e of fantastic trees, whose every
leaf was an eye looking after that man, who walked away growing smaller,
but never getting out of sight for all his steady progress. He felt a
desire to see him vanish, a hurried impatience of his disappearance, and
he watched for it with a careful and irksome effort. There was something
familiar about that figure. Why! Himself! He gave a sudden start and
opened his eyes, quivering with the emotion of that quick return from so
far, of finding himself back by the fire with the rapidity of a flash of
lightning. It had been half a dream; he had slumbered in her arms for
a few seconds. Only the beginning of a dream--nothing more. But it was
some time before he recovered from the shock of seeing himself go away
so deliberately, so definitely, so unguardedly; and going away--where?
Now, if he had not woke up in time he would never have come back again
from there; from whatever place he was going to. He felt indignant. It
was like an evasion, like a prisoner breaking his parole--that thing
slinking off stealthily while he slept. He was very indignant, and was
also astonished at the absurdity of his own emotions.

She felt him tremble, and murmuring tender words, pressed his head
to her breast. Again he felt very peaceful with a peace that was as
complete as the silence round them. He muttered--

"You are tired, Aissa."

She answered so low that it was like a sigh shaped into faint words.

"I shall watch your sleep, O child!"

He lay very quiet, and listened to the beating of her heart. That sound,
light, rapid, persistent, and steady; her very life beating against his
cheek, gave him a clear perception of secure ownership, strengthened his
belief in his possession of that human being, was like an assurance of
the vague felicity of the future. There were no regrets, no doubts,
no hesitation now. Had there ever been? All that seemed far away, ages
ago--as unreal and pale as the fading memory of some delirium. All the
anguish, suffering, strife of the past days; the humiliation and anger
of his downfall; all that was an infamous nightmare, a thing born in
sleep to be forgotten and leave no trace--and true life was this: this
dreamy immobility with his head against her heart that beat so steadily.

He was broad awake now, with that tingling wakefulness of the tired body
which succeeds to the few refreshing seconds of irresistible sleep, and
his wide-open eyes looked absently at the doorway of