places of doom and unnatural night. It was as though he were dead, and she
yet living, searched for him among the habitations of the dead. She found
him also, and drew him towards her. How, she did not know.

Then there was a scene, a last scene, which remained fixed in her mind
after everything else had faded away. She saw the huge trunks of forest
trees, enormous, towering trees, gloomy trees beneath which the darkness
could be felt. Down their avenues shot the level arrows of the dawn. They
fell on her, Rachel, dressed in robes of white skin, turning her long,
outspread hair to gold. They fell upon little people with faces of a dusky
pallor, one of them crouched against the bole of a tree, a wizened monkey
of a man who in all that vastness looked small. They fell upon another
man, white-skinned, half-naked, with a yellow beard, who was lashed by
hide ropes to a second tree. It was Richard Darrien grown older, and at
his feet lay a broad-bladed spear!

The vision left her, or she was awakened from her sleep, whichever it
might be, by the pleasant voice of this same Richard, who stood yawning
before her, and said:

"It is time to get up. I say, why do you look so queer? Are you ill?"

"I have been up, long ago," she answered, struggling to her feet. "What do
you mean?"

"Nothing, except that you seemed a ghost a minute ago. Now you are a girl
again, it must have been the light."

"Did I? Well, I dreamed of ghosts, or something of the sort," and she told
him of the vision of the trees, though of the rest she could remember