"Look here," said he, catching me by the shoulder, "I want to say half-a-dozen words to Mr. Coney. Can you manage to bring him out to me, or smuggle me into any little place where we can be alone? I suppose the house is chock-full of wedding-people." "You have brought bad news of Robert Ashton!" I said, in sudden conviction. "What is it?" "Well, so I _have_," he answered confidentially. "It will soon be known to every one, but I should like to break it to Coney first. I've come over to do it. Robert Ashton is in custody for murder!" I felt my face turn as pale as a girl's. "For _murder_?" Old Cockermuth's face grew long as he nodded. "He is in custody for nothing less than the murder of his brother-in-law, Bird. Yesterday----" A smothered cry behind us, and I turned sharply. There stood Jane. She had seen Cockermuth's arrival, and came down, knowing he must have brought bad news. The white robe and wreath were gone, and she wore an everyday dress of violet merino. "Now, my dear! my dear, be calm!" cried the old lawyer, in a fright. "For goodness' sake shut us in somewhere, Johnny Ludlow! We shall have the whole pack out upon us." Some of the pack did come, before he could be shut up. And there we were--hearing that Robert Ashton had been taken up for murder. It appeared that, after quitting the Crown on the previous day, he met his sister's husband, Captain Bird--from habit, people still accorded him his title. Captain Bird told him Lucy was dangerously ill, and asked him to go and see her. Robert went at once to their lodgings. What exactly happened there, no one as yet knew; but Robert and Bird got quarrelling. Robert did not come out again. In the morning (this morning) the neighbours heard a hue-and-cry; and on the door being opened by two policemen, Bird was found lying in the passage dead, as was supposed, and Robert Ashton was given into custody for his murder. Jane touched me on the arm, and I followed her into the large, empty dining-room. That miserable breakfast! waiting for those who could not sit down to it. The evergreens on the walls seemed to look faded; the flowers on the table to have lost their first freshness. "You see I was right, Johnny," she said. "That dream was a dream of warning. And sent as one." It did look like it. But dreams are things you can't lay hold of; no, nor altogether believe in. Standing by the cold grate, she began to shiver. In the confusion, the servants had let the fire go out. "I would forget the dream, if I were you, Jane. Where's the use of people having dreams----" "Say warnings, Johnny." "----if they cannot see how to make use of them? Call them warnings, an you like the word better. They are of no good at all." "Oh, Johnny, if I could only die! It was hard enough to bear when he was only missing; but now----"