“There, there,” she said, and she drew her daughter’s head down upon her shoulder and patted her soothingly. “There, there; he’ll be back safe an’ sound, dearie, never fear!”
“But oh! mother! I dreamed such a terrible dream. He was in some awful danger, hurt and bleeding, in the dark, and a horrible man was torturing him, and he called to me and held out his hands. I heard his voice, mother, as plainly as I hear yours—it woke me up,” and Mamie shivered convulsively at the remembrance.
Mrs. Welsh was no more superstitious than the ordinary Irish woman, but there was something in the words—something in the voice which uttered them—which somehow struck a responsive chord in her, and she shivered in sympathy with the trembling figure she held in her arms.
Jack, meanwhile, disturbed by all this talking, suddenly awakened to find his wife missing, and sat up in bed rubbing his eyes and staring at the ghostly figures near the door.
“Who’s that?” he asked, but a convulsive sob from Mamie told who it was, and thoroughly awakened at last, he was out of bed in an instant. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “What’s the matter with you women?”
“Mamie’s worried about Allan,” answered Mrs. Welsh, hugging tight the shivering figure in her arms.
“Oh, dad!” sobbed Mamie. “I dreamed about him and he—he was calling me!”
“Calling you? What d’ye mean, Mamie?”
“He was calling me to come to him. Oh, dad, we must go!”
“Go?” repeated Jack, in amazement. “Go where?”