"Now tell me plainly," he said. "You have been dreaming. What have you dreamt?"
She raised herself a little in bed, again glancing round the room; then she put out her old ringed hand for one of his, and he gave it, wondering.
"The door is shut, father? There is no one listening?"
"No, no, my child. Why are you trembling? You must not be superstitious."
"Father, I will tell you. Dreams are nonsense, are they not? Well, at least, this is what I dreamt.
"I was somewhere in a great house; I do not know where it was. It was a house I have never seen. It was one of the old houses, and it was very dark. I was a child, I thought, and I was . . . I was afraid of something. The passages were all dark, and I went crying in the dark, looking for a light, and there was none. Then I heard a voice talking, a great way off. Father"
Her hand gripped his more tightly, and again her eyes went round the room.
With great difficulty Percy repressed a sigh. Yet he dared not leave her just now. The house was very still; only from outside now and again sounded the clang of the cars, as they sped countrywards again from the congested town, and once the sound of great shouting. He wondered what time it was.
"Had you better tell me now?" he asked, still talking with a patient simplicity. "What time will they be back?"
"Not yet," she whispered. "Mabel said not till two o'clock. What time is it now, father?"
He pulled out his watch with his disengaged hand.
"It is not yet one," he said.
