“Ah, it sounds meaningless to you; but to me it was full of meaning! The idea of danger to you was so intense—so real. The cold sweat of deadly fear was on my face when I awoke, and it was some minutes before I could get my senses clear of that ghastly horror, before I could realize where I was, and that the thing I had seen was a dream. That stone wall seemed still in front of me, and I had still the feeling that you were on the other side of it, in ever-increasing peril.”
“It was a horrid dream, certainly; but, you see, it had no meaning.”
“There were such strange things mixed up in it—thunder and lightning, a roaring wind, a sound of rushing waters; and then, amidst wind and thunder, there rose the dark barrier that shut out everything.”
“Was it long ago that you dreamt this horrid dream?”
“Yes, a long while. It was just before Christmas. I made a note of the dream in my journal—wrote it down in fear and trembling, lest there should be some kind of fulfilment. But then came your letter—written at the beginning of January, with your description of the ball—and I laughed at my folly in brooding so long upon that phantasmal picture. I remember, by the way, it was two or three nights after your ball that I dreamt my dream, while you no doubt were sleeping just a little sounder than usual after your gaieties.”
“Dreams are very strange,” said Isola, absently. “I wonder whether there is any good in them to counterbalance so much pain?”
“LOOK THROUGH MINE EYES WITH THINE, TRUE WIFE.”
There were steamers plying between Fowey and Falmouth in this summer weather, and Colonel Disney suggested next morning that Isola should go with him on his journey in search of Tabitha. They would go by water and return in the afternoon by rail. The morning was lovely, and the trip round the coast would be delightful.