“Then I watched something black come all the way up the drive, from the lodge-gates, through the park. I could not at first make out what it was, but I saw that it was something very, very black, and it came on slowly like a great beetle. But when it was near, then I saw it was a coach drawn by four black horses, and there was a man on the box, driving, and he was in black. There was no silver nor brass mounting to the harness of the horses, or I should have seen it sparkle in the moonlight. And, dear papa, the coach stole on without making any noise. I saw the horses trotting, and the wheels of the coach turning, but there was no sound at all on the gravel. Was not that strange?” “Very strange indeed, my dear.” “But there was something much stranger. I saw that the horses had no heads, and also that the coachman had no head. His hat with the long weeper was on the top of the carriage. He could not wear it because he was without a head. Was not that queer?” “Very queer,” answered Lord Lamerton, and signed to the nurse to leave the room. His face looked grave, and he held the little boy to his heart, and kissed his forehead with lips that somewhat quivered. “Then, papa, the carriage stopped at the entrance, and I could see through the window panes to the gravel with the moon on it, on the other side, and there was no one at all in the coach. It was quite, quite empty.” “Did you not think it was Dr. Blewett come to see you, my little man?” “No, papa, I did not think anything about whose coach it was. But when it remained at the door, and no one got out, I saw it must be staying for some one to enter it.” “And did any one come out of the house?” Then the little boy began to sob again, and cling round his father’s neck, and kiss him. “Well, my dear Giles?” “Oh, papa!—you will not go away!—I saw you come out of the door, and you went away in the coach—” “I!” Lord Lamerton drew a sigh of relief. The dream of the dear little fellow, associated with his illness, had produced an uneasy effect on his father’s mind—he feared it might portend the loss of the boy, but if the carriage waited only for himself—! “That, papa, was why I cried, and was frightened. You will not go! you must not go!” The child trembled, clasping his father, and rubbing his wet cheek against his father’s face. Then Lord Lamerton called the nurse from the next room. “Master Giles,” he said, “is not thoroughly roused. The current of his thoughts must be diverted. Throw that thick shawl over him. I will carry him down into the drawing-room to my lady, and show him a picture-book. Then he will forget his dream and go to sleep. Come for him in a quarter of an hour.”