In this condition, he fell asleep.
It often happens, by some strange contrariety of nature, that our dreams have relation to the subjects not nearest our hearts: what has occupied our thoughts during the day usually gives place, in sleep, to something of more remote interest—as if the soul, when momentarily disencumbered of the cares of life, shook off its dependence on the body and pursued the bent of its own fancy, regardless of the wants and woes of this tabernacle of day to which it is ordinarily held in subjection. But Harry’s experience did not, at this time, conform to the rule.
After he had slept awhile, he dreamed that he was hurrying, stealthily and alone, to the scene of mortal strife. A little in advance of him was an old man whom he had several times tried to avoid by changing his route, but the stranger, without appearing to be conscious of Harry’s motions, happened so exactly to regulate his course by that which Harry took, that the impatient youth found it necessary to brush past him, at the risk of being interrupted, if he would reach his destination in due season.
He had just overtaken the old man, and was rapidly striding onward, when the latter, with a promptness and vigor not to be expected in one of his years, grasped Harry’s arm, saying—
“Hold a moment, young man; you are Harry Bradford, I believe?”
“That is my name, old gentleman,” replied Harry, with a stare of astonishment, “but as I have not the pleasure of knowing you, I must beg you to defer your civilities. I am in haste.”
“Stay a moment, nevertheless,” continued the stranger, “or,”—seeing Harry about to move on in spite of him—“if you will not, at least walk slower, that I may accompany you. I knew your father, Harry, and I can surely claim of his son the privilege of a parting word just as he is about to rush unbidden into eternity.”
“Who are you, then, and what would you say?” exclaimed Harry, not a little startled to find that his purpose as well as his name was known to the stranger.
“I am your friend,” replied the old man, “and my name is Common Sense. Why are you determined to throw away your life?”
“Sir,” said Harry, “I am engaged in an affair of honor—a matter with which, I fancy, you can have no concern.”