Springing up, I ran to her, crying: "Here! here! Save me, save me, Setti!" clasping my arms about her body as I spoke. Startled by my action and wild speech, she sought to disengage herself, but observing my distraught air, bent down and kissed me, saying soothingly: "What is the matter, Gilbert? What has frightened you? You tremble, and your face is as pale as death." "It’s the cold and damp," I answered, scarce knowing what I said, only that I sought to cling to her the tighter. "That is not it, Gilbert, for the morning is soft and warm," she answered, peering into my face. "You are ill or hiding something from me. What is it?" "Oh, I’ve had a dream, a dreadful dream—or it was true, I don’t know which. I thought Aunt Jane came and took me to her home and hid me in a cave where no one could find me or hear my cries." "Oh you poor boy! It was only a dream, for see, this is the Dragon, and your uncle is downstairs, and Constance will be here in a moment with your breakfast." "Let’s go to her; it’s better than staying here," I answered, looking back into the room, unable to command my voice or trembling limbs. "No, Gilbert, not till you are yourself again. Constance must not see you in this way, for the poor thing is dead with grief already," she answered, striving to quiet my agitation. "I’ll stay, but don’t leave me, for I’ll not stop here alone; I can’t!" I cried, fear still overcoming me. "See, it is nothing," she answered, entering the room and looking about. "It was all a dream, Gilbert. There, you will be yourself again in a minute"; and putting her arm about me, she led me to the open window, and looking out, I saw the day was just breaking. In this manner, and after some time, I regained my composure, so that when Constance entered she in no wise suspected that anything had gone amiss. Spreading the table, Setti motioned the servant to go away, and making some excuse, she presently followed, leaving us alone. Seating myself, I made pretense of eating, but only that, so deeply was I stirred by what had happened and the thought of parting from Constance. Now, though a long life has elapsed since that unhappy morning, I can see her as plainly as then, striving to smile or say some cheerful word, but more often with tears filling her gentle eyes and clogging her utterance as she sat sad-faced and despondent by my side. In this way I made believe I had some appetite, till the horn sounded the departure of the stage. Then, springing to my feet, I took her in my arms and kissed her a thousand times, but without speech of any kind, so full were we of the sorrow of parting. At last, tearing myself away, I hurried below, where I found Mr. Seymour waiting for me in the hall.