was going on between them which he somehow knew I could help
them in. It was as though he were calling on something in my nature
which I did not myself comprehend, but which his profound mind saw and
knew was stronger than I was.

Suddenly I felt as if I might trust to him and to It, and that, without
being troubled or anxious, I would just say the first thing which came
into my mind, because it would be put there for me by some power which
could dictate to me. I never felt younger or less clever than I did at
that moment; I was only Ysobel Muircarrie, who knew almost nothing. But
that did not seem to matter. It was such a simple, almost childish thing
I told her. It was only about The Dream.

CHAPTER VII

"The feeling you call The Fear has never come to me," I said to her.
"And if it had I think it would have melted away because of a dream I
once had. I don't really believe it was a dream, but I call it one. I
think I really went somewhere and came back. I often wonder why I
came back. It was only a short dream, so simple that there is scarcely
anything to tell, and perhaps it will not convey anything to you. But it
has been part of my life--that time when I was Out on the Hillside. That
is what I call The Dream to myself, 'Out on the Hillside,' as if it were
a kind of unearthly poem. But it wasn't. It was more real than anything
I have ever felt. It was real--real! I wish that I could tell it so that
you would know how real it was."

I felt almost piteous in my longing to make her know. I knew she was
afraid of something, and if I could make her know how REAL that one
brief dream had been she would not be afraid any more. And I loved her,
I loved her so much!

"I was asleep one night at Muircarrie," I went on, "and suddenly,
without any preparatory dreaming, I was standing out on a hillside
in moonlight softer and more exquisite than I had ever seen or known
before. Perhaps I was still in my nightgown--I don't know. My feet were
bare on the grass, and I wore something light and white which did not
seem to touch me. If it touched me I did not feel it. My bare feet did
not feel the grass; they only knew it was beneath them.

"It was a low hill I stood on, and I was only on the side of it. And in
spite of the thrilling beauty of the moon, all but the part I stood on
melted into soft, beautiful shadow, all below me and above me. But I did
not turn to look at or ask myself about anything. You see the difficulty