With loving words she soothed her, calming her as though she had been a child in nightmare terror, and gradually a certain peace began to still the horror in Dinah's soul. An unmistakable drowsiness was stealing over her, a merciful lethargy lulling the sensibilities that had been so acutely tried. Her weakness was merging into a sense of almost blissful repose. She was no longer conscious of the anguish of the cold. Neither did the darkness trouble her. And the comfort of Isabel's arms was rest to her spirit. As one who wanders in a golden maze she began to dream strange dreams that yet were not woven by the hand of sleep. Dimly she saw as down a long perspective a knight in golden armour climbing, ever climbing, the peaks of Paradise, from which, as from an eagle's nest, she watched his difficult but untiring progress. She thought he halted somewhat in the ascent--which was unlike Apollo, who walked as walk the gods with a gait both arrogant and assured. But still he came on, persistently, resolutely, carrying his golden shield before him. His visor was down, and she wished that he would raise it. She yearned for the sight of that splendid face with its knightly features and blue, fiery eyes. She pictured it to herself as he came, but somehow it did not seem to fit that patient climbing figure. And then as he gradually drew nearer, the thought came to her to go and meet him, and she started to run down the slope. She reached him. She gave him both her hands. She was ready--she was eager--to be drawn into his arms. But he did not so draw her. To her amazement he only bowed himself before her and stretched forth the shield he bore that it might cover them both. "It is Mr. Greatheart!" she said to herself in wonder. "Of course--it is Mr. Greatheart!" And then, while she still gazed upon the glittering, princely form, he put up a hand and lifted the visor. And she saw the kindly, steadfast eyes all kindled and alight with a glory before which instinctively she hid her own. Never--no, never--had she dreamed before that any man could look at her so! It was not passion that those eyes held for her;--it was worship. She stood with bated breath and throbbing heart, waiting, waiting, as one in the presence of a vision, who longs--yet fears--to look. And while she waited she knew that the sun was shining upon them both with a glowing warmth that filled her soul abrim with such a rapture as she had never known before. "How wonderful!" she murmured to herself. "How wonderful!" And then at last she summoned courage to look up, and all in a moment her vision was shattered. The darkness was all about her again; Greatheart was gone. CHAPTER XXI THE RETURN