With that, she darted into the wood, and, followed by the others, including the new-comer, Dodge, was soon at a considerable distance from the road. "Singular," said Roland to Edith, at whose rein he now rode, endeavouring to remove her terrors, which, though she uttered no words, were manifestly overpowering,--"singular that the girl should look so glad and fearless, while we are, I believe, all horribly frightened. It is, however, a good omen. When one so timorous as she casts aside fear, there is little reason for others to be frighted." "I hope,--I hope so," murmured Edith. "But--but I have had my omens, Roland, and they were evil ones. I dreamed--You smile at me!" "I do," said the soldier, "and not more at your joyless tones, my fair cousin, than at the coincidence of our thoughts. _I_ dreamed (for I also have had my visions) last night, that some one came to me and whispered in my ear to 'cross the river at the Lower Ford, the Upper being dangerous.' Verily, I shall hereafter treat my dreams with respect. I suppose,--I hope, were it only to prove we have a good angel in common,--that you dreamed the same thing." "No,--it was not that," said Edith, with a sad and anxious countenance. "It was a dream that has always been followed by evil. I dreamed--. But it will offend you, cousin?" "What!" said Roland, "a dream? You dreamed perhaps that I forgot both wisdom and affection, when, for the sake of this worthless beast, Briareus, I drew you into difficulty and peril?" "No, no," said Edith, earnestly, and then added in a low voice, "I dreamed of Richard Braxley!" "Curse him!" muttered the youth, with tones of bitter passion: "it is to him we owe all that now afflicts us,--poverty and exile, our distresses and difficulties, our fears and our dangers. For a wooer," he added, with a smile of equal bitterness, "methinks he has fallen on but a rough way of proving his regard. But you dreamed of him. Well, what was it? He came to you with the look of a beaten dog, fawned at your feet, and displaying that infernal will, 'Marry me,' quoth he, 'fair maid, and I will be a greater rascal than before,--I will burn this will, and consent to enjoy Roland Forrester's lands and houses in right of my wife, instead of claiming them in trust for an heir no longer in the land of the living.' Cur!--and but for you, Edith, I would have repaid his insolence as it deserved. But you ever intercede for your worst enemies. There is that confounded Stackpole, now: I vow to heaven, I am sorry I cut the rascal down!--But you dreamed of Braxley! What said the villain?"