ry," she answered. "I was to have gone to the theatre; but just at
the last moment I decided not to. A singular desire to stay at home came
over me suddenly. I had an instinctive feeling that I should lose some
greater enjoyment if I went; so I remained at home; and here, love, are
you. But what is the matter? you look sad and weary."

"I am a little fatigued," said he, seating himself and holding her hand in
his: "a little weary; but that will soon wear off; and as for the sadness,"
concluded he, with a forced smile, "that _must_ depart now that I am with
you, Little Birdie."

"I feel relieved that you have returned safe and well," said she, looking
up into his face from her seat beside him; "for, Clary, love, I had such a
frightful dream, such a singular dream about you. I have endeavoured to
shake it out of my foolish little head; but it won't go, Clary,--I can't
get rid of it. It occurred after you left us at Saratoga. Oh, it was
nothing though," said she, laughing and shaking her curls,--"nothing; and
now you are safely returned, I shall not think of it again. Tell me what
you have seen since you went away; and how is that dear Aunt Ada of yours
you talk so much about?"

"Oh, she is quite well," answered he; "but tell, Anne, tell me about that
dream. What was it, Birdie?--come tell me."

"I don't care to," she answered, with a slight shudder,--"I don't want to,
love."

"Yes, yes,--do, sweet," importuned he; "I want to hear it."

"Then if I must," said she, "I will. I dreamed that you and I were walking
on a road together, and 'twas such a beautiful road, with flowers and
fruit, and lovely cottages on either side. I thought you held my hand; I
felt it just as plain as I clasp yours now. Presently a rough ugly man
overtook us, and bid you let me go; and that you refused, and held me all
the tighter. Then he gave you a diabolical look, and touched you on the
face, and you broke out in loathsome black spots, and screamed in such
agony and frightened me so, that I awoke all in a shiver of terror, and did
not get over it all the next day."

Clarence clutched her hand tighter as she finished, so tight indeed, that
she gave a little scream of pain and looked frightened at him. "What is the
matter?" she inquired; "your hand is like ice, and you are paler than ever.
You haven't let that trifling dream affect you so? It is nothing."

"I am superstitious in regard to dreams," said Clarence, wiping the
perspiration from