"You did not question her?"
"How could I? But I was hungering for a word."
Paul patted her head with his tenderest touch.
"Have you seen her since?"
"Not since. I have been ill—I mean, rather unwell."
Parson Christian twisted again in his chair. "What do you think, my lad? Greta in a dream last night rose out of bed, went to the stair-head, and there fell to the ground."
"My poor darling," said Paul, the absent look flying from his eyes.
"But, blessed be God, she has no harm," said the parson, and turned once more to his guest.
"Paul, you must hurry away now. Good-bye for the present, dearest. Kiss me good-bye."
But Paul stood there still.