Two and two and three—yes, seven,
all about in a ring,
And pointing up to Heaven?
Where have I seen this black, black pool,
That never to any breath,
But stares and stares at the empty sky,
As silently as death?
How did we come here, you and I,
With the pool beneath, and the trees above?
Oh, even in death or the dusk of a dream,
You are heart of the heart of Love.
Elizabeth was very pale when she came down the next day. As she dressed, she could hear David singing and whistling in his room. He went down the stairs like a schoolboy, and when she followed she found him opening his letters and whistling still.
“Hullo!” he said. “Good-morning. You’re late, and I’ve only got half an hour to breakfast in. I’m starving, I don’t believe you gave me any dinner last night. I shall be late for lunch. Give me something cold when I come in, I’ve got a pretty full day——”
Elizabeth wondered as she listened to him if it were she who had dreamed.
That evening he looked up suddenly from his book and said:
“Was the moon full last night?”
“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
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