“Stop, stop!” she cried; “I’ve been here before. I know just what is before us! Ah, how can it be—and yet, yet, I’ve seen it all before. Just beyond that large tree the ground descends to a river. There is a marshy strip of ground at the left, and a log lying diagonally, thus.” Lissa indicated the position by crossing her hands. She was excited and eager. “What does it all mean? Am I, too, clairvoyant?” “We will see,” he said, chirruping to his horses. They soon came to the height overlooking the river flats. Before them lay the scene Lissa had described. The tears started in her eyes. “O Nathan, have I ever lived in another form than this? I certainly could never have been here before. I cannot understand it.” “Not unless you have been here in a dream.” At the word, Lissa started. “Ah, I know now. I remember! It is a dream! It is written down in my journal. I wrote it when I first began to keep a journal, many years ago. The dream made such an impression upon me, I wrote it down, and a description of the scene. I have frequently read it over since.” “What happened here, do you remember?” “No, I could not remember at the time, but I awoke with great fright, trying to cry out, with the feeling that I had been passing through some terrible experience, with this scene clearly imprinted upon my consciousness.” “It is a very strange coincidence, Lissa, but this is the place where a white man was flayed alive a number of years ago by the Indians.” “Ah, I remember reading of it, and how horrible it was.” “The man brought the punishment upon himself. He wantonly shot an Indian woman. It was a terrible method of torture, however. He was flayed before the eyes of his friends, and afterwards burned, I am told.” “Oh, dreadful, dreadful!” “The remainder of the party were allowed to go, I believe, after being made to witness his suffering and death. I used to know the man when I lived in Illinois,” Nathan added. “Remember, it is not so many years ago. We are to go among the same tribe of Indians. Probably those who committed the outrage are still living.” “Don’t let us speak of it. It horrifies me. I will look up the date of my dream in my journal, when we get home, and see if it corresponds with the date of the tragedy. If it should prove to be the same, I should believe that I saw the crime in my sleep. Ugh!” “We will stop to rest under this tree,” said Nathan. “This is the first large tree we have seen for some distance.” Later in the day they halted at a ranch, and bought some delicious water-melons of a smiling and inquisitive Dutch farmer, who grew them. After mid-day they stopped by the side of a lovely, quiet river, and enjoyed their luncheon, taken in this primitive fashion.