It was a hoarse, passionate cry that broke the golden stupor of the dawn. Sudden light leapt lustrous in the woman's eyes; her face shone radiant amid her hair. "Pelleas!" The man's arms circled her. She half crouched in his bosom, her face peering into his. "Pelleas!" "At last!" A great shudder passed through her; her eyes grew big with fear. "Speak!" "Igraine." "Gorlois?" "Gorlois is dead." Great silence held for a moment. The woman's head sank down upon the man's shoulder; madness had passed; her eyes were fixed on his with a wonderful earnestness, a splendid calm. "Is this a dream?" "It is the truth." Presently she gave a great sigh, and looked strangely at the sun. Her voice came soft as music over water. "I have dreamed a dream," she said, "and all was dark and fearful. Death seemed near, and shadows, and things from hell. I knew not what I did, nor where I wandered, nor what strange stupor held my soul. All was dark about me, horrible midnight peopled with foul forms. It has passed; now, I behold the dawn." The man lifted up his voice and wept. "My God! my God! out of hell hast thou brought my soul. Never again shall my vile lips blaspheme." And Igraine comforted him. "Shall I not be your wife?" she said. THE END * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired. Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings, inconsistent hyphenation, and other inconsistencies. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Uther and Igraine, by Warwick Deeping