Oh me!" The remembered horror of her dream contending with present bliss shook her spirit to its centre.

She shuddered violently, then burst into a passion of tears.
Haward's touch upon her hair, Haward's voice in her ear, all the old terms of endearment for a frightened child,--"little maid," "little coward," "Why, sweetheart, these things are shadows, they cannot hurt thee!" She controlled her tears, and was the happier for her weeping.

It was sweet to sit there in the lush grass, veiled and shadowed from the world by the willow's drooping green, and in that soft and happy light to listen to his voice, half laughing, half chiding, wholly tender and caressing.

Dreams were naught, he said.

Had Hugon troubled her waking hours?
He had come once to the house, it appeared; but she had run away and hidden in the wood, and the minister had told him she was gone to the Widow Constance's.