“The ten regiments have marched in from Oxford, and are quartered in the Hall of Liberty. Twenty-seven miles completed in eight and a half hours; not a single private fell out of the ranks. Will be down to see you in an hour or so.”
“No, Bernie; no answer, thanks. Is Evie in yet?” queries the recipient.
“I’ll go and see,” answers the youth, vanishing as he speaks.
“Dear mother, I must leave you now, but will see you again before I go to the House. Estcourt and Douglasdale will be here directly, and the latter is to escort you to-night,” observes Hector D’Estrange, rising and kissing Speranza.
The mother throws her arms around her child. The anxious look in her eyes is intensified.
“My darling, may all go well with you to-night. It is foolish, I know, but there is a foreboding of evil next my heart which I cannot shake off, try as I may. Ah, Gloria! if aught should happen to you, my precious child, what would your mother do?”
“Why, mother, what ails you, dearest? Evil happen to Gloria? What fancy is this? Of course I expect defeat; but that will not be evil; merely the beginning of a great end.
“I do not allude to that, dear one, but to something quite different. Gloria, I had a terrible dream last night. I saw him close to me, the being that I loathe. He had you down, and stood above you with a naked sword raised threateningly. I rushed to save you, but ere I could avert his arm he had pointed it straight down at you, and pierced you to the heart.”
“Tush, mother, a mere dream, that’s all. You must not dwell upon it. Dear mother, put it from your mind.”
“Would to God that I could, Gloria! But it haunts me like a spectre, and will not pass away. However, my child, I must not damp your spirits with my fancies. Go now to your duties, from which I must not keep you, and mother will do her best to drive the dream away.”