Lady Lamerton drew the volume to her, and read as follows:—“A boy, pale as death, with disordered hair and closed eyes, rushed into the hall, uttering a wild scream of terror, and clinging to the baron with both hands, shrieked piercingly, ‘Knight and father! Father and knight! Death and another are closely pursuing me!’ An awful stillness lay like ice on the whole assembly, save that the boy screamed ever the fearful words.”
“It is not a pretty story,” said Lord Lamerton uneasily.
“Papa,” whispered the boy, “I did not think that anything was following me. I thought”—his father’s hand pressed his shoulders—“no, papa, I will not repeat it to mamma.”
“What is it, Giles?” asked his mother, looking up from the book.
“Nothing but this, my dear,” answered Lord Lamerton, “that I told Giles not to talk about his dreams. He must forget them as quickly as possible.”
“What is that priest doing?” asked the child, pointing to the picture.
Lady Lamerton read further. “‘Dear Lord Biorn,’ said the chaplain, ‘our eyes and thoughts have all been directed to you and your son in a wonderful manner; but so it has been ordered by the providence of God.’”
“I think, Giles, we will have no more of ‘Sintram’ to-night. Let us look together at the album of photographs. I will show you the new likeness of Aunt Hermione.”
“Where is young Mr. Saltren?” asked Lady Lamerton.
“I fancy he has gone to see his mother. If I remember aright, he said, after dinner, that he would stroll down to Chillacot.”