“Will you come and see?” challenged Haynes.
“Willingly. Would it not be well to take the rock along for comparison?”
“Then we’d better all go,” said Everard Colton, “and carry the rock in shifts. It doesn’t look as if it had lost any weight with age.”
As the party reached the large living-room, Helga Johnston sprang up from the long cushioned rest near the fireplace. Her face was flushed with sleep. In the glow of the firelight an expression of affright lent her beauty an uncanny aspect. Her breath came in little gasps, and her hands groped and trembled.
“What is it, Miss Helga?” cried Everard, running eagerly forward.
Unconsciously her fingers closed on his outstretched hand, and clung there.
“A dream!” she said breathlessly. “A horrid dream!” Then turning to Haynes: “Petit Père, you aren’t going out to-night?” she said, glancing at the lanterns which her foster-father had brought.
“Yes, Princess, we’re all going.”
“Into danger?” asked the girl. She had freed herself from Colton’s grasp, but now her eyes fell on his again.
“No; just to clear up a little point. We shall all hang together.”