Presently he looked round the room, taking in every detail. It was familiar in a strange, double way. His conscious brain remembered each impression of the night before, when he thought it “Colin’s” dressing-room; but a vague, dream-like memory, working slowly, like drawing water from the depths of a deep well, remembered it as his own.
He studied the engravings on the walls, seeing them consciously for the first time; but when he looked away, it seemed to him that he had known, before looking, that each would be in its place.
He looked along the row of books in the bookcase. His conscious mind mastered their titles; but, from the deep well of his sub-consciousness he drew the knowledge of what, if he could open them, he would find written on the fly-leaves.
This experiment soon tired him. He lifted his hand again and fixed his mind upon the wedding-ring, and upon her whose ring it was.
Nothing vague here, nothing indefinite. His love for her, his memory of her love, flowed through him like new wine. Her loveliness, her tenderness, her sweet fidelity.
He held the ring against his lips. “My bride”—what memories! “My wife, my perfect mate!”
To him, who had never loved, it came as an overwhelming wonder to find himself in sudden possession of a love full grown.
“Miriam! Miriam!”
Soon he would see her. She was somewhere quite near.
Oh, heart of gold, beating beneath the garment of soft woman’s flesh!