Robert Lake had no belief in dreams; was given to scoff at them; but he had too much regard for his wife to attempt to scoff then, in her extremity of distress and agitation. He got up and lighted a lamp, for though morning was glimmering it could not be said to be yet light. "I am quite certain that it is sent to me as a warning," she exclaimed; "and I will not go on Sunday to Guild." "I never knew before that you could believe in dreams," he answered. "I do not believe in dreams; I have never had any particular dreams to believe in. But you must acknowledge, Robert, that this one is beyond common. I cannot describe to you how vivid, how _real_ everything appeared to me. And it was not one dream; it was two: that at least is unusual. The second dream was a continuation of the first." "The one induced the other. I dare say you saw a hearse pass yesterday?" "I have not seen a hearse for ever so long," she answered, still shivering. "But, go to your sister's, I will not. Thank heaven! though the power to refuse was not mine in the dream, it is in reality." But that it was not the time to do it, he could have laughed outright at the superstitious folly. He spoke pleasant, loving words to her, almost as one would to a frightened child, trying to soothe her back to tranquillity. "Clara; consider! the very fact of your being able to act as you please, which it seems you could not do in the dream, ought to convince you how void of meaning it was." "I will not go to Mrs. Chester's," was all she reiterated, with a strange sigh of relief--a sense of thanksgiving that the option was assuredly hers. "Wait for the morning sun," said he. "You will be in a different mood then." She did not rise so soon as usual. She had got to sleep again at last, first of all making a firm inward resolution that no persuasion, no ridicule, no "morning sun"--in whose cheery rays things indeed wear a different aspect from what they do in the dark and weird night should suffice to alter her determination. The warning against going she fully believed to have been sent to her, and she would abide by it. Mr. Lake waited breakfast for his wife. She came down in her delicate muslin dress, looking as pretty as usual. At first she made no allusion to the past night; neither did he--he hoped it was at an end; but when breakfast was about half over, she glanced up at him in her rather shy manner, speaking in a low tone. "I have a request to beg of you, Robert--that you will not mention this dream to any one. I will make some other excuse for not going to Guild." "Dream!" cried he, speaking with his mouth full. "Why, Clary, I had already forgotten it. And so will you before the day shall be over." She shook her head. "I shall send word to Penelope that I cannot go." Mr. Lake put down his knife and fork and gazed at her in astonishment. To his sober, practical mind, his careless nature, this in truth savoured of the ridiculous.