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sensing itself confined or trapped, bolted, rushing blindly toward the window, shattering it, and leaping to the outside.
    I staggered to my feet. “I must have been walking in my sleep,” I said. “I must have done this, somehow. I don’t know how, but I must have done this. I’ll pay for the damage, surely. I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry!”
    â€œThis is not your doing, sir,” said one of the roomers.
    â€œNever,” said another, grimly.
    â€œIs anything missing?” asked another, looking about.
    â€œThere must have been a thief, a prowler,” said one of the men.
    â€œSir is not of the village,” said a fellow. “Someone thought he had money.”
    â€œDo you have money?” asked another.
    â€œNot really,” I said. “Nothing much.”
    â€œA thief would not know that,” pointed out another.
    â€œThe gentleman awakened, and the fellow went for the window,” said a man.
    â€œSuch things do not happen in my house,” said Mrs. Fraser.
    â€œThis must be reported to the constable,” said a man.
    â€œIf you like,” I said. “But I think I am all right. I do not think anything is missing. I may have done this myself, somehow.”
    â€œNever,” said a fellow.
    â€œI am sure this was not done by local folk,” said a man.
    â€œNo, we have no thieves here,” added another.
    â€œIt would be an outsider,” said another.
    â€œAye,” said another.
    â€œYes,” I said. “Yes.” Yes, I thought, it would be an outsider, an outsider.
    â€œI’ll have some repairs begun tomorrow,” said Mrs. Fraser.
    â€œKeep the outside door locked,” said one of the roomers, uneasily.
    â€œI have never seen the need, but I shall do so,” she said. “It is a lamentable thing, that one should have to lock the doors of one’s own house.”
    â€œAye,” agreed a fellow.
    Mrs. Fraser and the others then left the room.
    I sat on the edge of the bed. Oddly, I now felt serene. In a few minutes I rose and lit the kerosene lamp and looked about. Indeed, nothing was missing. With a piece of toweling I wiped away a large, hooflike mark from the shattered sill. When I returned to the bed, I discovered, to my surprise, that the cat was there, curled at its foot. Earlier she had fled at my very appearance, an unusual behavior on her part, which had troubled me, which had made me muchly uneasy. I petted her for a bit, and then retired. It was probably something like three in the morning. I saw the moon through the shattered window, and the sea beyond. I could not see the beach because of the cliffs, to which, in places, the waters were closely adjacent. I awakened once, wondering if, below, on the beach, I heard the sound of hoof beats, racing through the sand. Then, the cat at my feet, I slept soundly.
    February 15th.
I have had the sense, for some days, that I am waiting for something. I am not altogether clear what it is, but I sometimes think I know its general nature. How much is real, how much is madness, if any of it, I do not know. Went to the pub. Haven’t been there for some time. Odd conversation with old Duncan. Gavin not about. Finished article. Think it all right. Full moon tonight. Mention this because old Duncan called it to my attention. Not clear why. Think he may be mad. Perhaps we all are.
    When the dream recurs now I am no longer disturbed by it, the dream of the girl, so lofty, haughty, cold, prudish and smug, and the horse, or that which, in the dream, assumes that form.
    The girl is mine. She does not know it, of course, but she is owned, and it is I, her master, who own her. She has been bred for me, and for the bearing of my son, who will one day return to this place.
    There are other aspects of the dream, but I cannot explain them to you. At the least it would be difficult. I think the words are lacking. Actually, it is the experiences which are