And so I went on and on, caring little how long the journey might be, and even vaguely wishing it might continue for ever,—­when presently a faint light began to peer through the gloom—­I saw a glimmer of blue and grey, then white, then rose-colour—­and I awoke--to find nothing of a visionary character about me unless perhaps a shaft of early morning sunshine streaming through the port-hole of my cabin could be called a reflex of the mystic glory which had surrounded me in sleep.  I then remembered where I was,—­yet I was so convinced of the reality of what I had seen and heard that I looked about me everywhere for that lovely crimson rose I had brought away with me from Dreamland—­for I could actually feel its stem still between my fingers.  It was not to be seen—­but there was delicate fragrance on the air as if it were blooming near me—­a fragrance so fine that nothing could describe its subtly pervading odour.  Every word spoken by the Voice of my dream was vividly impressed on my brain, and more vivid still was the recollection of the hand that had clasped mine and led me out of sleep to waking.  I was conscious of its warmth yet,—­and I was troubled, even while I was soothed, by the memory of the lingering caress with which it had been at last withdrawn.  And I wondered as I lay for a few moments in my bed inert, and thinking of all that had chanced to me in the night, whether the long earnest patience of my soul, ever turned as it had been for years towards the attainment of a love higher than all earthly attraction, was now about to be recompensed?  I knew, and had always known, that whatsoever we strongly will to possess comes to us in due season; and that steadily resolved prayers are always granted; the only drawback to the exertion of this power is the doubt as to whether the thing we desire so ardently will work us good or ill.  For there is no question but that what we seek we shall find.  I had sought long and unwearyingly for the clue to the secret of life imperishable and love eternal,—­was the mystery about to be unveiled?  I could not tell—­and I dare not humour the mere thought too long.  Shaking my mind free from the web of marvel and perplexity in which it had been caught by the visions of the night, I placed myself in a passively receptive attitude—­demanding nothing, fearing nothing, hoping nothing—­but simply content with actual Life, feeling Life to be the outcome and expression of perfect Love.

IV

A BUNCH OF HEATHER

It was a glorious morning, and so warm that I went up on deck without any hat or cloak, glad to have the sunlight playing on my hair and the soft breeze blowing on my face.  The scene was perfectly enchanting; the mountains were bathed in a delicate rose-purple glow reflected from the past pomp of the sun’s rising,—­the water was still as an inland lake, and every mast and spar of the ‘Diana’ was reflected in it as in a mirror.  A flock of