And then, quite suddenly, she heard a sound that stopped her heart. She heard the handle of the door between her room and David's turn softly, and she heard a step upon the threshold. All her life was at her heart, waiting. She could neither move, nor speak, nor draw her breath. And the wind blew out her long white dress, and the wind blew out her hair. As in a trance between one world and the next, she heard a voice in the room. It was David's voice, and yet not David's voice, and it shook the very foundations of her being.

“Turn round and let me see your face, Woman of my Dream,” said David Blake.

Elizabeth stood quite still. Only her breath came again. The wind brought it back to her, and as she drew it in, the step came near and David said again:

“Show me your face-your face; I have never seen your face.”

She turned then, very slowly-in obedience to an effort, that left her drained of strength.

David was standing in the middle of the room. His feet were bare, as he had risen from his bed, but his eyes were open, and they looked not at, but through Elizabeth, to the place where she walked in his dream.

“Ah!” said David on a long, slow, sudden breath.

He came nearer-nearer. Now he stood beside her, and the wind swept suddenly between them, and eddying, drove a great swathe of her unfastened hair across his breast. David put up his hand and touched the hair.

“But I can't see your face,” he said, in a strange, complaining note. “The moon shines on your hair, but not upon your face. Show me your face-your face-”

She moved, and the moon shone on her. Her face was as white as ivory. Her eyes wide and dark-as dark as the darkening sky. They stood in silence, and the moon sank low.

Then David put out his hands and touched her on the breast.

“Now I have seen your face,” he said. “Now I am content because I have seen your face. I have gone hungry for the sight of it, and have gone thirsty for the love of you, and all the years I have never seen your face.”

“And now-?”

Elizabeth 's voice came in a whisper.

“Now I am content.”

“Why?”

“Your face is the face of Love,” said David Blake.

His hands still held her hair. They lay against her heart, and moved a little as she breathed.

A sudden terror raised its head and peered at Elizabeth. Mary-oh, God-if he took her for Mary. The thought struck her as with a spear of ice. It burned as ice burns, and froze her as ice freezes. Her lips were stiff as she forced out the words:

“Who am I? Say.”

His hands were warm. He answered her at once.

“We are in the Dream, you and I. You are the Woman of the Dream. Your face is the face of Love, and your hair-your floating hair-” He paused.

“My hair-what colour is my hair?” whispered Elizabeth.

“Your hair-” He lifted a strand of it. The wind played through it, and it brushed his cheek, then fell again upon her breast. His hand closed down upon it.

“What colour is my hair?” said Elizabeth very quietly. Mary's hair would be dark. If he said dark hair, dark like the night which would close upon them when that low moon was gone-what should she do-oh, god, what should she do?

“Your hair is gold-moon gold, which is pale as a dream,” said David Blake. And a great shudder ran through Elizabeth from head to foot as the ice went from her heart.

“Like moon gold,” repeated David, and his hands were warm against her breast.

And then all at once they were in the dark together, for the moon went out suddenly like a blown candle. She had dropped into a bank of clouds that rose from the clouding west. The wind blew a little chill, and as suddenly as the light had gone, David, too, was gone. One moment, so near-touching her in the darkness-and the next, gone-gone noiselessly, leaving her shaking, quivering.

When she could move, she lit a candle and looked in through the open door. David lay upon his side, with one hand under his cheek. He was sleeping like a child.

Elizabeth shut the door.

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 spoke, and they talked no more.

Elizabeth went to her room early that night, but she did not get into bed. She moved about the room, hanging up the dress she had worn, folding her things-even sorting out a drawer full of odds and ends. It seemed as if she must occupy herself.