"It was not good, Ellen. My dreams were bad ones. They were too confused and indistinct for me to remember them clearly. But the impression they left upon me was that Joshua was in danger; I cannot tell in what way or from whom. I did not hear a word of the story Mr. Meddler just told us. I was thinking of I don't know what--and all of a sudden, Ellen, I fancied that I heard Joshua's voice." "That is because he is so near us." "Near us? Yes. He is very near us; nearer than you imagine." "How do you know, dear?" "I feel that he is; and strange to say, Ellen, the feeling does not seem to bring me pleasure." "O Dan!" "It is so, Ellen; I cannot help it. That Joshua is near us, I am certain. See: is there anybody in the street?" Ellen looked up and down. No; there was no person to be seen, and she said so. "How beautiful the night is, Dan!" "Yes, like fairyland, almost," said Dan. "It hurts me to see that black track on the other side, where the man was walking. Did you notice how he slouched along? Look at that shadow at the end of the street. Is it the same man, I wonder?" The shadow lingered for a few moments, as if undecided which road to take, and then disappeared again. "Dan, dear," whispered Ellen, "you said that you would not tell your fancies to any one but me." "Well, Ellen?" "May I whisper something, my dear?" she asked very tenderly. "Yes." "Would you not tell them to Minnie?" She was supporting Dan, and his hand was round her neck; a nervous twitching of his fingers told her that her question was a momentous one. "Dear Ellen," he answered in an agitated voice, "I do not think I would--at least just yet--because--because"-- "Because what, dear?" "Because I am not sure, Ellen," he said, with a sob which he strove in vain to suppress. "Do not say any thing more, dear. My heart is very sad." She obeyed him, and kissed him, and then, with a lingering look at the wondrous white outlines of eaves and roofs and at the wondrous white carpet with which the earth was clad, they closed the street-door and re-entered the kitchen. There they were greeted with the news that Basil Kindred was going to describe and read a play to them. The play which Basil had selected was Shakspeare's "Tempest," with which none of them was acquainted but Minnie and Dan. Minnie clapped her hands in delight. "We will all have characters," she said. "You," to her father, "shall be Prospero. You," to the Old Sailor, "shall be Stephano. You," to Ellen, "shall be Miranda; and I will be Ariel. What a pity it is that Mr. Fewster is not here!--he should be Caliban. If Joshua were here, he should be Ferdinand." "Who is Ferdinand?" asked Ellen. "Ferdinand is a prince, and is in love with Miran--no!" Minnie exclaimed suddenly and impetuously, the blood rising into her face, "he should not play Ferdinand; he should not play at all. Look at me. I am Ariel."