The look of thought changed to a look of affection as the eyes were brought to bear upon him, and she answered with a smile,
"Nothing,--I was looking at the stars."
"What are you dreaming about?"
"I wasn't dreaming," said Fleda,--"I was thinking."
"Thinking of what?"
"O of pleasant things."
"Mayn't I know them?--I like to hear of pleasant things."
"I was thinking,--" said Fleda, looking up again at the stars, which shone with no purer ray than those grave eyes sent back to them,--"I was thinking--of being ready to die."
The words, and the calm thoughtful manner in which they were said, thrilled upon Mr. Carleton with a disagreeable shock.
"How came you to think of such a thing?" said he lightly.