more insidiously than when we are in the midst of crowds; and as she
dozed in the scented room, amid the fine linen, silk, and laces, the
sins which for generations had been committed in this house seemed to
gather substance, and even shape; a strange phantasmata trooped past
her, some seeming to bewail their sins, while others indulged
themselves with each other, or turned to her, inciting her to sin
with them, until one of them whispered in her ear that Owen was
coming to her room, and then she knew that at his knock her strength
would fail her, and she would let him in.

Her temptations disappeared and then returned to her; at last she saw
Owen coming towards her. He leaned over the bed, and she saw his
lips, and his voice sounded in her ears. It told her that he had
been waiting for her; why hadn't she come to his room? And why had
he found her door bolted? Then like one bereft of reason, she
slipped out of bed and went towards the door, seeing him in the
lucidity of her dream clearly at the end of the passage; it was not
until her hand rested on the handle of his door that a singing began
in the night. The first voice was joined by another, and then by
another, and she recognised the hymn, for it was one, the _Veni
Creator_, and the singers were nuns. The singing grew more distinct,
the singers were approaching her, and she retreated before them to
her room; the room filled with plain chant, and then the voices
seemed to die or to be borne away on the wind which moaned about the
eaves and aloft in the chimneys. Turning in her bed, she saw the
dying embers. She was in her room--only a dream, no more. Was that
all? she asked as she lay in her bed singing herself to sleep, into
a sleep so deep that she did not wake from it until her maid came to
ask her if she would have breakfast in her room or if she were going
down to breakfast.