“What is it?”
“Edward and the case he can't open, and the centipedes he can't play with,” he said, still laughing. “Poor old Edward! What it is to have a conscience. I wonder he does n't have a midnight orgy with the centipedes, but I suppose Mary sees to that.”
It was that night that David dreamed his dream again. All these months it had never come to him. Amongst the many dreams that had haunted his sick brain, there had been no hint of this one. He had wondered about it sometimes. And now it returned. In the first deep sleep that comes to a healthy man he dreamed it.
He heard the wind blowing-that was the beginning of it. It came from the far distances of space, and it passed on again to the far distances beyond. David heard it blow, but his eyes were darkened. Then suddenly he saw. His feet were on the shining sand, the sand that shone because a golden moon looked down upon it from a clear sky, and the tide had left it wet.
David stood upon the shining sand, and saw the Woman of the Dream stand where the moon track ceased at the sea's rim. The moon was behind her head, and the wind blew out her hair. He stood as he had stood a hundred times, and as he had longed a hundred times to see the Woman's face, so he longed now. He moved to go to her, and the wind blew about him in his dream.
Elizabeth had sat late in her room. There was a book in her hand, but after a time she did not read. The night was very warm. She got up and opened the window wide. The moon was low and nearly full, and a wind blew out of the west-such a warm wind, full of the scent of green, growing things. Elizabeth put out the light and stood by the window, drawing long breaths. It seemed as if the wind were blowing right through her. It beat upon her uncovered throat, and the touch of it was like something alive. It sang in her ears, and Elizabeth 's blood sang too.
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.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE FACE OF LOVE
Where have I seen these tall black trees,
Two and two and three-yes, seven,
Standing all about in a ring,
And pointing up to Heaven?
Where have I seen this black, black pool,
That never ruffles 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?”