All that day my mind was haunted by her; I knew it was folly to harbor hope, and yet I harbored it fatuously; her image came in and out of my mind as the sun on a rainy day in and out of the clouds, to delight and to torment.
That evening the orchestra played a minuet of Mozart so charmingly that Lydia rose, and saying, "We really must dance to that," made a sweeping bow.
I jumped up at the challenge, and soon eight of us were on our feet. Lydia was my partner. I was so absorbed by her every movement, so entranced by the occasional touch of her ungloved hand, that I was aware of nothing else in the room. Surely, thought I, there never was a Tanagra figure to compare with hers.
When we separated for the night I was in a fever. It was useless to go to bed, and I went out into the bright cold air. I saw the light in her room and stood in front of it, cursing myself for a love-sick fool. But the cold drove me in—and to bed. For hours I tossed about, and sleep overtook me at last, but only to torture me; it played with me, threw me on my back, as it were, at one moment, only to jump me on my feet the next; and throughout it all I saw Lydia at odd intervals in every conceivable mood; now smiling and beckoning, now turning from me as though offended, and, again, treating me with indifference. But at last I seemed to have passed through a period of deep unconsciousness, for I woke suddenly to find Lydia before me more lovely than I had ever seen her. I was not surprised—although I know I ought to have been—to find her in a dress that showed her bosom, her hair hung like a curtain of gold about her; her long eyes were wet with tears, and yet there shone out of them a light so mystic and divine that I threw myself at her feet. She held out a hand to me and lifted me up. I did not know the meaning of her tears or of her graciousness, but as I rose nearer to her she smiled. In an ecstasy I touched her lips with mine; she did not withdraw them; nay, she kissed me on the brow and cheek, fond and despairing kisses, for her tears fell upon my face and they were warm.
How long did it last? Was it for a moment or for all time? A blaze of light pouring through my window roused me. I jumped out of bed and looked stupidly out on the old sugar house that Anna had converted into a studio. It was nothing but a dream.
"Nothing but a dream!" thought I exultingly. "But no one can ever deprive me of it. I have felt her kisses on my lips and her tears. All my life long that memory will belong to me—and suffice."
I sat down, weak and tired, closing my eyes to recall the vanished dream; and it came back to me, every detail of it, so vividly that I jumped up from my chair with the thought that it was not all mere fancy; something had happened, something had actually happened, of this I felt sure, and was it possible—I hardly dared entertain the thought—was it possible she had dreamed also of me?
I dressed automatically, breakfasted automatically, strolled automatically about the grounds. I must see Lydia. I returned to the house, asked the Mater where Lydia was, and was told that she could be found in the room where she had been the previous morning. I almost ran there, and, on opening the door, saw her seated in a high-backed oak chair, very erect, with her hair about her and something resembling tears in her eyes as I had seen her in my dream. She had tapestry in her hands, but they rested idly in her lap. She did not move when I entered. She seemed to be expecting me.
I advanced toward her slowly with something like awe in my heart.