“Yes.”
He paused for so long that the silence seemed to close upon Elizabeth. Then he said thoughtfully:
“Dreams are odd things. I’ve had this one off and on since I was a boy. And it’s always the same. But I have not had it for months. Then last night—” He broke off. “Do you know I’ve never told any one about it before—does it bore you?”
“No,” said Elizabeth, and could not have said more to save her life.
“It’s a queer dream, and it never varies. There’s always the same long, wet stretch of sand, and the moon shining over the sea. And a woman——”
“Yes——”
“She stands at the edge of the sea with the moon behind her, and the wind—did I tell you about the wind?—it blows her hair and her dress. And I have never seen her face.”
“No?”
“No, never. I’ve always wanted to, but I can never get near enough, and the moon is behind her. When I was a boy, I used to walk in my sleep when I had the dream. I used to wake up in all sorts of odd places. Once I got as far as the front-door step, and waked with my feet on the wet stones. I suppose I was looking for the Woman.”
Elizabeth took a grip of herself.