"Did you dream of her last night, Lionel?" answered Lucy, from her low seat where she generally sat, near to Lionel, but with her face mostly turned from him.
And it may as well be mentioned that Miss Lucy never thought of such a thing as discouraging Lionel's love and remembrance of Sibylla. Her whole business in the matter seemed to be to listen to him, and help him to remember her.
"Ay," said Lionel, in answer to the question. "Do you suppose I should dream of anything else?"
Whatever Lucy may or may not have supposed, it was a positive fact, known well to Lionel—known to him, and remembered by him to this hour—that he constantly dreamed of Sibylla. Night after night, since the unhappy time when he learned that she had left him for Frederick Massingbird, had she formed the prominent subject of his dreams. It is the strict truth; and it will prove to you how powerful a hold she must have possessed over his imagination. This he had not failed to make an item in his revelations to Lucy.
"What was your dream last night, Lionel?"
"It was only a confused one; or seemed to be when I awoke. It was full of trouble. Sibylla appeared to have done something wrong, and I was defending her, and she was angry with me for it. Unusually confused it was. Generally my dreams are too clear and vivid."
"I wonder how long you will dream of her, Lionel? For a year, do you think?"
"I hope not," heartily responded Lionel. "Lucy, I wish I could forget her?"
"I wish you could—if you do wish to do it," simply replied Lucy.
"Wish! I wish I could have swallowed a draught of old Lethe's stream last February, and never recalled her again!"