Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original lovely illustrations. See 40950-h.htm or 40950-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40950/40950-h/40950-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40950/40950-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive/American Libraries. See http://archive.org/details/dreamerofdreams00sylv THE DREAMER of DREAMS by THE QUEEN of ROUMANIA Illustrated by Edmund Dulac Hodder & Stoughton London, New York, Toronto [Illustration: _Everything about her was white, glistening and shining._] Dedicated TO MY DAUGHTER ILEANA "I LOOKED INTO HER EYES AND THEREIN I SAW HOPES AND DREAMS AND ALL THE PROMISES LIFE CONTAINS." ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE EVERYTHING ABOUT HER WAS WHITE, GLISTENING AND SHINING 17 ERIC LAY NOW, STRETCHED AT THE FEET OF THE WOMAN HE COULD NOT LEAVE 39 A CIRCLE OF MIST SEEMED TO BE SETTLING AROUND THEM 72 IT WAS THE MIRACULOUS BUBBLES 100 AND THERE, LEANING AGAINST A MOSS-GROWN CRUMBLING TREE, WAS A SPIRIT-LIKE BEING OUT OF ANOTHER WORLD! 125 KING WANDA SAT UPON HIS MARBLE TERRACE BASKING IN THE FIRST WARMTH OF THE SEASON 173 I And I dream in my waking dreams, and deep in the dreams of sleep. FIONA MACLEOD. Consternation reigned in King Wanda's castle,--the great Northern King before whose will so many trembled, before whose smile so many crouched in expectation. His favourite painter had suddenly lost his wits and refused to finish the picture he had begun on the walls of the ancient hall where all the great banquets were held--a beautiful hall, where a frieze was being conjured into life by the incomparable art of Eric Gundian, a quite young man of wonderful talent, who had been discovered by the King one sunshiny morning. Each day that Eric Gundian had spent within the King's walls his reputation had grown, and he had, all unconsciously, become the Court favourite. His every whim had been an order; and his gay handsome face had been loved by old and young. The creeping jealousies around him had died down of themselves before the sweetness of his smile and the wonder of his art. The sound of his voice was like spring birds singing of love in green-clad forests, and when the sun shone on his head it was like the haze of a summer's evening over a ripe cornfield. In his eyes slumbered the beautiful peace of mountain lakes, and in his heart there lived the simple trust of a pure soul ... and now Eric Gundian, Eric of the golden locks--Eric the fairy-fingered, Eric the sweet-voiced had lost his wits!