“Oh, it isn’t a dream,” she answered, laughing.
He drew a deep breath of relief as he looked up at her, and then glanced about the familiar room.
“I’ve dreamed so many times,” he said, “and always you were bending over me—a sort of guardian angel—‘guarding me, out of all the world.’”
Her colour heightened and her eyes grew bright.
“It’s sweet of you to say that,” she said.
“And you’re sure I’m not dreaming?”
“No—but you were; you were crying out—”
“Yes—I thought I was still in that old stone house. And I was crying for you, Mamie!”
“For me?”
“Yes, for you—just as I have done a dozen times before.”