But I was stumbling as if heavy with sleep and could say naught, and so we crost the shining water on the stones and returned wordless, and that night I slept like a happy spirit in the dewy meads of heaven.
Not a word said the next day and Mr. Herrick almost distraught with busyness for the riding post brought him letters from his rich London kin and the news of growing troubles between King and Parliament very piercing to his honest heart.
And on the day following my nag was saddled, and the coach returning on its way to Exeter I was to ride with it for security, but still not a word said on the matter nearest my soul.
Then as we waited for the wheels,—I having bid Mrs. Prue a kindly farewell with a vail which but ill compensated her hospitable services, Mr. Herrick said musingly:
“Once, Mr. Tylliol, I made a verse on Dreams, in the which this was writ:
“ ‘Here are we all by day; by night we are hurled
By dreams, each one into a several world.’
“And I have read in ancient books that it is not impossible but a man may be hurled into another man’s world or House of Dreams—not often indeed but once in a great while. And if this be so and it seems to that visitant a house of lunacies or moonstruck madness (as well it may), shall there be pardon for his dream-host therein?”
And I:
“Sir, not a house of lunacies, but a house of enchantments whereof I would I had the freehold! And if you had any part in unlocking the door (whereof I know not what to think) take my loving and humble thanks and again make me welcome when leagues lie between us. For dreams ask neither wheels nor hoofs to carry them.”