ing a little.

"Yes," she said, "I was terribly disturbed by dreams."

"Indeed, my lady?" I thought she was going to tell me her dreams, but
no, when she spoke next it was only to ask a question.

"You posted the letter to Mrs. Vesey with your own hands?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Did Sir Percival say, yesterday, that Count Fosco was to meet me at
the terminus in London?"

"He did, my lady."

She sighed heavily when I answered that last question, and said no more.

We arrived at the station, with hardly two minutes to spare. The
gardener (who had driven us) managed about the luggage, while I took
the ticket. The whistle of the train was sounding when I joined her
ladyship on the platform. She looked very strangely, and pressed her
hand over her heart, as if some sudden pain or fright had overcome her
at that moment.

"I wish you were going with me!" she said, catching eagerly at my arm
when I gave her the ticket.

If there had been time, if I had felt the day before as I felt then, I
would have made my arrangements to accompany her, even though the doing
so had obliged me to give Sir Percival warning on the spot. As it was,
her wishes, expressed at the last moment only, were expressed too late
for me to comply with them. She seemed to understand this herself
before I could explain it, and did not repeat her desire to have me for
a travelling companion. The train drew up at the platform. She gave
the gardener a present for his children, and took my hand, in her
simple hearty manner, before she got into the carriage.

"You have been very kind to me and to my sister," she said--"kind when
we were both friendless. I shall remember you gratefully, as long as I
live to remember any one. Good-bye--and God bless you!"

She spoke those words with a tone and a look which brought the tears
into my eyes--she spoke them as if she was bidding me farewell for ever.

"Good-bye, my lady," I said, putting her into the carriage, and trying
to cheer her; "good-bye, for the present only; good-bye, with my best
and kindest wishes for happier times."

She shook her head, and shuddered as she settled herself in the
carriage. The guard closed the door. "Do you believe in dreams?" she
whispered to me at the window. "My dreams, last night, were dreams I
have never had before. The terror of them is hanging over me still."
The whistle sounded before I could answer, and the train moved. Her
pale quiet face looked at me for the