"Of whom else could I dream but you—when under your roof," said he with a laugh.
"Oh, Iver! and what did you dream about me?"
"Arrant nonsense. Dreams go by contraries."
"Then what about me?"
"I dreamt of your marriage."
"Then that means death."
He caught her to him, and kissed her lips.
"We are brother and sister," he said, in self-exculpation. "Where is the harm?"
She disengaged herself hastily.
She heard a cough and looked round, to see the mocking face of Sarah Rocliffe, who had followed and had just emerged from the curdling fog below.