He broke off, and Elizabeth asked no more. She knew very well why he had thought it odd that the woman’s eyes should be grey. The poems were dated, and _Egypt_ bore the date of a year ago. He was in love with Mary then, and Mary’s eyes were dark—dark hazel eyes. That night she woke from a dream of Mary, and heard David whispering a name in his sleep, but she could not catch the name. The old shamed dread and horror came upon her, strong and unbroken. She slipped from bed, and stood by the window, panting for breath. And out of the darkness David called to her: “Love, where are you gone to?” If he would say her name—if he would only say her name. She had no words to answer him, but she heard him rise and come to her. “Why did you go away?” he said, touching her. And as she had done once before, Elizabeth cried out. “Who am I, David?—tell me! Am I Mary?” He repeated the name slowly, and each repetition was a wound. “Mary,” he said, wonderingly, “there is no Mary in the Dream. There are only you and I—and you are Love——” “And if I went out of the Dream?” said Elizabeth, leaning against his breast. The comfort of his touch stole back into her heart. Her breathing steadied. “Then I would come and find you,” said David Blake. It was the next day that Agneta’s letter came. Elizabeth opened it at breakfast and exclaimed. “What is it?” She lifted a face of distress. “David, should you mind if I were to go away for a little? Agneta wants me.” “Agneta?” “Yes, Agneta Mainwaring. You remember, I used to go and stay with the Mainwarings in Devonshire.” “Yes, I remember. What’s the matter with her?” “She is engaged to Douglas Strange, the explorer, and there are—rumours that his whole party has been massacred. He was working across Africa. She wants me to come to her. I think I must. You don’t mind, do you?” “No, of course not. When do you want to go?” “I should like to go to-day. I could send her a wire,” said Elizabeth. “I hope it’s only a rumour, and not true, but I must go.” David nodded. “Don’t take it too much to heart, that’s all,” he said. He said good-bye to her before he went out, told her to take care of herself, asked her to write, and inquired if she wanted any money. When he had gone, Elizabeth told herself that this was the end of the Dream. She could drift no more with the tide of that moon-watched sea. She must think things out and come to some decision. Hitherto, if she thought by day, the night with its glamour threw over her thoughts a rainbow mist that hid and confused them. Now Agneta needed her, there would be work for her to do. And she would not see David again until she could look her conscience in the face. CHAPTER XXI ELIZABETH BLAKE