The voice was known to her; it was as familiar as her own; but
the words it uttered made her sure she was asleep. Thank God! it wasn't
real. She would wake up in a moment, and shudder to think how ugly a
dream it had been. Oh, if she could only awaken before this conversation
went any further! It was breaking her heart: it was killing her. She had
heard of people who died in their sleep--was it from such dreams as
this?
She seemed to have heard two voices--voices that she loved and knew as
well as her own heart--talking a horrible, unholy jargon about some
purpose--some plan--something that it was a sin even to listen to or
imagine; but, as in a dream, she had no choice but to listen. She tried
to shake off the delusion--to see, to prove that what she saw and heard
was false. But still it lasted, and lasted. Still those wicked sentences
kept creeping into her ears and deadening her heart. O God! would it
never cease--would there never be an end?
At length the end seemed about to come. But, ah! the end was worst of
all. Shame--shame to her that such sinful imaginings should visit her
brain. She saw the figure of the man turn away as if to go; but the
woman caught him by the arm, and lifted her beautiful, guilty face up
toward his as if beseeching him for a parting kiss.
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