"I am what I seem to be," he said coldly. The tone of his voice was so cold, his glance so steely hard, that from the face of the Lady suddenly vanished the smile, and with it every charm. With dignity she drew herself to her full height, rubbed her hands, gazed with her black eyes in terror at the cross, her whole body quivered; then she clasped both hands to her brow, throwing back her head. "'Tis a dream! Waken me! Give me water."
"We are awake, my Lady," said the monk, "What you see is the reality."
"Tihamer——"
"—is dead."
"But not in the struggle against the Turks?"
"No, only in the struggle against self."
"'Tis two years since we have heard anything of you."
"Yes, since that unfortunate duel, in which I killed somebody with whom I would gladly exchange my rest every night. You know the cause."
"Do not call it to mind. Rage fills my whole body."
"Every night his ghost comes to me."