She laughed frankly, but nodded, and he, with a shamed face, smiled; but at the door, when he had said his good-night, he stood for a minute, candle in hand. "May I ask, is there an interpretation of your dream?" "There must be, but I don't know it." "It would be easy to make one." "You mustn't, or it will lead you the wrong way." "My imagination," he began, and added, as if to himself: "It is dangerous to be the servant of one's imagination." Going up the dark and creaking stairs, he was afraid, but in the big chamber she had assigned to him he found quietness. Nothing evil or uneasy dwelt there and he slept peacefully till morning. CHAPTER IX This experience, carefully edited, made a new tale for Theresa. The cavernous kitchen, the big woman sitting on the stool and telling dreams, the larches, like sentinels, about the house, and the sweet peace of the upper room, were new pictures to be added to her store, and they were favoured ones, mystery haunted. "Do you like this new lady better than Mrs. Rutherford?" she asked. "I think I do." "They are different, Theresa--quite different." "I suppose Alexander likes his mother best?" "I should certainly think so." "I hope you'll go there again. I like you to. I've had such lovely times since you began to go to mountains." Nancy's reception of his news was different. He felt it due to her to break the silence she had created. It was what he wished to do, and what he would have expected of her had she made and lodged with a new acquaintance; but it was hard to speak naturally through a barrier, and there was a hesitation in his voice which had no companion in his heart. "Oh, Edward!" She broke into tears. "My darling, what is it?" "I don't know, but somehow they seem to be taking you from me." "My dear, my dear," he said, distressed, "no one but yourself can do that." "But these women--I'm not like them; I'm not strong or helpful." "You are my wife!" he answered fiercely. Her humour overcame her weeping. "Oh yes!" she said, laughing while her tears still trickled. "Nancy, don't!" "What, dear?" "That tone! I will not have it. The name--the name I give you means what it did when we first loved. No, it means more--more. You shall not slight it." She was weakened again by his tenderness. "No, dear, no; but I'm so lonely, and you go away to--to other women. I'm not really jealous--of course I'm not--and I know they are ordinary people enough, but you give them names that put them far above me. Ceres first, and now Cassandra. It sounds--oh, don't you understand? How would you like it if I went wandering about with--with mythological characters?" She laughed feebly, but he gave no answering smile.