And during my few minutes of unconsciousness I dreamed--what do you think ?--that you stood in the room." Should she tell?
She merely blushed.
"You may imagine," Fitzpiers continued, now persuaded that it had, indeed, been a dream, "that I should not have dreamed of you without considerable thinking about you first." He could not be acting; of that she felt assured.
"I fancied in my vision that you stood there," he said, pointing to where she had paused.

"I did not see you directly, but reflected in the glass.

I thought, what a lovely creature! The design is for once carried out.

Nature has at last recovered her lost union with the Idea! My thoughts ran in that direction because I had been reading the work of a transcendental philosopher last night; and I dare say it was the dose of Idealism that I received from it that made me scarcely able to distinguish between reality and fancy.

I almost wept when I awoke, and found that you had appeared to me in Time, but not in Space, alas!" At moments there was something theatrical in the delivery of Fitzpiers's effusion; yet it would have been inexact to say that it was intrinsically theatrical.