“Exactly,” replied Hartleton; “but I have no particular objection to tell you my dream without founding any impression upon it.”
“I am all attention,” said Learmont.
“I dreamt first that that smith, of the name of Britton, was a desperate villain, and for gold would—”
“Would what?” gasped Learmont.
“Do anything” said Hartleton.
“Well, sir, is that all?”
“Oh, no; my vision changed, and I thought I saw a gloomy passage, mouldy with the damps of time, and dripping with unwholesome moisture—creeping slimy things were all around, and in the midst I saw—”
“Yes—yes,” gasped Learmont. “W—what saw you?”
“A mouldering skeleton.”
“Indeed!”