“Oh, no, I shall not.  How very soon you are leaving.  You have scarcely stayed ten minutes.”

“But you forget I have not been at home.”

“You were on your road to Beauchamp’s, and would not have been at home for an hour or two in that case,” spoke Barbara, in a tone that savored of resentment.

“That was different; that was upon business.  But, Barbara, I think your mother looks unusually ill.”

“You know she suffers a little thing to upset her; and last night she had what she calls one of her dreams,” answered Barbara.  “She says that it is a warning that something bad is going to happen, and she has been in the most unhappy, feverish state possible all day.  Papa has been quite angry over her being so weak and nervous, declaring that she ought to rouse herself out of her ‘nerves.’  Of course we dare not tell him about the dream.”

“It related to—­the——­”

Mr. Carlyle stopped, and Barbara glanced round with a shudder, and drew closer to him as she whispered.  He had not given her his arm this time.

“Yes, to the murder.  You know mamma has always declared that Bethel had something to do with it; she says her dreams would have convinced her of it, if nothing else did; and she dreamt she saw him with—­with—­you know.”

“Hallijohn?” whispered Mr. Carlyle.

“With Hallijohn,” assented Barbara, with a shiver.  “He was standing over him as he lay on the floor; just as he did lay on it.  And that wretched Afy was standing at the end of the kitchen, looking on.”

“But Mrs. Hare ought not to suffer dreams to disturb her peace by day,” remonstrated Mr. Carlyle.  “It is not to be surprised at that she dreams of the murder, because she is always dwelling upon it; but she should strive and throw the feeling from her with the night.”

“You know what mamma is.  Of course she ought to do so, but she does not.  Papa wonders what makes her get up so ill and trembling of a morning; and mamma has to make all sorts of evasive excuses; for not a hint, as you are aware, must be breathed to him about the murder.”

Mr. Carlyle gravely nodded.

“Mamma does so harp about Bethel.  And I know that dream arose from nothing in the world but because she saw him pass the gate yesterday.  Not that she thinks that it was he who did it; unfortunately, there is no room for that; but she will persist that he had a hand in it in some way, and he haunts her dreams.”

Mr. Carlyle walked on in silence; indeed there was no reply that he could make.  A cloud had fallen upon the house of Mr. Hare, and it was an unhappy subject.  Barbara continued,—­

“But for mamma to have taken it into her head that ’some evil is going to happen,’ because she had this dream, and to make herself miserable over it, is so absurd, that I have felt quite cross with her all day.  Such nonsense, you know, Archibald, to believe that dreams give signs of what is going to happen, so far behind these enlightened days!”