His mind is wholly back on himself, his hard fate of blindness, and his again vacant and desolate household.

But lo! as he dreams, that seems somehow all a mistake, and the household is _not_ desolate.

A radiant figure, clothed in white, approaches him and bends over him.
He knows it to be his wife, whom he had thought dead, but who is not dead.

Her face is veiled, and he cannot see that; but then he had never seen that, and it was not so he could distinguish her.

It was by the radiant, saintlike, sweetness of her general presence.