oment she too forgot.

Then his arms slowly relaxed and he leaned forward, placing his elbow
on his knee and covering his face with his hand. For a few moments he
thought without speaking. He decided that he would tell her something
to-night, but not all. He would give her a clue, and when she was
alone she might work the rest out for herself. Then, together, they
would decide what would be best to do. He took her hand.

"I have something to tell you," he said. "I did not tell you before
I left because I thought it best not, but things have occurred since
which make it desirable you should know. You do not know, I suppose,
that on the night of our dream you got up in your sleep and wandered
about the castle."

She leaned suddenly forward. "Yes?" she said, breathlessly. "I walked
in my sleep? You saw me? Where?"

"In the gallery that overhangs the sea. I had gone there to watch the
storm, and was about to return to my room when I saw you coming toward
me. At first I thought you were the spirit of your grandmother--of
Sioned Penrhyn. In your sleep you had dressed yourself like the
picture in the gallery, and the resemblance was complete. Then,
strangely enough, I walked up to you and took your hand and called you
'Sioned'--"

"Go on!"

"Then you told me that you were dead, and had been wandering in the
hereafter and looking for me; that you could not find me there, and so
had come back to earth and entered into the body of a dead child, and
given it life, and grown to womanhood again, and found me at last. And
then you put your cold arms about me and drew me down onto a seat. I
suddenly lost all consciousness of the present, and we were together
in a scene which was like a page from a past existence. The page was
that of the dream we have found so difficult a problem, and you read
it with me, not alone in your room--Weir! What is the matter?"

She had pushed him violently from her and sprung to her feet, and she
stood before him with wide-open, terror-stricken eyes, and quivering
in every limb. She tried to speak, but no words came; her lips were
white and shrivelled, and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.
Then she threw up her arms and fell heavily to the floor.

XIV.

After Weir had been carried up-stairs, and he had ascertained that she
was again conscious, Dartmouth went to his own room, knowing he could
not see her again that night. He did not go to bed; there was
no possibility of sleep f