t all my life was a
dream, and I must pray never to awake; but I do not think she knew, for
all that she is a witch. They none of them know,--none, none! If I had not
dreamed, as they call it,--if I had watched, and listened, and laid to
heart, and become like them,--oh, then I should have died of your look
when at last you came! But I 'dreamed;' and in that long dream you, though
you were overseas, you showed me, little by little, that the spirit is not
bond, but free,--that it can walk the waves, and climb to the sunset and
the stars. And I found that the woods were fair, that the earth was fair
and kind as when I was a little child. And I grew to love and long for
goodness. And, day by day, I have had a life and a world where flowers
bloomed, and the streams ran fresh, and there was bread indeed to eat. And
it was you that showed me the road, that opened for me the gates!"

She ceased to speak, and, turning fully toward him, took his hand and put
it to her lips. "May you be very happy!" she said. "I thank you, sir, that
when you came at last you did not break my dream. The dream fell short!"

The smile upon her face was very sweet, very pure and noble. She would
have gone without another word, but Haward caught her by the sleeve. "Stay
awhile!" he cried. "I too am a dreamer, though not like you, you maid of
Dian, dark saint, cold vestal, with your eyes forever on the still, white
flame! Audrey, Audrey, Audrey! Do you know what a pretty name you have,
child, or how dark are your eyes, or how fine this hair that a queen might
envy? Westover has been dull, child."

Audrey shook her head and smiled, and thought that he was laughing at her.
A vision of Evelyn, as Evelyn had looked that morning, passed before her.
She did not believe that he had found Westover dull.

"I am coming to Fair View, dark Audrey," he went on. "In its garden there
are roses yet blooming for thy hair; there are sweet verses calling to be
read; there are cool, sequestered walks to be trodden, with thy hand in
mine,--thy hand in mine, little maid. Life is but once; we shall never
pass this way again. Drink the cup, wear the roses, live the verses! Of
what sing all the sweetest verses, dark-eyed witch, forest Audrey?"

"Of love," said Audrey simply. She had freed her hand from his clasp, and
her face was troubled. She did not understand; never had she seen him like
this, with shining eyes and hot, unsteady touch.

"There is the ball at the Palace