Graylock looked down at him in silence, then, tall and heavily erect, he turned away.
Cecile met him from the studio.
“Good night,” she said, offering her hand.... “And a happy Christmas.... I hope you will not be lonely.”
He took her hand, gravely, thanked her, and went his way forever.
For a few minutes she lingered in the doorway connecting Drene’s bedroom with the studio. She held a sprig of holly.
After a little while he opened his eyes and looked at her, and, smiling, she came forward to the bedside.
“It was a terrible dream,” he whispered—“all those years. But it was a dream.”
“You must dream no more.”
“No. Come nearer.”
She rested on the bed’s edge beside him and laid one hand on his. The other held the holly, but he did not notice it until she offered it.