d, the beautiful eyes closed. The dead
face that the glass reflected was a thing of marvelous beauty and
tranquillity. The Grey Dawn crept in over it and saw it lying there.

Had she found what she sought for--something to worship? Had she ceased
from being? Who shall tell us? There is a veil of terrible mist over the
face of the Hereafter.

Chapter 2.XIII. Dreams.

"Tell me what a soul desires, and I will tell you what it is." So runs
the phrase.

"Tell me what a man dreams, and I will tell you what he loves." That
also has its truth.

For, ever from the earliest childhood to the latest age, day by day, and
step by step, the busy waking life is followed and reflected by the life
of dreams--waking dreams, sleeping dreams. Weird, misty, and distorted
as the inverted image of a mirage, or a figure seen through the mountain
mist, they are still the reflections of a reality.

On the night when Gregory told his story Waldo sat alone before the
fire, his untasted supper before him. He was weary after his day's
work--too weary to eat. He put the plate down on the floor for Doss,
who licked it clean, and then went back to his corner. After a time the
master threw himself across the foot of the bed without undressing, and
fell asleep there. He slept so long that the candle burnt itself out,
and the room was in darkness. But he dreamed a lovely dream as he lay
there.

In his dream, to his right rose high mountains, their tops crowned with
snow, their sides clothed with bush and bathed in the sunshine. At their
feet was the sea, blue and breezy, bluer than any earthly sea, like
the sea he had dreamed of in his boyhood. In the narrow forest that ran
between the mountains and the sea the air was rich that the scent of the
honey-creeper that hung from dark green bushes, and through the velvety
grass little streams ran purling down into the sea.

He sat on a high square rock among the bushes, and Lyndall sat by him
and sang to him. She was only a small child, with a blue pinafore, and
a grave, grave, little face. He was looking up at the mountains, then
suddenly when he looked round she was gone. He slipped down from his
rock, and went to look for her, but he found only her little footmarks;
he found them on the bright green grass, and in the moist sand, and
there where the little streams ran purling down into the sea. In and
out, in and out, and among the bushes where the honey-creeper hung,
he went looking for her. At