safety, James Mottram had met with death; a
swift, merciful death, due to the negligence of an engine-driver not
only new to his work but made blindly merry by Mottram's gift of ale.

* * * * *

Charles Nagle woke late on the morning of St. Catherine's Day, and the
pale November sun fell on the fully dressed figures of his wife and Mr.
Dorriforth standing by his bedside.

But Charles, absorbed as always in himself, saw nothing untoward in
their presence.

"I had a dream!" he exclaimed. "A most horrible and gory dream this
night! I thought I was in the wood; James Mottram lay before me, done
to death by that puffing devil we saw slithering by so fast. His head
nearly severed--_a la guillotine_, you understand, my love?--from his
poor body----" There was a curious, secretive smile on Charles Nagle's
pale, handsome face.

Catherine Nagle gave a cry, a stifled shriek of horror.

The priest caught her by the arm and led her to the couch which stood
across the end of the bed.

"Charles," he said sternly, "this is no light matter. Your
dream--there's not a doubt of it--was sent you in merciful preparation
for the awful truth. Your kinsman, your almost brother, Charles, was
found this morning in the wood, dead as you saw him in your dream."

The face of the man sitting up in bed stiffened--was it with fear or
grief? "They found James Mottram dead?" he repeated with an uneasy
glance in the direction of the couch where crouched his wife. "And his
head, most reverend sir--what of his head?"

"James Mottram's body was terribly mangled. But his head," answered the
priest solemnly, "was severed from his body, as you saw it in your
dream, Charles. A strangely clean cut, it seems----"

"Ay," said Charles Nagle. "That was in my dream too; if I said nearly
severed, I said wrong."

Catherine was now again standing by the priest's side.

"Charles," she said gravely, "you must now get up; Mr. Dorriforth is
only waiting for you, to say Mass for James's soul."

She made the sign of the cross, and then, with her right hand shading
her sunken eyes, she went on, "My dear, I entreat you to tell no
one--not even faithful Collins--of this awful dream. We want no such
tale spread about the place----"

She looked at the old priest entreatingly, and he at once responded.
"Catherine is right, Charles. We of the Faith should be more careful
with regard to such matters than are the ignorant and superstitio