[Sotto voce_.] Shall I not call the family? I think Mary and Grace must both be very cold; And they know nothing of this strange affair. I'll wait them at the landing, and secure Their silent entrance. _David_. If it please you--well. [PRUDENCE _retires, and returns with_ GRACE _and_ MARY.] _Mary_. Why! We heard nothing of it--Grace and I:-- What a cadaverous hand! How blue and thin! _David_. At his first wild awaking he bemoaned His fancied durance in a hospital; And since he spoke so strangely, I have thought He may have fled a mad-house. Matters not! We've done our duty, and preserved his life. _Mary_. Shall I disturb him if I look at him? I'm strangely curious to see his face. _David_. Go. Move you carefully, and bring us word Whether he sleeps. [MARY _rises, goes to the settle, and sinks back fainting _] Why! What ails the girl? I thought her nerves were iron. Dash her brow, And bathe her temples! _Mary_. There--there,--that will do. 'Tis over now. _David_. The man is speaking. Hush! _Stranger_. Oh, what a heavenly dream! But it is past, Like all my heavenly dreams, for never more Shall dream entrance me. Death has never dreams, But everlasting wakefulness. The eye Of the quick spirit that has dropped the flesh May close no more in slumber. * * * * * I must die! This painless spell which binds my weary limbs-- This peace ineffable of soul and sense-- Is dissolution's herald, and gives note That life is conquered and the struggle o'er. But I had hoped to see her ere I died; To kneel for pardon, and implore one kiss, Pledge to my soul that in the coming heaven We should not meet as strangers, but rejoin Our hearts and lives so madly sundered here, Through fault and freak of mine. But it is well! God's will be done! * * * * * I dreamed that I had reached The old red farmhouse,--that I saw the light Flaming as brightly as in other times It flushed the kitchen windows; and that forms Were sliding to and fro in joyous life, Restless to give me welcome. Then I dreamed Of the dear woman who went out with me One sweet spring morning, in her own sweet spring, To--wretchedness and ruin. Oh, forgive-- Dear, pitying Christ, forgive this cruel wrong, And let me die! Oh let me--let me die! Mary! my Mary! Could you only know How I have suffered since I fled from you.-- How I have sorrowed through long months of pain, And prayed for pardon,--you would pardon me. _David_. [_Sotto voce_] Mary, what means this? Does he dream alone, Or are we dreaming? _Mary_.