Presently they touch a wall and I follow it and then I discover
that I am going downstairs. It is a long journey. At last I am in
a room where I can see windows, and, beyond, the dim light of the
moon. Now I seem to be wrapped in fearful silence. Stealthily I
go near the door. Its upper half is glass, and beyond it I can see
the dark forms of men. One is peering through with face upon the
pane; I know the other is trying the lock, but I hear no sound. I
am in a silence like that of the grave. I try to speak. My lips
move, but, try as I may, no sound comes out of them. A sharp
terror is pricking into me, and I flinch as if it were a
knife-blade. Well, sir, that is a thing I cannot understand. You
know me--I am not a coward. If I were really in a like scene fear
would be the least of my emotions; but in the dream I tremble and
am afraid. Slowly, silently, the door opens, the men of the dark
enter, wall and windows begin to reel. I hear a quick, loud cry,
rending the silence and falling into a roar like that of flooding
waters. Then I wake, and my dream is ended--for that night."

Now men have had more thrilling and remarkable dreams, but that of
the boy Trove was as a link in a chain, lengthening with his life,
and ever binding him to some event far beyond the reach of his
memory.




V

At the Sign o' the Dial