Her eyes looked into mine, and
fascinated them, as she held out her arms to embrace me. I touched her
hand, and in an instant the touch ran through me like fire, from head to
foot. Then, still looking intently on me with her wild bright eyes, she
clasped her supple arms round my neck, and drew me a few paces away with
her towards the wood.

I felt the rays of light that had touched me from the beckoning hand,
depart; and yet once more I looked towards the woman from the hills.
She was ascending again towards the bright clouds, and ever and anon she
stopped and turned round, wringing her hands and letting her head droop,
as if in bitter grief. The last time I saw her look towards me, she
was near the clouds. She covered her face with her robe, and knelt down
where she stood. After this I discerned no more of her. For now the
woman from the woods clasped me more closely than before, pressing her
warm lips on mine; and it was as if her long hair fell round us
both, spreading over my eyes like a veil, to hide from them the fair
hill-tops, and the woman who was walking onward to the bright clouds
above.

I was drawn along in the arms of the dark woman, with my blood burning
and my breath failing me, until we entered the secret recesses that lay
amid the unfathomable depths of trees. There, she encircled me in the
folds of her dusky robe, and laid her cheek close to mine, and murmured
a mysterious music in my ear, amid the midnight silence and darkness of
all around us. And I had no thought of returning to the plain again; for
I had forgotten the woman from the fair hills, and had given myself up,
heart, and soul, and body, to the woman from the dark woods.

Here the dream ended, and I awoke.

It was broad daylight. The sun shone brilliantly, the sky was cloudless.
I looked at my watch; it had stopped. Shortly afterwards I heard the
hall clock strike six.

My dream was vividly impressed on my memory, especially the latter
part of it. Was it a warning of coming events, foreshadowed in the wild
visions of sleep? But to what purpose could this dream, or indeed any
dream, tend? Why had it remained incomplete, failing to show me the
visionary consequences of my visionary actions? What superstition to
ask! What a waste of attention to bestow it on such a trifle as a dream!

Still, this trifle had produced one abiding result. I knew it not
then; but I know it now. As I looked out on the reviving, re-assuring
sunlight, it was