“Barbara, could your papa have heard me mention Richard?”

“No, no, mamma impossible:  the door was shut.  I will bring up your breakfast myself and then you can tell me the dream.”

Barbara flew after Mr. Hare, poured out his coffee, saw him settled at his breakfast, with a plateful of grouse-pie before him, and then returned upstairs with her mamma’s tea and dry toast.

“Go on with your dream, mamma,” she said.

“But your breakfast will be cold, child.”

“Oh, don’t mind that.  Did you dream of Richard?”

“Not very much of Richard; except that the old and continuous trouble of his being away and unable to return, seemed to pervade it all through.  You remember, Barbara, Richard asserted to us, in that short, hidden night visit, that he did not commit the murder; that it was another who did?”

“Yes, I remember it,” replied Barbara.

“Barbara, I am convinced he spoke the truth; I trust him implicitly.”

“I feel sure of it also, mamma.”

“I asked him, you remember, whether it was Otway Bethel who committed it; for I have always doubted Bethel, in an indefinite, vague manner.  Richard replied it was not Bethel, but a stranger.  Well, Barbara, in my dream I thought that stranger came to West Lynne, that he came to this house here, and we were talking to him of him, conversing as we might with any other visitor.  Mind you, we seemed to know that he was the one who actually did it; but he denied it.  He wanted to put it upon Richard; and I saw him, yes I did, Barbara—­whisper to Otway Bethel.  But oh, I cannot tell you the sickening horror that was upon me throughout, and seemed to be upon you also, lest he should make good his own apparent innocence, and crush Richard, his victim.  I think the dread and horror awoke me.”

“What was he like, this stranger?” asked Barbara, in a low tone.

“Well, I cannot quite tell.  The recollection of his appearance seemed to pass away from me with the dream.  He was dressed as a gentleman, and we conversed, with him as an equal.”

Barbara’s mind was full of Captain Thorn, but his name had not been mentioned to Mrs. Hare, and neither would she mention it now.  She fell into deep thought; and Mrs. Hare had to speak twice before she could be aroused.

“Barbara, I say, don’t you think this dream, coming uncalled for uninduced, must forebode some ill?  Rely upon it, something connected with that wretched murder is going to be stirred up again.”

“You know, I do not believe in dreams,” was Barbara’s answer.  “I think when people say, ‘this dream is a sign of such and such a thing,’ it is the greatest absurdity in the world.  I wish you could remember what the man seemed like in your dream.”

“I wish I could,” answered Mrs. Hare, breaking off a particle of her dry toast.  “All I can remember is, that he appeared to be a gentleman.”

“Was he tall?  Had he black hair?”