صفحة 147 من 1294

"Thank God, that was only a dream," he said, sitting down under a

tree and drawing deep breaths. "But what is it? Is it some fever

coming on? Such a hideous dream!"

He felt utterly broken: darkness and confusion were in his soul.

He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned his head on his

hands.

"Good God!" he cried, "can it be, can it be, that I shall really

take an axe, that I shall strike her on the head, split her skull

open... that I shall tread in the sticky warm blood, break the

lock, steal and tremble; hide, all spattered in the blood... with

the axe.... Good God, can it be?"

He was shaking like a leaf as he said this.