“What do you mean?” said Vendale, releasing himself.
“First tell me; you are not ill?”
“Ill? No.”
“I have had a bad dream about you. How is it that I see you up and dressed?”
“My good fellow, I may as well ask you how it is that I see you up and undressed?”
“I have told you why. I have had a bad dream about you. I tried to rest after it, but it was impossible. I could not make up my mind to stay where I was without knowing you were safe; and yet I could not make up my mind to come in here. I have been minutes hesitating at the door. It is so easy to laugh at a dream that you have not dreamed. Where is your candle?”
“Burnt out.”
“I have a whole one in my room. Shall I fetch it?”
“Do so.”
His room was very near, and he was absent for but a few seconds. Coming back with the candle in his hand, he kneeled down on the hearth and lighted it. As he blew with his breath a charred billet into flame for the purpose, Vendale, looking down at him, saw that his lips were white and not easy of control.