"It doesn't look to me like a natural sleep," said Jim anxiously. "How pale he is! Don't you think----" "No," said Ida sharply, "I agree with Bess. Sidney had better be left alone. He gets into these states at times. Let us have tea. I am so hungry, and it's past five." "A quarter past," said Stephen glancing at his watch. They began to eat and drink, laughing and enjoying themselves. No one took any notice of Sidney, and even Jim's attention was distracted. The boy remained on the sofa, leaning back, white as snow, and drawing long deep breaths. He looked like a dead person. After a time the conversation languished. The tea was done, the food was finished, and they talked about packing up to go. "Poor Sidney's tea is quite cold," said Ida. "I really think we might wake him now. Oh, he is coming to himself. Wake up Sidney, and have some tea. It is nearly six and we must be getting home." The boy's face had now a delicate pink tinge on it, and he seemed more himself than he had been when he fell asleep. For a moment he was silent. Then he looked slowly round at those who were present, until his blue eyes fixed themselves calmly on Stephen. "Mr. Marsh!" he said quietly, "you had better go home. Your mother is dead." Ida gave a cry and Stephen turned pale. Bess alone retained sufficient presence of mind to cross over to the boy and shake him, "Sidney, what do you mean by saying such a horrible thing." "It is true," replied the boy quietly, "Mrs. Marsh is dead. I have just seen her. She died at half-past five. Go home Stephen." Without a word Marsh rushed from the room. He knew of Sidney's prophecies, and dreaded lest this one should be true. He made for Beorminster as fast as he could go, and was met by Petronella. "My padrona is dead!" said the old woman. CHAPTER VII A NINE DAYS' WONDER Petronella made the terrible announcement with ominous calmness. Then, when she saw Stephen staring at her open-mouthed, her wild southern nature could no longer be controlled. With a choking sob, she flung her apron over her head, and began to lament loudly for her dear padrona. Her voice ascended shrilling in a long wail, like that of the Corsican vocieri. Luckily there were few people in the street, and the sound was scarcely noticed; it was simply thought that the excitable Italian woman was in one of her tantrums. And Beorminster was used to Petronella's fits of rage. Stephen caught her suddenly and dragging her inside by main force closed the door.