She sat up, resting on her elbow, and her breathing came short and fast.
"It does not—melt away," she panted. "Oh, I never had such a dream before." She scarcely dared to stir; but at last she pushed the bedclothes aside, and put her feet on the floor with a rapturous smile.
"I am dreaming—I am getting out of bed," she heard her own voice say and then, as she stood up in the midst of it all, turning slowly from side to side,—"I am dreaming it stays—real! I 'm dreaming it feels real. It 's bewitched—or I 'm bewitched. I only think I see it all." Her words began to hurry themselves. "If I can only keep on thinking it," she cried, "I don't care! I don't care!"
She stood panting a moment longer, and then cried out again.
"Oh, it is n't true!" she said. "It can't be true! But oh, how true it seems!"
The blazing fire drew her to it, and she knelt down and held out her hands close to it—so close that the heat made her start back.
"A fire I only dreamed would n't be hot" she cried.
She sprang up, touched the table, the dishes, the rug; she went to the bed and touched the blankets. She took up the soft wadded dressing-gown, and suddenly clutched it to her breast and held it to her cheek.
"It 's warm. It 's soft!" she almost sobbed. "It 's real. It must be!"
