"Dreaming!" murmured Mrs. Lenoir, pressing her hands to her head. "For mercy's sake, do not tell me so! Nay, but it is not true. Let me think--let me think. No--it was not a dream. I followed her and her companion for miles through the snow, till my strength was gone. But it has come again," she said, with hysterical sobs, which she struggled with and checked; "it has come again, and I can go on. As I lay on the ground I saw her face--the face I have dreamt of for many weary years--bending over me!"
"It was my face you saw," said Ned, beginning to think that the woman was mad.
"No, no," said Mrs. Lenoir, with a wan smile, "it was the face of a lovely girl."
Ned's vanity and triumph in his conquest trapped him.
"She has a lovely face, has she not?"
"It was no dream, then," cried Mrs. Lenoir eagerly.
"No; it was no dream. Now, let me help you home. I promised her I would do so."
"You did!" sobbed Mrs. Lenoir; "she thought of me--and pitied me! Oh, my heart!"
"You'll be going off again, if you don't mind. I tell you I promised her, and I must keep my promise."
"Why must you keep your promise?"