He must keep the dream to the end.

If he moved now the maid would vanish.
"Mr.O'Neill!" A hand touched his shoulder.
A haze of old brocade golden in the sunlight retreated and then loomed persistently ahead.

The dream if anything became a shade more clear.
Well, if a man must dream, let him dream thus, vividly, turning the clock back to maids unbelievably quaint and winsome in old brocade.
Sweet as an Irish smile, the face of this one, and as haunting.

And beyond, an old flat-bottomed punt and a river, a real river-- Scarlet with confusion, Kenny sprang to his feet.

Queen of Heaven! the girl was real.