how absurd I am."

He was gone. Allida did not turn to Haldicott. She remained looking at
the door that had closed on the exit of her "best beloved."

"But _why_?" said Haldicott. He repeated Ainslie's broken words almost
faintly. "When the dream came true--why didn't you take it?"

She made no reply.

"I never meant that because it had been a dream it couldn't become a
reality," he went on.

She looked vaguely round the room. Indeed, things swam to her; the
nearest support was the mantelpiece. She leaned against it, looking
down.

"It's not anything I said--in my efforts to shake you awake? You _were_
in love with him, you know. Weren't you in love with him, Allida?"

"Yes; I suppose so. How can I tell you anything? All I know is that I
was dreaming."

"But--why did the dream go?"

"You killed it, perhaps," she said in a colourless voice, leaning her
forehead upon her hand, and still looking fixedly down.

"I--_I_ killed it? You mean--that any one who had come then--would have
stopped you--made you see your own folly--waked you?"

"They might have stopped me--they might have saved me," she said, and
she paused.

"But only I could wake you? Only I could prevent the coming true of your
dream?" Again in his wondering, groping voice was the feeling that, like
a torch, had led her up from Tartarus--up through blackness to the sweet
air again.

She still hid her eyes, not daring to look or trust.

"Allida!" he supplicated.

"Oh," she said in a voice so low that it did not shake--it was as if she
just dared to let it sound at all--"was your dream true, or was it only
the rope you threw out to me to drag me on shore with?"

Haldicott stretched out his hand to her.

"Do you mean that my three hours of reality count for more than
his--than his, backed by your whole year of dreaming? Allida, are you
really absurd enough to say that I count for more than Oliver Ainslie?"

She put her weary, ashamed head down on the arm that leaned upon the
mantelpiece. She did not take his hand.

"What can I say? Everything I say seems unbelievable. Can anything I say
be more absurd than anything else? Yes, you do count for more. You
count for everything. Did I love him--or did I only love love? I don't
know. I only know that what you said--and are--made it all a dream. And
now you will think that I am going to kill myself because _you_ don't
love me! But my absurdity is over, I promise you. Really, I am awake."

"Allida