Kit thanked him, and made him a hasty answer in the negative, he was turning back, when his attention was caught by the voice of a child. Looking up, he saw a very little creature at a neighbouring window.

‘What is that?’ cried the child, earnestly. ‘Has my dream come true? Pray speak to me, whoever that is, awake and up.’

‘Poor boy!’ said the sexton, before Kit could answer, ‘how goes it, darling?’

‘Has my dream come true?’ exclaimed the child again, in a voice so fervent that it might have thrilled to the heart of any listener. ‘But no, that can never be. How could it be—Oh! how could it!’

‘I guess his meaning,’ said the sexton. ‘To thy bed again, dear boy!’

‘Ay!’ cried the child, in a burst of despair, ‘I knew it could never be, I felt too sure of that, before I asked. But, all tonight and last night too, it was the same. I never fall asleep, but that cruel dream comes back.’

‘Try to sleep again,’ said the old man, soothingly. ‘It will go, in time.’

‘No no, I would rather that it staid—cruel as it is, I would rather that it staid,’ rejoined the child. ‘I am not afraid to have it in my sleep, but I am so sad—so very, very sad.’

The old man blessed him, the child in tears replied Good-night, and Kit was again alone.

He hurried back, moved by what he had heard, though more by the child’s manner than by anything he had said, as his meaning was hidden from him. They took the path indicated by the sexton, and soon arrived before the parsonage wall. Turning round to look about them when they had got thus far, they saw, among some ruined buildings at a distance, one single solitary light.

It shone from what appeared to be an old oriel window, and being surrounded by the deep shadows of overhanging walls, sparkled like a star. Bright and glimmering as the stars above their heads, lonely and motionless as they, it seemed to claim some kindred with the eternal lamps of Heaven, and to burn in fellowship with them.

‘What light is that!’ exclaimed the younger brother.

‘It is surely,’ said Mr Garland, ‘in the ruin where they live. I see no other ruin hereabouts.’

‘They cannot,’ returned the brother hastily, ‘be waking at this late hour—’

Kit interposed directly, and begged that, while they rang and waited at the gate, they would let him make his way to where this light was shining and try to ascertain if any people were about. Obtaining the permission he desired, he darted on with breathless eagerness, and, still carrying the birdcage in his hand, made straight towards the spot.

It was not easy to hold that pace among the graves, and at another time he might have gone more slowly, or round by the path. Unmindful of all obstacles, however, he pressed forward without slackening his speed, and soon arrived within a few yards of the window.

He approached as softly as he could, and advancing so near the wall as to brush the whitened ivy with his dress, listened. There was no sound inside. The church itself was not more quiet. Touching the glass with his cheek, he listened again. No. And yet there was such a silence all around, that he felt sure he could have heard the even breathing of a sleeper, if there had been one there.

A strange circumstance, a light in such a place at that time of night, with no one near it.