after, enter the building to grand music that sounded like parts of Mendelssohn’s Priests’ March in Athalie. I wanted to ask a bystander what it all meant, but before I could do so I awoke. Now, you know all, darling.’
Lesbia looked very grave, but she felt it her duty to say nothing but what might cheer her mother.
‘Very well, mamma, dear, and what is there in all that ‘to disturb you—on my account? Is not all well that ends well? Why, your dream makes out that I was not in the tumult and horrors of the first part, while I was in the beautiful procession of the second. What better could you desire—for me at least?’
‘Yes, indeed, Lesbie, when one comes to reason about it. But I did not feel inclined to reason before I had told it you: I could do nothing but mope.’
‘Come, we must have no more moping, dearest mamma; there’s been a deal too much of that already. However, since this thing has weighed on your mind, should you object to uncle’s hearing the story? You know he is sensible.’
‘No, I shouldn’t object; why should I?’
Lesbia soon fetched the Vicar. He listened with deep attention and without comment to his sister’s repetition, and was silent for some seconds after she had concluded. At last he asked,—
‘Have you told this dream to Kate?’
‘No,’ replied Mrs Newman; ‘when I told her—rather crossly I’m afraid—that I wanted to go to sleep, she went out for a walk and has not yet come in. Perhaps she went to luncheon at the Smeeth’s.’
‘Well then,’ said Mr Bristley, to whom it occurred that his question had not been quite judicious, ‘at all events I’ll give you the benefit of my opinion in a very few words. I don’t believe in dreams; they’re nothing but the action of
