"Lots of things, mother. I will tell you the story, all of it, every word.
Would you like to hear it?"

Her mother nodded, and, the baby-clothes being at last packed away, shut
the lid of-the box with a sigh, sat down upon it and listened.

Rachel told her of her meeting with Richard Darrien, and of how he saved
her from the flood. She told of the strange night that they had spent
together in the little cave while the lions marched up and down without.
She told of her vigil over the sleeping Richard at the daybreak, and of
the dream that she had dreamed when she seemed to see him grown to
manhood, and herself grown to womanhood, and clad in white skins, watching
him lashed to the trunk of a gigantic tree as the first arrows of sunrise
struck down the lanes of some mysterious forest. She told of how her heart
had been stirred, and of how afterwards in the mist by the water's brink
his heart had been stirred also, and of how they had kissed each other and
wept because they must part.

Then she stopped, expecting that her mother would be angry with her and
scold her for her thoughts and conduct, as she knew well her father would
have done. But she was not angry, and she did not scold. She only
stretched out her thin hands and stroked the child's fair hair, saying:

"Don't be frightened, Rachel, and don't be sad. You think that you have
lost him, but soon or late he will come back to you, perhaps as you
dreamed--perhaps otherwise."

"If I were sure of that, mother, I would not mind anything," said the
girl, "though really I don't know why I should care," she added defiantly.