There was a cloud on her fair brow for a few minutes, but it passed away, and, quiet and calm as ever, she sat down at the little tea-table with Ellen. From _her_ face all shadows seemed to have flown for ever. Hungry and happy, she enjoyed Margery's good bread and butter, and the nice honey, and from time to time cast very bright looks at the dear face on the other side of the table, which could not help looking bright in reply. Ellen was well pleased, for her part, that the third seat was empty. But Alice looked thoughtful sometime as a gust of wind swept by, and once or twice went to the window. After tea, Alice took out her work, and Ellen put herself contentedly down on the rug, and sat leaning back against her. Silent for very contentment for a while, she sat looking gravely into the fire; while Alice's fingers drove a little steel hook through and through some purse silk in a mysterious fashion, that no eye could be quick enough to follow, and with such skill and steadiness, that the work grew fast under her hand. "I had such a funny dream last night," said Ellen. "Had you? what about?" "It was pleasant, too," said Ellen, twisting herself round to talk — "but very queer. I dreamed about that gentleman that was so kind to me on board the boat — you know? — I told you about him?" "Yes, I remember." "Well, I dreamed of seeing him somewhere, I don't know where — and he didn't look a bit like himself, only I knew who it was; and I thought I didn't like to speak to him for fear he wouldn't know _me_, but then I thought he did, and came up and took my hand, and seemed so glad to see me; and he asked me if I had been _pious_ since he saw me." Ellen stopped to laugh. "And what did you tell him?" "I told him yes. And then I thought he seemed so very pleased." "Dreamers do not always keep close to the truth, it seems." "_I_ didn't," said Ellen. "But then I thought I had, in my dream." "Had what? kept close to the truth?" "No, no — been what he said." "Dreams are queer things," said Alice. "I have been far enough from being good to-day," said Ellen, thoughtfully. "How so, my dear?" "I don't know, Miss Alice — because I never _am_ good, I suppose." "But what has been the matter to-day?"