“Hunter, my hunter,” Perpetua cried; “your voice comes through the leaves and conquers me!”
Her eyes were half closed, her hands stretched out; she swayed towards him.
Robert sprang forward with a mighty cry. “Perpetua!”
She was almost in his arms; suddenly her opened eyes realized that she was confronted by the rugged visage of the fool. She drew back with a start, and put her hands to her eyes as if to brush away the dream that had possessed her.
Robert, who had advanced like a conqueror, fell back like a slave.
“Ah!” Perpetua moaned. “What have you said to me? I have dreamed a dream.”
With a heavy sigh Robert answered her, striving to smile.
“I too have dreamed a dream. As the golden words glowed from my brain they worked a spell upon me, and for a moment I, the hideous cripple, fancied myself young and comely, the lover of my vision. Forgive me, Perpetua.”
“What is there to forgive?” Perpetua answered. “I have slept waking, have dreamed with open eyes, and in my dream I seemed to hear a voice that carries all the music of the world, which called me by my name and made me come to it.”