed softly again.

“I do not intend to be. But is that all?”

“Yes, Miss Fothering, that is all; but I want to be assured that you will not be alarmed—that you will be prepared for anything which may happen. I have a horrid foreboding of evil—some evil that I dread to think of—and it will be a great comfort to me if you will do one thing.”