wed. Last came the assertion of the mother's resolution to separate
herself from all her old associations; to leave behind her every
possession, even to the most trifling thing she had, that could remind
her of the miserable past; and to date her new life in the future from
the birthday of the child who had been spared to console her--who was
now the one earthly object that could still speak to her of love and
hope. So the old story of passionate feeling that finds comfort in
phrases rather than not find comfort at all was told once again. So the
poem in the faded ink faded away to its end.

Midwinter put the book back with a heavy sigh, and opened no other
volume on the shelves. "Here in the country house, or there on board the
wreck," he said, bitterly, "the traces of my father's crime follow me,
go where I may." He advanced toward the window, stopped, and looked back
into the lonely, neglected little room. "Is _this_ chance?" he asked
himself. "The place where his mother suffered is the place he sees in
the Dream; and the first morning in the new house is the morning that
reveals it, not to _him_, but to me. Oh, Allan! Allan! how will it end?"

The thought had barely passed through his mind before he heard Allan's
voice, from the paved walk at the side of the house, calling to him by
his name. He hastily stepped out into the garden. At the same moment
Allan came running round the corner, full of voluble apologies for
having forgotten, in the society of his new neighbors, what was due to
the laws of hospitality and the claims of his friend.

"I really haven't missed you," said Midwinter; "and I am very, very glad
to hear that the new neighbors have produced such a pleasant impression
on you already."

He tried, as he spoke, to lead the way back by the outside of the house;
but Allan's flighty attention had been caught by the open window and the
lonely little room. He stepped in immediately. Midwinter followed, and
watched him in breathless anxiety as he looked round. Not the slightest
recollection of the Dream troubled Allan's easy mind. Not the slightest
reference to it fell from the silent lips of his friend.

"Exactly the sort of place I should have expected you to hit on!"
exclaimed Allan, gayly. "Small and snug and unpretending. I know you,
Master Midwinter! You'll be slipping off here when the county families
come visiting, and I rather think on those dreadful occasions you won't
find me far behind you. Wh