I tried to laugh her out of these fancies as being quite unfounded, and attributed them to her nerves being over-wrought from want of sufficient air and exercise; but all without avail; she remained as confirmed as ever in her prejudices. It is now some time since I made allusion to Claribel's spiritual visitant. She had long been undisturbed by its visits; indeed, ever since De Chevron and John had commenced calling at the house, and even before. It is uncertain whether either of them had ever heard of the phenomenon. I rather think not, as De Chevron, who mixed almost entirely in the upper circles, would not easily have come in the way of our village cackle, especially as he was often absent from the village for months at a time; and as for John, being constantly engaged on Lord Edgedown's estate, he knew comparatively little of the world without. But whether they did or not, it is certain that the subject was never broached during all that time. We have mentioned before that Claribel's spiritual visitor was fitful and capricious in its visits. It might appear at any moment; but then we had been free from its company for so long, that we had dared to hope that it had forgotten all about us and would never return, until one morning new fears arose in my mind from a little circumstance which I shall now relate to you. Observing that my young friend rose from her couch looking poorly, I inquired into the cause of her jaded looks. "Oh, Molly," she replied, "I've had such a dreadful dream about poor John. I am sure that some danger threatens him." "What danger do you imagine threatens him, Claribel?" said I. "Tell me your dream." "I really do not know if I can," she replied; "it was so very confused. I thought that John Archer stood in danger of his life at the hands of Richard de Chevron, and yet it was not Richard de Chevron, but another; then, again, it was. I remember something about a murdered man, and fearing it was John Archer, but on examining the corpse it was another. Then I remember seeing John Archer handcuffed, and in great agony of mind, and I thought him guilty of the murder, and then he was not guilty. Then the dream began to change in such a manner as it would be impossible to relate it; but throughout I remember the fiendish face of Richard de Chevron. I was seized with an inexpressible horror, and could bear it no longer; then I awoke." "My dear Claribel," said I, "pray do not disturb yourself for such a ridiculous dream. You ought to know that all dreams are mad, the offspring of impaired digestion or----" But she impatiently cut me short by a wave of the hand, as if she were determined to believe in the warning character of her dream, despite all my sophistry.