Father wants to lock me in, mother has her arms around me, my dead brothers and sisters are trying to cling to me too, but I’ll get away, I’ll leave them all to come to you.” He tried to reach her, but she had vanished.

In despair he rushed into the wood—and she came to meet him between two beautiful maples, as friendly and kind as if nothing had happened. Her eyes shone with a strange lustre, her feet were luminous on the moss, and the hem of her dress was wet.

“What kind of woman are you?” he cried.

“This kind,” she said, holding up her mouth to him. “No, this kind!” she cried, as he stretched out his arms to embrace her, striking at him with her rake. She struck him on the forehead, there was a sharp, clear sound as if a pane of glass had broken. He awoke with a start.

He knew that he had been dreaming, but the truth in his dream filled him with joy to the last fibre. Romana’s whole being had been revealed to him with a vividness that was more than life. All his heaviness was dispelled. Within him or without he could not lose her. He had the knowledge—even more, the faith, that she lived for him. He returned to the world like one blessed. He felt that she might be standing below, had thrown a stone at the window pane and awakened him. He ran to the window; a pane was cracked, a dead bird lay on the sill. He went slowly back, the bird in his hand, and laid it on his pillow. The little body poured delight through his veins, he felt as if he could easily have restored the bird to life if he had only taken it to his heart. He sat on the bed, a thousand thoughts streamed round him, he was happy. His body was a temple in which Romana’s being dwelt, and time in its flow swept round him, and lapped on the steps of the temple.

In the house everything was at first still in the greying morning, and rain was falling. When he arose from his dreaming ecstasy, day had come and it was light. The whole house was at work. He went downstairs, asked for a piece of bread and drank from the fountain. He wandered about the house, nobody heeded him. Wherever he was, whatever he did, he was at ease: his soul had a centre. He took his food with the people, the farmer had not returned, nobody mentioned the wife or Romana. In the afternoon the carrier arrived. He was ready to take Andreas with him, but to judge from the way his business was going, he would have to leave before evening: they would spend the night in the next village down the valley.

A fresh wind was blowing into the valley, beautiful, big clouds were driving across it, and beyond, over the country, all was shining clear. A farm-hand carried the portmanteau and valise down to the cart, Andreas followed him. At the bottom of the stairs he turned back, and a voice told him that Romana was standing waiting up in his empty room. When he entered the room and found it empty, he could hardly believe it; he searched every corner, as though she might be hidden in the whitewashed wall. With bent head he went downstairs again. There he stood for a while irresolute, listening. Outside the grooms were talking as they helped to put the horses in.