XI
The world in which Barnard walked when Anne was gone was full of people. While Anne had been with him, there had seemed to be no one else in the land save himself and Anne. But now the paths were full of folk who moved steadily this way and that.
They did not see Barnard. At first he spoke to them, but he found they did not hear. They were absorbed, each in each. After a time he gave over accosting these people and began to hunt for his sons. But he could not find them.
And so he went forward alone, and very lonely. This was the worst part of Barnard’s dream.
He was so much alone that even The Threat had left him. He missed it. Its absence was more terrible than its presence had been. He longed for it to return, and he sought for it; and then, one day, it appeared in the air, high above him.
It was very beautiful, much to be desired. He wondered that he had never perceived its beauty in the past. It was no longer a threat; it was something kinder.
But it rode high above Barnard, seemed not to perceive him.
Barnard tried to wake and could not; and then he saw that he could only wake by coming closer to the Cloud that had been a threat. He climbed a little hill and called to it; but it rode serenely on, not regarding him.
When it had passed the hill on which he stood, it went more swiftly, and Barnard was fearful that it would vanish again. He ran after it. It was the only friendly and familiar thing in this world without Anne. He could not bear to lose it. By and by he seemed to be overtaking it; and abruptly he plunged into the cool sweetness of its embrace.
It blinded his eyes, and he began to fall; and at the end of his fall, he awoke.
For a moment after his waking, Barnard lay shuddering at the horror of his dream. The loss of Anne had been so terribly real that at first he scarce dared reach out in the darkness for her head upon the pillow beside him.
But after a moment he became conscious of the soft warmth of her body there; and he caught the sound of her slow and pleasant breathing; so he fumbled and found her hand and held it and was comforted.
The touch of his hand seemed to wake her; her fingers answered his with a loving pressure, and she said reassuringly to him:
“All right, Jimmie.”
He leaned in the darkness and found her lips and kissed her. “All right, Anne,” he replied. “Just a bad dream.”
He heard her laugh softly; and at the sound of her gentle mirth he felt strangely humble. “What is it, Anne?” he begged.
“I, too, dreamed,” she told him. “I woke before you; that is all. In the morning you will understand.”
“Understand?” he pleaded; and he was trembling with eagerness for this understanding which was already in some parts revealed to him.
“That though it seemed so long, and seemed so real, it was after all but the matter of an instant’s dream,” she told him lovingly. Her hand was on his hair as it had used to be....
So he began to understand; and he held tight to Anne’s hand for a space; and presently they slept for a little time, and woke in the glory of the risen sun, to begin together the new Day.