“Quite certain,” she assured him. “Then,” murmured Waddy, “I’ve seen a ghost. I’m insane. I always wished to know what the feeling was. Now I have it. Bring a strait-jacket, quick! I’m dangerous! Hold me!” And he sank back, looking excessively feeble and quite manageable. Presently he seemed to revive a little. “Miss Miranda,” he continued, “how do you suppose I know your name?” “Perhaps you heard mother call me,” she suggested. “No,” said he, “I heard it in a dream, an exquisite dream, such as may come to us insane men to compensate us for losing our wakeful wits. My dream was this: I thought that I was lying powerless in the dominion of a wonderful delight--a delight not strange, but seemingly familiar as a fulfilled prophecy, whose fulfilment had been forever a lingering certainty. I was lying, trammelled by a willing motionlessness, in the loveliest glade of a wood fresh as Paradise. And then my trance, so content with its own happiness, was visited with happiness inexpressibly greater. It seemed that a face, well known, as to dreams of infancy a mother’s sweet watchfulness may be,--that such a face, perhaps my own life-long dream of pureness personified, bent over me and seemed searching through my closed eyes, into my very soul, for the imperishable legends of my better life, written there beneath my earliest and holiest vows. I heard a voice, such as I may have dreamed the voice of an angel, and it said, ‘Beautiful world of God! Why are we not happy?’ Then all the vision faded into dimness and someone like you, you in fact, came between me and the angel, and the voice called you by your name, ‘Miranda.’” “It is a very pretty dream,” said Miranda, as he stopped, visibly exhausted, “and truer than most dreams. When we were bringing you up from the beach, we rested several times in the wood, and Miss Sullivan, who seems to me like an angel, stooped over you to see whether you were reviving at all. I remember, too, that she said something like what you heard.” “Miss Sullivan,” repeated Mr. Waddy, rather crossly; “a very respectable young woman, I’ve no doubt. But I don’t know her--well, I must have been in a trance and seen old visions.” He remained silent for some time, buried in thought--not pleasant thought, to judge by his countenance. “Princess Miranda,” he resumed, at last, “what may be the name of your realm? Where am I? Is Duke Prospero without?” “You’re in father’s house on The Island in Maine,” answered Miranda simply. “There’s father, now, just come back from taking Miss Sullivan to Loggerly.”