“Not quite.” Elizabeth was startled. Did he, after all, remember anything? “When is it full?” “To-morrow, I think. Why?” Her breathing quickened a little as she asked the question. “Because I dreamed my dream again last night, and it generally comes when the moon is full,” he said. Elizabeth turned, as if to get more light upon her book. She could not sit and let him see her face. “Your dream——?” Her voice was low. “Yes.” He paused for so long that the silence seemed to close upon Elizabeth. Then he said thoughtfully: “Dreams are odd things. I’ve had this one off and on since I was a boy. And it’s always the same. But I have not had it for months. Then last night—” He broke off. “Do you know I’ve never told any one about it before—does it bore you?” “No,” said Elizabeth, and could not have said more to save her life. “It’s a queer dream, and it never varies. There’s always the same long, wet stretch of sand, and the moon shining over the sea. And a woman——” “Yes——” “She stands at the edge of the sea with the moon behind her, and the wind—did I tell you about the wind?—it blows her hair and her dress. And I have never seen her face.” “No?” “No, never. I’ve always wanted to, but I can never get near enough, and the moon is behind her. When I was a boy, I used to walk in my sleep when I had the dream. I used to wake up in all sorts of odd places. Once I got as far as the front-door step, and waked with my feet on the wet stones. I suppose I was looking for the Woman.” Elizabeth took a grip of herself. “Do you walk in your sleep now?” He shook his head. “Oh, no. Not since I was a boy,” he said cheerfully. “Mrs. Havergill would have evolved a ghost story long ago if I had.” “And last night your dream was just the same?” “Yes, just the same. It always ends just when it might get exciting.” “Did you wake?” “No. That’s the odd part. One is supposed to dream only when one is waking, and of course it’s very hard to tell, but my impression is, that at the point where my dream ends I drop more deeply asleep. Dreams are queer things. I don’t know why I told you about this one.” He took up his book as he spoke, and they talked no more. * * * * * * * * Elizabeth went to her room early that night, but she did not get into bed. She moved about the room, hanging up the dress she had worn, folding her things—even sorting out a drawer full of odds and ends. It seemed as if she must occupy herself. Presently she heard David come up and go into his room. She went on rolling up stray bits of lace and ribbon with fingers that seemed oddly numb. When she had finished, she began to brush her hair, standing before the glass, and brushing with a long, rhythmic movement. After about ten minutes she turned suddenly and blew out the candle. She went to the window and opened it wide.