One day , on a dull , drowsy afternoon , the dream-child called . I knew then that the end was near ; the end had been near in the old grandmother 's case sixty years before when the dream-child called in the day . The doctor looked graver than ever when I told him , and said that the time had come when I must have help in my task . I could not watch by day and night . Unless I had assistance I would break down . I did not think that I should . Love is stronger than that . And on one thing I was determined -- they should never take my wife from me . No restraint sterner than a husband 's loving hand should ever be put upon her , my pretty , piteous darling . I never spoke of the dream-child to her . The doctor advised against it . It would , he said , only serve to deepen the delusion . When he hinted at an asylum I gave him a look that would have been a fierce word for another man . He never spoke of it again . One night in August there was a dull , murky sunset after a dead , breathless day of heat , with not a wind stirring . The sea was not blue as a sea should be , but pink -- all pink -- a ghastly , staring , painted pink . I lingered on the harbor shore below the house until dark . The evening bells were ringing faintly and mournfully in a church across the harbor . Behind me , in the kitchen , I heard my wife singing . Sometimes now her spirits were fitfully high , and then she would sing the old songs of her girlhood .
But even XXXXX her singing was something strange , as if a wailing , unearthly cry rang through it .
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