‘Father! father!’ said Charley, whispering in his ear as he lay—‘it’s all right. You need not be troubled about me any more.’
Mr Osborne turned on his pillow.
‘He’s dreaming about us now,’ said Charley. ‘He sees us both standing by his bed.’
But the next moment Mr Osborne sat up, stretched out his arms towards us with the open palms outwards, as if pushing us away from him, and cried,
‘Depart from me, all evil-doers. O Lord! do I not hate them that hate thee?’
He followed with other yet more awful words which I never could recall. I only remember the feeling of horror and amazement they left behind. I turned to Charley. He had disappeared, and I found myself lying in the bed beside Mr Osborne. I gave a great cry of dismay—when there was Charley again beside me, saying,
‘What’s the matter, Wilfrid? Wake up. My father’s not here.’
I did wake, but until I had felt in the bed I could not satisfy myself that Mr Osborne was indeed not there.
‘You’ve been talking in your sleep. I could hardly get you waked,’ said Charley, who stood there in his shirt.
‘Oh Charley!’ I cried, ‘I’ve had such a dream!’