And all that Frey Miguel de
Souza told her served but to engrave more deeply upon her virgin
mind the adorable image of the knightly king. Ever present in the
daily thoughts of this ardent girl, his empanoplied figure
haunted now her sleep, so real and vivid that her waking senses
would dwell fondly upon the dream-figure as upon the memory of
someone seen in actual life; likewise she treasured up the memory
of the dream--words he had uttered, words it would seem begotten
of the longings of her starved and empty heart, words of a kind
not calculated to bring peace to the soul of a nun professed. She
was enamoured, deeply, fervently, and passionately enamoured of a
myth, a mental image of a man who had been dust these fifteen
years. She mourned him with a fond widow's mourning; prayed daily
and nightly for the repose of his soul, and in her exaltation
waited now almost impatiently for death that should unite her
with him. Taking joy in the thought that she should go to him a
maid, she ceased at last to resent the maidenhood that had been
imposed upon her.
One day a sudden, wild thought filled her with a strange
excitement.
"Is it so certain that he is dead?" she asked. "When all is said,
none actually saw him die, and you tell me that the body
surrendered by Mulai-Ahmed-ben-Mahomet was disfigured beyond
recognition.
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