last, far off, in the sunshine, he saw her
gathering shells upon the sand. She was not a child now, but a woman,
and the sun shone on her soft brown hair, and in her white dress she put
the shells she gathered. She was stooping, but when she heard his step
she stood up, holding her skirt close about her, and waited for his
coming. One hand she put in his, and together they walked on over the
glittering sand and pink sea-shells; and they heard the leaves talking,
and they heard the waters babbling on their way to the sea, and they
heard the sea singing to itself, singing, singing.

At last they came to a place where was a long reach of pure white sand;
there she stood still, and dropped on to the sand one by one the
shells that she had gathered. Then she looked up into his face with her
beautiful eyes. She said nothing; but she lifted one hand and laid it
softly on his forehead; the other she laid on his heart.

With a cry of suppressed agony Waldo sprung from the bed, flung open the
upper half of the door, and leaned out, breathing heavily.

Great God! it might be only a dream, but the pain was very real,
as though a knife ran through his heart, as though some treacherous
murderer crept on him in the dark! The strong man drew his breath like a
frightened woman.

"Only a dream, but the pain was very real," he muttered, as he pressed
his right hand upon his breast. Then he folded his arms on the door, and
stood looking out into the starlight.

The dream was with him still; the woman who was his friend was not
separated from him by years--only that very night he had seen her. He
looked up into the night sky that all his life long had mingled itself
with his existence. There were a thousand faces that he loved looking
down at him, a thousand stars in their glory, in crowns, and circles,
and solitary grandeur. To the man they were not less dear than to the
boy they had been not less mysterious; yet he looked up at them and
shuddered; at last turned away from them with horror. Such countless
multitudes stretching out far into space, and yet not in one of them all
was she! Though he searched through them all, to the furthest, faintest
point of light, nowhere should he ever say, "She is here!" Tomorrow's
sun would rise and gild the world's mountains, and shine into its
thousand valleys; it would set and the stars creep out again. Year after
year, century after century, the old changes of nature would go on, day
and night,