to her spirit.

As one who wanders in a golden maze she began to dream strange dreams
that yet were not woven by the hand of sleep. Dimly she saw as down a
long perspective a knight in golden armour climbing, ever climbing, the
peaks of Paradise, from which, as from an eagle's nest, she watched his
difficult but untiring progress. She thought he halted somewhat in the
ascent--which was unlike Apollo, who walked as walk the gods with a gait
both arrogant and assured. But still he came on, persistently,
resolutely, carrying his golden shield before him.

His visor was down, and she wished that he would raise it. She yearned
for the sight of that splendid face with its knightly features and blue,
fiery eyes. She pictured it to herself as he came, but somehow it did not
seem to fit that patient climbing figure.

And then as he gradually drew nearer, the thought came to her to go and
meet him, and she started to run down the slope. She reached him. She
gave him both her hands. She was ready--she was eager--to be drawn into
his arms.

But he did not so draw her. To her amazement he only bowed himself before
her and stretched forth the shield he bore that it might cover them both.

"It is Mr. Greatheart!" she said to herself in wonder. "Of course--it is
Mr. Greatheart!"

And then, while she still gazed upon the glittering, princely form, he
put up a hand and lifted the visor. And she saw the kindly, steadfast
eyes all kindled and alight with a glory before which instinctively she