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Chapter VII

           Isanksosoftly—andjustasmycheekalmosttouchedthegrassthedreamwasover!”

           “Oh!”criedMrs.MacNairn.“Didyouawaken?”

           “No.Icameback.InmysleepIsuddenlyfoundmyselfcreepingintomybedagainasifIhadbeenawaysomewhere.IwaswonderingwhyIwasthere,howIhadleftthehillside,whenIhadleftit.ThatpartWASadream—buttheotherwasnot.Iwasallowedtogosomewhere—outside—andcomeback.”

           Icaughtatherhandinthedark.

           “Thewordsareallwrong,”Isaid.“Itisbecausewehavenowordstodescribethat.ButhaveImadeyoufeelitatall?Oh!Mrs.MacNairn,haveIbeenabletomakeyouknowthatitwasnotadream?”

           Sheliftedmyhandandpresseditpassionatelyagainsthercheek,andhercheek,too,waswet—wet.

           “No,itwasnotadream,”shesaid.“Youcameback.ThankGodyoucameback,justtotellusthatthosewhodonotcomebackstandawakenedinthatecstasy—inthatecstasy.AndTheFearisnothing.ItisonlyTheDream.Theawakeningisoutonthehillside,outonthehillside!Listen!”Shestartedasshesaidit.“Listen!Thenightingaleisbeginningagain.”

           Hesentforthinthedarkafountain—arising,aspiringfountain—ofgoldennoteswhichseemedtoreachheavenitself.Thenightwasmaderadiantbythem.Heflungthemupwardlikeashowerofstarsintothesky.Wesatandlistened,almostholdingourbreath.Oh!thenightingale!thenightingale!

           “Heknows,”HectorMacNairn’slowvoicesaid,“thatitwasnotadream.”

           WhentherewassilenceagainIheardhimleavehischairveryquietly.

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