They became louder, as they had been at the beginning, and she responded quickly to these signals. Everything in her was alerted. It was evident in the movement of her muscles beneath the spotlight, in the quivering of her nostrils and the ceaseless twitching of her ears.

Once more the notes were so constant that they became a horrible whistle. As they approached their highest pitch, it appeared that she could no longer tolerate them and sought escape. She sprang into the air with her forelegs stretched out while drawing her hind legs beneath her in the difficult ballotade.

The captain was unmindful of the applause. He heard only the horrible whistling notes and his eyes were only for the mare. Again she rose from the ground. This time in midair she kicked out her hind legs savagely in unison with her forelegs as if to ward off a pursuer. Truly, she appeared to be a winged horse, a Pegasus, soaring through the air, her head raised high and her mane and tail flying!

The breathtaking capriole was the climax of her performance, and when she had finished the lights in the great hall went on, growing in brightness and brilliance. The mare stood still in the center of the ring, her ears alert, her nostrils flaring.

The ringmaster motioned the captain forward and he joined his mare reluctantly, standing beside her in his dark evening clothes.

He raised his hand to acknowledge the ever-mounting applause of the crowd when they saw him. Like her, his movements were proud, cool and controlled. It was not as he wanted it. They applauded now because he stood with her beneath glaring lights and they were able to see and judge the act for what it had been—a serious exhibition of horse training.

Few Swedes cared about imagination of any sort, he decided. They wanted their Art to be obedient and useful, nothing that might ever excel and surpass life itself. They had seen no ghost-horse, no winged Pegasus—only a well-trained animal. They would not waste their time pursuing idle fantasies. They had no part in his own imaginative world.

He had little use for such practical people, and he did not want to be influenced or changed by them and others of their kind. He ceased listening to the applause and concentrated only on his mare and his own thoughts. He stroked her neck beneath the gray mane.

This was to be his last circus performance in Europe, for he had agreed to a contract with Ringling Bros. Barnum and Bailey in the United States. It meant a well-deserved vacation for him and his mare; they would not have to work again until he joined the Ringling Circus at its training quarters in Florida.

He would leave this land of coldness behind to pursue something he’d wanted to do all his life. He would visit Haiti on his way to the United States and find out for himself what the land of his ancestors was truly like. He had heard many strange things about Haiti and a legend that was filled with impossible events—one he’d been told by his father, when a child, passed on from generation to generation as part of their heritage. He had an overpowering urge to learn more about the legend, and because he believed in signs and omens, the contract with Ringling Bros. coming at this time pointed the way.

The applause continued and he saw some children standing up and hanging over a balcony rail, waving their programs at him. He waved back, knowing they had seen The Ghost as he had planned they should see her. The circus was for children and the imagination of children.

The lights dimmed except for the yellow spotlight as he backed his beloved mare out of the ring. Little did she know what he had in store for her across the ocean. He wanted her to have a foal and he had found the stallion that was right for her in every way. He had seen him on Swedish television only that week, a horse called the Black, the American champion, winning a great race in Florida.