And then I
dreamed.
I was in a great city in a foreign land--a city
whose people were of my own race, with minor
differences of speech and costume; yet precisely
what these were I could not say; my sense of them
was indistinct. The city was dominated by a great
castle upon an overlooking height whose name I
knew, but could not speak. I walked through many
streets, some broad and straight with high, modern
buildings, some narrow, gloomy, and tortuous, be-
tween the gables of quaint old houses whose over-
hanging stories, elaborately ornamented with carv-
ings in wood and stone, almost met above my head.
I sought some one whom I had never seen, yet
knew that I should recognize when found. My quest
was not aimless and fortuitous; it had a definite
method. I turned from one street into another with-
out hesitation and threaded a maze of intricate
passages, devoid of the fear of losing my way.
Presently I stopped before a low door in a plain
stone house which might have been the dwelling of
an artisan of the better sort, and without announc-
ing myself, entered. The room, rather sparely fur-
nished, and lighted by a single window with small
diamond-shaped panes, had but two occupants. a
man and a woman. They took no notice of my
intrusion, a circumstance which, in the manner
of dreams, appeared entirely natural. They were
not conversing; they sat apart, unoccupied and
sullen.
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