"Was it about—him?"
"Yes, it was about the Flying Dutchman. I dreamed that your father came home from sea, bringing with him a mysterious stranger whom no one knew anything about, except that he was very wealthy. He was tall and gaunt, with pale face, flowing black hair and eager-looking eyes. As soon as he saw you he could not keep these eyes off of you, and he asked for your hand in marriage."
"And I consented?" asked Senta breathlessly.
"Oh, Senta! Yes, you left me at once and went with him. I followed you down to the beach imploring you to stay. But the stranger took you on board his ship, and hoisted a blood-red sail. You were gone with the Flying Dutchman—lost—lost forever!"
"No, not lost!" she cried. "It was a vision! It was my destiny!"
"Senta, Senta!" cried Erik almost beside himself with grief; and unable to control his emotion longer he rushed from the house.
And then—as if in answer to the dream, Senta thought—presently the door opened and her father came in, and with him—the stranger! He was like Erik's description, even like the old print that hung upon the wall; and as he directed his gentle blue eyes to her face, Senta knew instinctively that this was none other than the Flying Dutchman himself.
Springing to meet her father, she hid her face upon his shoulder and burst into tears. Daland kissed her and patted her upon the cheek.
"There, little daughter!" he said. "Have you really missed your old daddy while he was away? Well, he has missed you, too. But you are forgetting your manners. You have not yet greeted our guest."
Senta had by this time regained some of her composure, and she now turned to the visitor and greeted him, but in a cold, constrained voice. She was in reality holding herself in check, for her whole heart went out to him.