"Ah, yes! And now it seems far off; for, after it, came other dreams, that were happy and delightful, so that the bad one receded ever farther. Just when I seemed even at the very point of death from horror, a cool hand pressed tenderly on my brow, and brought me peace. It seemed to cool the fever that had made me think my very brain would burst; and a voice said--oh _so_ kindly--'Be at rest, my daughter, I bring thee peace, and surcease of thy sorrow.' Then I opened my eyes and saw a strange form leaning over me. It was dressed in a warrior dress, just like that which stands in our museum and which is called Mellenda's. Helmet, sword, everything the same. Then I felt secure and happy, for I thought the great Mellenda had come to deliver me in my trouble. But--and this seems so strange--when I looked up at his face, who do you think he was? Ah! you would never guess! But the countenance was Monella's--your friend Monella's! Was not my dream a strange one?" "Strange, indeed, my dear one," said Leonard tenderly. "From that moment," went on Ulama, "everything was changed, everything was _lovely_. It seemed to me that _you_ then came to me, and led me from that scene of horror. Where we went I know not; but, hand in hand, we wandered on, till you led me home. Then once more things became confused--I can scarcely remember--but I'm nearly sure Mellenda seemed to come to me again. And--yes--I remember, he repeated, 'Rest, my child; I bring thee rest and peace.' Then he left me, and we wandered on--you and I, my Leonard--through the loveliest, the most entrancing scenes; among places, people, strange to me, yet all delightful; and, oh, it all seemed _so_ sweet, so restful, so grateful, after the horror of that first awful dream! At last I wakened, and they tell me I have slept through two whole nights and nearly two whole days! Did you not wonder that you saw me not the while? Tell me how you have passed your time without me?" And thus the gentle, loving girl talked on with childlike innocence, Leonard at first evading her inquiries, averse to mar her happiness by telling her the truth. Indeed, it was not for some days, and then only by degrees and carefully guarded words, that he revealed the truth about her 'dreams.' CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LAST OF THE GREAT DEVIL-TREE.