“I did, because I felt assured that danger was at hand.”
“Why so?”
“I had a dream—twice I dreamt the same thing—and then I went over to Mother Crowther and consulted her. She can read the future—being—being a wise woman.”
“She is a wise woman indeed if she can do that,” remarked the farmer, with a smile; “what did she say?”
“She consulted a book, cast my nativity, and told me that in less than three days I should see here or hereabouts the murderer of James Hopgood.”
“And who might he be?”
“He is dead now; he was my sweetheart,” answered Jane, hanging down her head.
“Oh, your sweetheart—eh?”
“Yes, before I came here I lived at Squire Gordon’s. A kinder master never lived. James Hopgood was a carpenter by trade; he had been doing some work for the squire—building some outhouses, and while the work was going on he slept in the house.”
“How long ago was this?”