"That he shall never do," flashed out Eva.
"You have plenty of spirit, Miss Eva, but he'll wear you out. He wore out Lady Jane, your ma, as is now where he will never go. And was it this that set you moping by the winder, my dear lamb?"
Eva returned to her former seat. "Not altogether." She hesitated, and then looked anxiously at her old nurse, who stood with folded arms frowning and rigid. "You believe in dreams, Mrs. Merry?"
"As I believe that Merry was a scoundrel, and that my boy will take after him, as he does," said the woman, nodding sadly; "misery ain't surer nor dreams, nor taxes which allays come bringing sorrow and summonses with 'em. So you dreamed last night?"
"Yes. You know I went to bed early. I fell asleep at eight and woke at nine, trembling."
"Ah!" Mrs. Merry drew nearer--"'twas a baddish dream?"
"A horrible dream--it was, I think, two dreams."
"Tell it to me," said the old woman, her eyes glittering.
Eva struck her closed fist on the sill. "No," she cried passionately, "it's impossible to tell it. I wish to forget."
"You'll remember it well enough when the truth comes."