Bessie seemed troubled, but she could not be brought to confidence until the minister had opened his heart to her.  I saw that, and though I had never had a warning dream in my life, I felt it was my mission to help her.

The Rev. Charles and I had had a little, a very little, talk, but I saw that Bessie had named me to him—­that pleased me; that he was very desirous of gaining my good-will—­that pleased me too.  So I had happened to say that I admired church architecture, particularly Gothic:  some one had said that his church belonged to that style, and he immediately, offered to take us to examine it.  I asked him to call for us next day, and he delightedly promised that he would.

I told Bessie, and the ungrateful creature was alarmed and nervous, and gave way to all sorts of nonsense; but I consoled her and admired him in a way that seemed to give her satisfaction.  The next morning I made a startling discovery.  I went into the little bookroom that opened out of the great old-fashioned back parlor, where uncle and Mr. Haines sat every morning with Scott and Clarke and Cruden open before them:  I went in very quietly, and didn’t make much noise when there.  Mr. Haines was talking in a slow, set way, and I could hear the scratching of a pen over stiff paper.

“Would you mention my reasons for recording this, my dear Daniel?” he said to Uncle Pennyman.

“I have set them down at the commencement,” said my uncle, who was acting as scribe.  “I have said that, your mind being clear and your feelings at ease, you retired to your couch on the night of the 28th of October; that the form of your dear wife seemed waiting for you, since you became conscious of her presence immediately after your sinking asleep; and so on.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Haines, witty a deep sigh:  “it is a great thing, no doubt, to be so guided in the visions of the night, and I have many times considered myself greatly favored by the knowledge of the ministry of my dear wife’s blessed spirit; but, friend Daniel, if she had been a little more explicit in this instance it would have been a great comfort to me.  Follow me now, friend Daniel.  You have got it down to where she spoke.  Well, she raised her hand and seemed to point to the couch of Dorcas Elizabeth” (that was what Bess had been baptized, and was called by her father on solemn occasions)—­“my thoughts had been dwelling on the child, and her increasing age and future duties—­and she said, ’Marry her wisely to Thomas,’ and repeated the words three times.”

I heard the scratching pen and Mr. Haines’ depressed, uncertain sigh, and my own heart sank heavily.  There was no Thomas to marry her to but our Tom, and such a thing was simply preposterous and wicked.  I could not, I would not, bear even to think of it.

Oh, good Mrs. Haines, departed so long ago! why should you come back troubling us about such, things? and, above all, why could you not as well have said Charles as Thomas?