'No John!' she stammered. 'No John! Then he is dead!' John dead, lying with his father and mother in the family vault, where she was to have gone.
'But I—I was the one who was to die,' she said. 'Oh!' she put her hand on her head: 'this is a dream. John cannot have died.'
The other looked upon her and laughed.
'There never was a John who called himself your husband! That is a dream. You are mine. I chose you because you were my mate. I bid you come, and you have followed me across the world. John, what of John? Dull John Drummond—did you dream you had taken him? Do you remember under the trees in the Park, when I said I loved you. You cried, and spoke of John Drummond. You told me you owed him much, because his people had taken you, the orphan child of a friend, and reared you. You said he loved you. But you did not owe him a life's devotion; that you owe me, for I called you and you have come.'
'What have I dreamt?' she murmured, strangely happy. 'I thought I married John.' She stretched out her hand with a great sigh of
