He could dimly see the beautiful Calypso--the sage Mentor--the eager
pupil--pallid phantoms floating around him. He seemed to hear the beating
of the sea upon the shore. The tears came to his eyes. The ghostly
Calypso put aside the curtain of the bed. Gabriel stretched out his
hands.

"I must go," he murmured, as if he too were a phantom.

The lips of Calypso moved.

"Are you better?"

Gabriel was awake in a moment. It was Hope Wayne who spoke to him.

About ten o'clock in the evening she knocked again gently at Gabriel's
door. There was no reply. She opened the door softly and went in. A
night-lamp was burning, and threw a pleasant light through the room.
The windows were open, and the night-air sighed among the pine-trees
near them.

Gabriel's face was turned toward the door, so that Hope saw it as she
entered. He was sleeping peacefully. At that very moment he was dreaming
of her. In dreams Hope Wayne was walking with him by the sea, her hand in
his: her heart his own.

She stood motionless lest she might wake him. He did not stir, and she
heard his low, regular breathing, and knew that all was well. Then she
turned as noiselessly as she had entered, and went out, leaving him to
peaceful sleep--to dreams--to the sighing of the pines.