Thus, his dream, even while he was still a boy in it, was always
disturbing and perplexing. He was uneasy, rebellious. He chafed and
suffered and could not find relief. The dream world was hostile and
mocking, full of inscrutable forces which were stronger than himself.
But he could not wake up. The dream dragged him inexorably onward. He
was like a man bound to the stirrup of a horse, jerked forward
constantly, and meeting each instant new blows and pains.
Abruptly, at length, as when at dawn the sun strikes low and sweet
across the dewy fields, the complexion of his dream was altered. He
smiled in his sleep, and he felt warm and comforted. He did not know
why this was so, and at first he did not care.
He had been conscious that his dreams were of a more pleasant hue for
some time before he discovered that this new aspect was shared with him
by another. A girl.
He saw her very plainly, and there was something familiar about her, and
at the same time something baffling. He felt that he ought to recognize
her, that he ought to know her name. He tried to remember it, but he
could not.
So he set this problem aside, and gave himself up to enjoyment of the
dream with her. He could see no more of her than her face, her eyes.
They were near each other, yet aloof. Their hands never touched, they
never spoke; yet their eyes met frequently.
He had at first no desire to approach this girl more than closely; and
she, also, seemed content to go forward with him, side by side, near,
yet not together.
After a time, the mists cleared a little, and he saw that they were
passing through a pleasant, rolling meadow. Her feet followed a little
pathway; and when he looked down, he saw that his feet, also, were set
upon a path.
He felt his father and mother somewhere near him, but he could not see
them. He could only see the girl.
Suddenly, he perceived that his path and the path the girl followed drew
ever nearer together. This frightened him; but when he looked toward the
girl and saw that she, too, was a little frightened, he smiled
reassuringly, and waved his hand to her, and went boldly forward along
the way that was before him.
The girl had hesitated, but when she saw him go forward, she no longer
faltered. She moved with him.
Their paths met at a little turnstile in a fence. Their paths met there,
and they met there.
For a moment, they looked at each other. Then their eyes went forward
through the next field. There were no longer two paths before them. In
the next field, there was but one. Either they must now go forward
together, or one of them must fall behind forever.
So they clasped hands and passed through the stile.
The field disappeared. The girl stood beside him, her right hand in his
right hand, her eyes turned up to his. Her eyes were deep, his were lost
in them.
A voice spoke, resonantly, in measured words. He heard his own voice;
then the girl’s.
Suddenly he recognized the girl. She was Anne; she was his wife....