Her uncle
seemed to have receded to a distance incalculable, and to have grown
awful as he receded. She was of a nature almost too delicately
impressionable; she not only felt things keenly, but retained the
sting of them after the things were nearly forgotten. But then the
swift and rare response of her faculties arose in no small measure
from this impressionableness. At the same time, but for instincts
and impulses derived from her race, her sensitiveness might have
degenerated into weakness.
CHAPTER LI.
A DREAM.
One evening, as Donal was walking in the little avenue below the
terraces, Davie, who was now advanced to doing a little work without
his master's immediate supervision, came running to him to say that
Arkie was in the schoolroom and wanted to see him.
He hastened to her.
"A word with you, please, Mr. Grant," she said.
Donal sent the boy away.
"I have debated with myself all day whether I should tell you," she
began--and her voice trembled not a little; "but I think I shall not
be so much afraid to go to bed if I do tell you what I dreamt last
night."
Her face was very pale, and there was a quiver about her mouth: she
seemed ready to burst into tears.
"Do tell me," said Donal sympathetically.
"Do you think it very silly to mind one's dreams?" she asked.
"Silly or not," answered Donal, "as regards the general run of
dreams, it is plain you have had one that must be minded.
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