“It was between ten and eleven o’clock.  I was walking in the grounds, and I went under your wall and looked up.  I saw three shadows pass the lighted windows, which I took to be those of yourself and your attendants, and then suddenly the lights were turned off and all was dark.  I knew then that you had retired to rest, and of course I turned away and walked back to the hamlet.  But, love, instead of telling the little story you promised, it seems that you have put me through a very sharp examination,” said his lordship, laughing.  “Now, what do you mean by it?  There is something behind all this,” he added, gravely.

“Of course there is something behind.  Did I not tell you that I had a confession to make concerning a wicked dream?  Listen, Lord Arondelle.  At the time you stood under my window and saw the light turned off, and supposing that I had gone to rest, you turned away and left the grounds, at that time I had not gone to rest, but had gone to my father’s room, in returning from which I experienced that strange optical illusion.  My nerves must have been strangely disordered, for when I reached my own chamber again, and finding it quite dark, opened the window and sat down to look out upon the moonlit lake, I immediately fell asleep, and had a terrible, and a terribly real and distinct dream—­a dream, dear, that nearly overturned my reason, I do believe.”

“What was it, love?” he inquired.

She told him without the least reserve.

He listened to her with interest, and then laughed aloud.

“The idea of your having such a dream about me as that!  I do not wonder it weighed upon your mind.  Yes, it was very wicked of you, my sinful child—­very.  But since you sincerely repent, I freely absolve you. Benedicite!”

Salome looked and listened to him with surprise; for as she spoke of dreaming that he called Rose Cameron his wife, he not only laughed at that idea, but really appeared as if the very existence of the girl was unknown to him.

Then Salome ventured another question: 

“Do you know any one of the name of Rose Cameron?”

“No, not personally.  I believe one of our shepherds, up at Ben Lone, has a very handsome daughter of that name, but I have never seen her,” said the young marquis, with an open sincerity that carried conviction with it.

Salome was amazed, but convinced.  What could have started the false reports concerning the young marquis and the handsome shepherdess?  Clearly Rose’s own hallucination.  She had seen the marquis somewhere, without having been seen by him; she had fallen in love with him, and had partly lost her reason and imagined all the rest, she thought.

“And so you have never even looked upon the beauty of that dream?” she said, with a smile.

“Never even looked upon her,” assented the marquis.

“Then I do, in downright earnest, beg your pardon for my dream,” said Salome, gravely.