Then she returned to the kitchen. At that moment, while I
was still anxiously watching my mother, I was startled by seeing the same
ghastly change pass over her face which had altered it in the morning
when Alicia and she first met. Before I could say a word, she started up
with a look of horror.
"Take me back!--home, home again, Francis! Come with me, and never go back
more!"
I was afraid to ask for an explanation; I could only sign her to be
silent, and help her quickly to the door. As we passed the bread tray on
the table, she stopped and pointed to it.
"Did you see what your wife cut your bread with?" she asked.
"No, mother; I was not noticing. What was it?"
"Look!"
I did look. A new clasp knife, with a buckhorn handle, lay with the loaf
in the bread tray. I stretched out my hand to possess myself of it. At the
same moment, there was a noise in the kitchen, and my mother caught me by
the arm.
"The knife of the Dream! Francis, I'm faint with fear--take me away before
she comes back!"
I couldn't speak to comfort or even to answer her. Superior as I was to
superstition, the discovery of the knife staggered me. In silence, I
helped my mother out of the house; and took her home.
I held out my hand to say good-by. She tried to stop me.
"Don't go back, Francis! don't go back!".
"I must get the knife, mother.
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