"
"Oh, Mr. Havens, you'll never see him alive again!"
Although startled in spite of myself, I was indignant.
"Have you any positive knowledge, Mrs. Clarkson, on the matter?"
"Certainly I have; didn't I just tell you about my dream?"
"A fudge for your dream!" I exclaimed, impatiently; "I don't believe in
any such nonsense."
"I pity you," she said, though why I should be pitied on that account
is hard to understand.
"But what was your dream?"
"I saw your Bob brought home drowned. Oh, I can see him now," she
added, speaking rapidly, and making a movement as if to wring her
hands; "his white face--his dripping hair and clothes--his half-closed
eyes--it was dreadful; it will break his mother's heart--"
"Mrs. Clarkson, did you come here to tell me _that_?"
"Why, of course I did; I felt it was my duty to prepare you--"
"Good day," I answered, sharply, closing the door and hastily entering
my study.
She had given me a terrible shock. My feelings were in a tumult
difficult to describe. My philosophy, my self-command, my hard sense
and scepticism were scattered to the winds, I had fought against the
awful fear, and was still fighting when my neighbor called; but her
visit had knocked every prop from beneath me.
She had hardly disappeared when I was hurrying through the woods by the
shortest route to the mill-pond. I knew Bob had been there, and all
that I expected to find was his white, ghastly body in the cold, cruel
depths.
Pages:
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250