'Did you?' said Mrs. Moore. 'I have several old trinkets. I do not know to which you refer.'
She bade Violetta ring for tea. 'I am sure you will be the better for a cup of tea,' she said, turning to the curate.
'I am quite well,' he replied. 'I think, if you will excuse me, I will walk home at once; the air will do me good.'
But they would not hear of his walking home. They made him drink tea and sit out the evening with them. Violetta gave them some more music; and they all made themselves exceedingly agreeable. When the evening was over they sent the curate home in the carriage.
Chapter III
The night was frosty, calm, and clear, and quite light, for the March moon was just about to rise from the eastern sea.
When the carriage set him down at his own door the curate had no mind to go in. He waited till the sound of the horse's feet had died away, and then he walked back down the empty street. The town was asleep; his footsteps echoed sharply from roofs and walls.
He was not given to morbid fancies or hallucinations, and he was extremely annoyed at what had taken place. Twice in the last eight days he had been the subject of a waking dream, and now he was confronted with what seemed an odd counterpart of his vision in actual fact. It was no doubt a mere coincidence, but it was a very disagreeable one. Of course if he saw the old trinket described by Violetta, the chances were that it would be quite different from the setting of the stone which the dead woman wore; but even if the two were exactly the same, what difference could it make? A dream is nothing, and that which appears in a dream is nothing. The coincidence had no meaning.