HAPTER VI

THE CLAIRVOYANTS

"Do you believe in dreams?" Constance Dunlap looked searchingly at her
interrogator, as if her face or manner betrayed some new side of her
character.

Mrs. deForest Caswell was an attractive woman verging on forty, a
chance acquaintance at a shoppers' tea room downtown who had proved to
be an uptown neighbor.

"I have had some rather strange experiences, Mildred," confessed
Constance tentatively. "Why!"

"Because--" the other woman hesitated, then added, "why should I not
tell you! Last night, Constance, I had the strangest dream. It has left
such an impression on me that I can't shake it off, although I have
tried all day."

"Yes? Tell me about it."

Mildred Caswell paused a moment, then began slowly, as if not to omit
anything from her story.

"I dreamt that Forest was dying. I could see him, could see the doctor
and the nurse, everything. And yet somehow I could not get to him. I
was afraid, with such an oppressive fear. I tried--oh, how I tried! I
struggled, and how badly I felt!" and she shuddered at the very
recollection.

"There seemed to be a wall," she resumed, "a narrow wall in the way and
I couldn't get over it. As often as I tried, I fell. And then I seemed
to be pursued by some kind of animal, half bull, half snake. I ran. It
followed closely. I seemed to see a crowd of people and I felt that if
I could only get to that crowd, somehow I would be safe, perhaps might
even get over the wall and--I woke up--almost screaming."

The woman's face was quite blanched.

"My dear," remonstrated Constance, "you must not take it so.
Remember--it was only a dream.

"I know it was only a dream," she said, "but you don't know what is
back of it."

Mildred Caswell had from time to time hinted to Constance of the
growing incompatibility of her married life, but as Constance was
getting used to confidences, she had kept silent, knowing that her
friend would tell her in time.

"You must have guessed," faltered Mrs. Caswell, "that Forest and I are
not--not on the best of terms, that we are getting further and further
apart."

It rather startled Constance to hear frankly stated what she already
had observed. She wondered how far the estrangement had gone. The fact
was that she had rather liked deForest Caswell, although she had only
met her friend's husband a few times. In fact she was surprised that
momentarily there flashed through her mind the query as to whether
Mildred