by H G Wells

The man white face entered the carriage at Rugby He moved slowly urgency porter, and even while still platform I noted how ill He dropped corner over against me with sigh, made an incomplete attempt to arrange his travelling shawl, and became motionless, eyes staring vacantly Presently moved by sense observation, looked up at me, and put out spiritless hand newspaper Then he glanced again in my direction

I feigned to read I feared I had unwittingly embarrassed him, and in moment surprised him speaking

"I beg your pardon ? " said I

"That book," he repeated, pointing lean finger, "is about dreams "

"Obviously," I answered, for Fortnum-Roscoe's Dream States_, title was cover

He hung silent for space he sought words "Yes," , at last, "but they tell you nothing "

catch his meaning for second

"They don't know," he added

I looked little more attentively at his face

" dreams," , "and dreams " That sort of proposition I never dispute "I suppose----" he hesitated " ever dream ? I mean vividly "

"I dream very little," I answered " if three vivid dreams in year "

"Ah ! " , and seemed for moment to collect his thoughts

"Your dreams don't mix with your memories ? " he asked abruptly "You don't find yourself in doubt: did this happen or did it not ? "

"Hardly ever Except just for momentary hesitation I suppose few people do "

"Does he say----" he indicated the book

"Says it happens at times and gives the usual explanation about intensity of impression like to account for its not happening as rule I suppose something theories----"

"Very little--except wrong "

His emaciated hand played strap window for time I prepared to resume reading, seemed to precipitate his next remark He leant forward almost touch me

"Isn't there something called consecutive dreaming--that goes on night after night ? "

"I believe cases given in most books on mental trouble "

"Mental trouble ! Yes I daresay It's the right place But what I mean----" He looked at his bony knuckles " sort of thing always dreaming ? dreaming ? Or something else ? Mightn't it be something else ? "

snubbed his persistent conversation but drawn anxiety face I remember now the look faded eyes lids red stained--perhaps that look

"I'm not just arguing about matter of opinion," "The thing's killing me "

"Dreams ? "

" call them dreams Night after night Vivid ! --so vivid . this--" (he indicated the landscape that went streaming window) "seems unreal in comparison ! scarcely remember who , what business on . "

He paused "Even now--"

"The dream is always the same-- ? " I asked

"It's over "

"You mean ? "

"I died "

"Died ? "

"Smashed and killed, and now of me dream was is dead Dead for ever I dreamt another man, , living in different part world and in different time I dreamt that night after night Night after night I woke into that other life Fresh scenes and fresh happenings--until last--"

" died ? "

"When I died "

"And since then--"

"No," "Thank God ! that end dream . "

clear in dream And, after all, I had an hour before me, the light was fading fast, and Fortnum-Roscoe has dreary way "Living in different time," : " in some different age ? "

"Yes "

"Past ? "

"No, -- "

"The year three thousand, for example ? "

"I don't know what year when asleep, when dreaming, , but not now--not now that awake There's lot of things forgotten since I woke out dreams, though them when --I suppose dreaming They called the year differently way of calling the year . What did they call it ? " He put his hand forehead "No," said he, "I forget "

He sat smiling weakly For moment I feared mean me his dream As rule, I hate people who tell their dreams, but this struck me differently I proffered assistance even "It began----" I suggested

" vivid first I seemed to wake up suddenly And it's curious that dreams speaking of I never remembered this life living now It seemed as dream life was enough while it lasted Perhaps----But tell you how myself when my best to recall it all I don't remember anything clearly until myself sitting in sort of loggia looking out over the sea I dozing, and suddenly I woke up--fresh and vivid--not bit dreamlike-- because the girl had stopped fanning me "

"The girl ? "

"Yes, the girl not interrupt or put me out "

He stopped abruptly "You won't think I'm mad ? "

"No," I answered; "you've been dreaming Tell me your dream "

"I woke up, , because the girl had stopped fanning me not surprised myself there or anything sort, you understand feel I had fallen suddenly I simply took it up point Whatever memory I had life, this nineteenth-century life, faded as I woke, vanished like dream all about myself, knew that my name was no longer Cooper but Hedon, and all position I've forgotten lot since I woke--there's want of connection--but all quite clear and matter-of-fact then "

He hesitated again, gripping the window strap, putting his face forward, and looking up appealingly

"This seems bosh ? "

"No, no ! " I cried "Go on Tell me what this loggia was like "

" not really loggia--I don't know what it It faced south small all in shadow except the semicircle above the balcony that showed the sky and sea corner where the girl stood on couch-- metal couch with light striped cushions-- girl was leaning over the balcony with her back The light sunrise fell on her ear and cheek Her pretty white neck little curls that nestled there, and her white shoulder were sun, and all the grace of her body was cool blue shadow She was dressed--how can I describe it ? easy and flowing And altogether there she stood, so came how beautiful and desirable she was, I had never seen her before And when at last I sighed and raised myself upon my arm she turned her face --"

He stopped

" lived three-and-fifty years world mother, sisters, friends, wife and daughters--all their faces, the play faces, But the face girl-- much more real bring it back into memory it again-- draw it or paint it And after all--"

He stopped--but nothing

"The face of dream--the face of dream She was beautiful Not that beauty terrible, cold, and worshipful, like the beauty of saint; nor that beauty that stirs fierce passions; but sort of radiation, sweet lips that softened into smiles, and grave gray eyes And she moved gracefully, she seemed part with all pleasant and gracious things--"