"In my dream, yes; but one fancies such strange things when asleep, you know, dear Miss Hyde."
"Strange, very strange," murmured Jessie; "but for the basket of roses and the fruit, we might have recognized the picture. Don't you think so, Aunt Matty?"
"Did you get a look at the lady's face?" I inquired, suppressing Jessie's question.
"No, no; I think not. The thick hair shaded it, but the arms and neck were white as lilies. She had bitten the peach; I remember seeing marks of her teeth on one side. Strange, isn't it, how real such fancies will seem?"
"It is, indeed, strange," I said, feeling cold chills creeping over me.
"Besides," continued the invalid, while a scarcely perceptible shiver disturbed her, "notwithstanding the freshness and beauty of everything, I felt oppressed in that room—just as flowers may be supposed to grow faint when vipers creep over them; the air seemed close till I got to your chamber, Jessie."
"And there?" said the sweet girl, kissing her mother's hand again.
"There, the angel that had been a cloud took form again. It beckoned me—beckoned me—I cannot tell where; but you were sleeping, I know that."
"It was a strange dream," said Jessie, thoughtfully.
"The impression was very strong," answered the mother, drawing a hand across her eyes,—"so powerful that it tired me. This morning it seemed as if I had been on a journey."