Then several more such figures came rustling softly through the wall from the churchyard, and others rose from the vaults and took their places quietly, till there was an avenue of dead beauties; and they stood in an ascending line up to the west window. Some stood on the ground, some on the air; that made no difference to them.
Another moment, and then a figure more lovely than them all shone in the window, at the end of that vista of fair white faces.
It was Grace Carden. She smiled on him and said, “I am going where I can love you. There the world will not divide us. Follow me: follow; follow!”
Then she melted away; then all melted: and he awoke with a loud cry that echoed through the edifice, now dark and cold as the grave; and a great white owl went whirling, and with his wings made the only air that stirred.
The fire was out, and the place a grave. Yet, cold as it was, the dreamer was bathed in perspiration, so clear had been that unearthly vision, so ghostly was now that flitting owl.
Shuddering all over, he lighted his fire again, and plied his bellows with fury, till the fire glowed brighter than ever; and even then he prayed aloud that he might never see the like again, even in a dream.
He worked like mad, and his hand trembled as he struck. Ere he had thoroughly recovered the shock, a wild cry arose outside.
He started back, awe-struck.
What with the time, the place, and that strange vision, the boundaries of the natural and the supernatural were a little confused in his mind.
“Help, help!” cried a voice; and now the familiar tone of that voice made him utter a loud cry in return.