“I was dreaming of the mére. She came with her apron to her eyes and her clothes in tatters. She was scolding—”
“Perfectly natural.”
“And begging me—”
“Not to eat so many half-baked beans for supper.”
“There’s something wrong at the island. I saw the cabin all dark. I saw Margot’s eyes red with weeping.”
“No doubt, Tom has been into fresh mischief and your mother has punished him.”
Pierre ignored these flippant interruptions, but rehearsed his dismal visions till Adrian lost patience and pushed him aside.
“Go, bring an armful of fresh wood: some that isn’t phosphorescent, if you prefer. That’ll wake you up and drive the megrims out of your mind.”
“’Tis neither of them things. ’Tis a warning. They were all painted with black, and all the Hollow creatures were painted, too. ’Tis a warning. I shall see death before I am—”
Even while he maundered on in this strain, he was unconsciously obeying the command to fetch wood, and moved toward a pile left ready. Now, in raking this together, Adrian had, also, swept that spot of ground clean and exposed; and what neither had observed in the twilight was plainly revealed by the glow and shadows cast by the fire.