"I have killed thee—I have killed thee," she wailed, "though I meant it not—even hell itself doth know. Thou art a dead man—and this is the worst of all!"
"'Tis a dream," he cried aloud to her and clutched her in his warm, strong arms. "'Tis a dream—a dream! Awake!—Awake!—Awake!"
And she awoke and fell upon her knees, sobbing as those sob who are roused from such a horror.
"A dream!—a dream!—a dream!" she cried. "And 'tis you awake me! You—Gerald—Gerald!—And I have been ten years—ten years your wife!"
CHAPTER XXXII[ToC]
In the Turret Chamber—and in Camylott Wood
When the great soldier returned to Blenheim Castle, his Grace of Osmonde bore him company and having spent a few days in his society at that great house returned to town, from whence he came again to Camylott.
He reached there on a heavenly day, which seemed to him more peaceful and more sweet than any day the summer had so far brought, though it had been a fair one. Many days had been bright and full of flower-scent and rustling of green leaves, and overarched by tender blueness with white clouds softly floating therein, but this one, as he rode, he thought held something in its beauty which seemed to make the earth seem nearer Heaven and Heaven more fair to lifted mortal eyes. He thought this as his horse bore him over the white road, he thought it as he rode across the moor, 'twas in his mind as he passed through the village and saw the white cottages standing warm and peaceful in the sunshine, with good wives at the doors or at their windows, and children playing on the green, who stopped and bobbed courtesies to him or pulled their forelocks, grinning.