h
brushing away something that troubled him.

"Not dead? Not dead!" he repeated, in changing tones.

"Come with me. I will show her to you."

He gazed at her and his senses reeled. Her words sounded like rarest
music in his ear; in the darkness of his brain a soft light began to
diffuse itself.

"Is it possible? Have I been mistaken?" he asked in a low voice, as
though speaking to himself.

"Come!" said Unorna again very gently.

"Whither? With you? How can you bring me to her? What power have you to
lead the living to the dead?"

"To the living. Come."

"To the living--yes. I have dreamed an evil dream--a dream of death. She
is not--no, I see it now. She is not dead. She is only very far from
me, very, very far. And yet it was this morning--but I was mistaken,
deceived by some faint likeness. Ah, God! I thought I knew her face!
What is it that you want with me?"

He asked the question as though again suddenly aware of Unorna's
presence. She had lifted her veil and her eyes drew his soul into their
mysterious depths.

"She calls you. Come."

"She? She is not here. What can you know of her? Why do you look at me
so?"

He felt an unaccountable uneasiness under her gaze, like a warning of
danger not far off. The memory of his meeting with her on that same
morning was not clear at that moment, but he had not forgotten the odd
disturbance of his faculties which had distressed him at the time. He
was inclined to resist any return of the doubtful state and to oppose
Unorna's influence. He felt the fascination of her glance, and he
straightened himself rather proudly and coldly as though to withdraw
himself from it. It was certain that Unorna, at the surprise of meeting
her, had momentarily dispelled the gloomy presentiment which had
given him such terrible pain. And yet, even his disturbed and anxious
consciousness found it more than strange that she should thus press him
to go with her, and so boldly promise to bring him to the object of his
search. He resisted her, and found that resistance was not easy.

"And yet," said she, dropping her eyes and seeming to abandon the
attempt, "you said that if you failed to-day you would come back to me.
Have you succeeded, that you need no help?"

"I have not succeeded."

"And if I had not come to you--if I had not met you here, you would have
failed for the last time. You would have carried with you the conviction
of her death to the moment of your own."

"It was