"Well, Alice?" broke in Tod: for she had stopped, and was gazing out straight before her. "I wish I could show to you how _real_ all this was," she resumed. "It was more as though I were wide awake, and enacting it. I never had so vivid a dream before; never in all my life." "But why don't you go on?" "Somebody had been murdered: some man. I don't know who it was--or where, or how. Jack was suspected. Jack! But it seemed that it could not be brought home to him. We were in a strange town; at least, it was strange to me, though it seemed that I had stayed in it once before, many years ago. Jack was standing before me all this while, you understand, in his sadness and sorrow. It was not he who had told me what had happened. I seemed to have known it already. Everybody knew it, everybody spoke of it, and we were in cruel distress. Suddenly I remembered that when I was in the town the previous time, the man who was murdered had had a bitter quarrel with another man, a gentleman: and a sort of revelation came over me that this gentleman had been the murderer. I went privately to some one who had authority in the ship, and said so; I think her owner. He laughed at me--did I know how high this gentleman was, he asked; the first magnate in the town. That he had done it I felt sure; surer than if I had seen it done; but no one would listen to me--and in the trouble I awoke." "_That's_ not much to be troubled at," cried the Squire. "The trouble was terrible; you could not feel such in real life. But I have not told all. Presently I got to sleep again, and found myself in the same dream. I was going through the streets of the town in an open carriage, the ship's owner with me----" "Was the ship the _Rose of Delhi_?" "I don't know. The owner, sitting with me in the carriage, was not either of the owners of the _Rose of Delhi_, whom I know well; this was a stranger. We were going over a bridge. Walking towards us on the pavement, I saw two gentlemen arm-in-arm: one an officer in a dusky old red uniform and cocked-hat; the other an _evil_-looking man who wore a long brown coat. He walked along with his eyes on the ground. I knew him by intuition--that it was the man who had had the quarrel years before, and who had done the murder now. 'There's the gentleman you would have accused,' said my companion before I could speak, pointing to this man: 'he stands higher in position than anybody else in the town.' They walked on in their security, and we drove on in our pain. I ought to say in my pain, for I alone felt it. Oh, I cannot tell you what it was--this terrible pain; not felt so much, it seemed, because my husband could not be cleared, as for _his_ sadness and sorrow. Nothing like it, I say, can ever be felt on earth." "And what else, Alice?" "That is all," she sighed. "I awoke for good then. But the pain and the fear remain with me."