“Alexis,” she murmured beneath her breath. “Alexis,” she repeated barely louder than the pounding of her own heart.
The sunken eyes turned slowly and met hers in a blur of bewilderment.
“Anne?” he whispered, above his rough breathing. “Anne?”
Blinded by a mist of tears, she nodded at him reassuringly.
“Yes, dear, it is I. It is Anne.”
The sound of her voice seemed to puzzle him. He frowned helplessly. The uneven breathing broke suddenly, then became more clamorous than before.
“Strange, you have never spoken before? And your hair—your hair?” He leaned towards her abruptly, and placed his hand upon the hair which streamed about her shoulders in a golden rain.
“Your hair—I have never dreamed of it like this before to-night!” His fingers plunged into the gleaming tendrils. “It actually feels alive.” He shuddered violently and closed his eyes.
Anne feared he was losing consciousness again. Loosening the clutching fingers from her hair, she placed his hand upon her face.
“This is not a dream, Alexis,” she murmured, lips against his parched palm. “Am I not real? Can you not feel as well as hear me speak to you?”