Lyon Berners took it up, while Sybil loaded herself with crockery ware and cutlery.
They had turned to go back to the church, when Sybil uttered a half-suppressed cry, and nearly dropped her burden.
“What’s the matter?” cried Mr. Berners.
“Look!” exclaimed Sybil.
“Where?”
“At the east window.”
Mr. Berners raised his eyes just in time to see a weird young face, with wild black hair, and a bright red mantle, flash downward from the window, as if it had dropped to the floor.
There was no dream now; not even an optical illusion. The reality of the vision was unquestionable.
“This is most strange,” exclaimed Mr. Berners.
“It is the same face that bent over me, and woke me up,” answered Sybil, with a shudder.