She had not yet discovered any distinction between my presence to her dreams and my presence to her waking sight. I hardly knew what reply to make; but she went on: “They won’t let me come to you now, I suppose. I shall forget my Euclid and everything. I feel as if I had forgotten it all already. But you won’t be vexed with your poor Alice, will you? She’s only a beggar-girl, you know.” I could answer only by a caress. “I had a strange dream the other night. I thought I was sitting on a stone in the dark. And I heard your voice calling me. And it went all round about me, and came nearer, and went farther off, but I could not move to go to you. I tried to answer you, but I could only make a queer sound, not like my own voice at all.” “I dreamed it too, Alice.” “The same dream?” “Yes, the very same.” “I am so glad. But I didn’t like the dream. Duncan, my head feels so strange sometimes. And I am so sleepy. Duncan, dearest--am _I_ dreaming now? Oh! tell me that I am awake and that I hold you; for to-morrow, when I wake, I shall fancy that I have lost you. They’ve spoiled my poor brain, somehow. I am all right, I know, but I cannot get at it. The red is withered, somehow.” “You are wide awake, my Alice. I know all about it. I will help you to understand it all, only you must do exactly as I tell you.” “Yes, yes.” “Then go to bed now, and sleep as much as you can; else I will not let you come to me at night.” “That would be too cruel, when it is all I have.” “Then go, dearest, and sleep.” “I will.” She rose and went. I, too, went, making all close behind me. The moon was going down. Her light looked to me strange, and almost malignant. I feared that when she came to the full she would hurt my darling’s brain, and I longed to climb the sky, and cut her in pieces. Was I too going mad? I needed rest, that was all. Next morning, I called again upon Mrs. Blakesley, to inquire after Lady Alice, anxious to know how yesterday had passed. “Just the same,” answered the old lady. “You need not look for any change. Yesterday I did see her smile once, though.” And was that nothing? In her case there was a reversal of the usual facts of nature--(_I say facts_, not _laws_): the dreams of most people are more or less insane; those of Lady Alice were sound; thus, with her, restoring the balance of sane life. That smile was the sign of the dream-life beginning to leaven the waking and false life. “Have you heard of young Lord Hilton’s marriage?” asked Mrs. Blakesley. “I have only heard some rumours about it,” I answered. “Who is the new countess?” “The daughter of a rich merchant somewhere. They say she isn’t the best of tempers. They’re coming here in about a month. I am just terrified to think how it may fare with my lamb now. They won’t let her go wandering about wherever she pleases, I doubt. And if they shut her up, she will die.” I vowed inwardly that she should be free, if I carried her off, madness and all. CHAPTER XXV