“Yes! but I must try how far—­”

“That you shall not do,” interrupted the Baron.  “The road is always bad:  and in a thaw it is always dangerous.  It would go against my conscience to allow you to risk it.  Remain with us:  we have no shooting-match or ball to offer you, but—­”

“I shall not certainly regret either,” cried Edward, eagerly.

“Well, then, remain with us, Lieutenant,” said the matron, laying her hand on his arm, with a kind, maternal gesture.  “You are heartily welcome; and the longer you stay with us, the better shall we be pleased.”

The youth bowed, and raised the lady’s hand to his lips, and said—­

“If you will allow me—­if you feel certain that I am not intruding—­I will accept your kind offer with joy.  I never care much for a ball, at any time, and to-day in particular”—.  He stopped short, and then added, “In such bad weather as this, the small amusement—­”

“Would be dearly bought.” interposed the Baron.  “Come, I am delighted; you will remain with us.”

He shook Edward warmly by the hand.

“You know you are with old friends.”

“And, beside,” said the doctor, with disinterested solicitude, “it would be imprudent, for M. de Wensleben does not look very well.  Had you a good night, sir?”

“Very good,” replied Edward.

“Without much dreaming?” continued the other, pertinaciously.

“Dreaming! oh, nothing wonderful,” answered the officer.

“Hem!” said the doctor, shaking his head, portentiously.  “No one yet—­”

“Were I to relate my dream,” replied Edward, “you would understand it no more than I did.  Confused images—­”

The Baroness, who saw the youth’s unwillingness to enlarge upon the subject, here observed—­

“That some of the visions had been of no great importance—­those which she had heard related, at least.”

The chaplain led the conversation from dreams, themselves, to their origin, on which subject he and the doctor could not agree; and Edward and his visions were left in peace at last.  But when every one had departed, each to his daily occupation, Edward followed the Baron into his library.

“I answered in that manner,” he said, “to get rid of the doctor and his questioning.  To you I will confess the truth.  Your room has exercised its mysterious influence over me.”

“Indeed!” said the baron, eagerly.

“I have seen and spoken with my Ferdinand, for the first time since his death.  I will trust to your kindness—­your sympathy—­not to require of me a description of this exciting vision.  But I have a question to put to you.”

“Which I will answer in all candor, if it be possible.”

“Do you know the name of Emily Varnier?”

“Varnier!—­certainly not.”

“Is there no one in this neighborhood who bears that name?”

“No one:  it sounds like a foreign name.”