XXV
In the grove he bent above the deathlike face. A tremor crossed it.
She brushed a hand lightly across her eyes, as if visions fled, and sat up. The color came slowly back to her face.
“I had a dream!” she breathed.
The green light of the grove shimmered about her softly and touched her face.
“It was William Archer and the coat. But I cannot remember—” She passed a hand across her forehead.
“Never mind,” said Richard. “We are going to take it home to him.”
Her hand dropped to the dragons and smoothed them absently.
“And to his sons’ sons forever!” she murmured happily.
At the entrance to the grove, dark incurious faces peered in at the blue-robed figure that rested against the gnarled trunk.... The sound of quick, indrawn breath passed among the leaves.