"Not bodily," he answered; "I want to look in the street."
They went to the street-door, and, opening it softly, looked out. The snow was falling fast, and the unpretentious houses, covered with their white mantle, looked surprisingly quaint and beautiful. A man, who passed on the opposite side of the way as they opened the door, was the only sign of life beside themselves in the street. The man slouched onwards, and dragged his feet along the pavement in a brutish kind of way, tearing a black gash in the pure white snow, out of sheer wantonness as it seemed. It looked like a desecration.
"Ellen," said Dan, when the man was out of sight, "I would not tell my fancies to any one but you. I am not happy. All last night I was dreaming of Joshua."
"That was good, dear," said Ellen.
"It was not good, Ellen. My dreams were bad ones. They were too confused and indistinct for me to remember them clearly. But the impression they left upon me was that Joshua was in danger; I cannot tell in what way or from whom. I did not hear a word of the story Mr. Meddler just told us. I was thinking of I don't know what--and all of a sudden, Ellen, I fancied that I heard Joshua's voice."
"That is because he is so near us."
"Near us? Yes. He is very near us; nearer than you imagine."
"How do you know, dear?"
"I feel that he is; and strange to say, Ellen, the feeling does not seem to bring me pleasure."
"O Dan!"