He recognized them at once, their white backs gleaming brightly above the dark boards at their sides. Their gorgeous harness was hanging on pegs high up on the wall.

Utterly dumbfounded, Lucas staggered forward, rubbing his eyes and trying to remember what had happened. But his mind was a blank and, overcome by terror that increased every moment, he let his hand drop to his side, and stared about him, wondering whether he could not possibly escape from his strange surroundings. His anxious eyes suddenly caught sight of the stable door. Trembling all over, he crept breathless, step by step, toward it. Gently he raised the latch and paused for a moment, in case one of the grooms who might be sleeping in the stables should wake up. Then, cautiously opening the heavy door which creaked discordantly on its hinges, he slipped like lightning through the opening. He was free.

Not until he felt the cold night wind on his face did he really wake up. Then fear clutched at his heart with redoubled intensity, and he trembled so violently that he could hardly breathe. Pulling himself together, he began to run. His terror seemed to hang like a weight about his limbs, his feet felt like lead, and yet his fear lashed him on. In the dim light of the waning moon he could see the straggling houses of a small town. His footsteps rang like iron on the dry ground. Now and again a dog made a dash at him from behind a fence, a gate or a garden wall, and at the first sound of a bark, Lucas jumped as though shot. The bark echoed deep down into his heart, tearing away the veil which sleep had drawn across his memory, suddenly revealing ghostlike pictures of experiences which, at once confused yet terribly distinct, merged into one another.

On gaining the open highway, he ran without heeding his direction and continued until his strength gave out. He rested a moment, then walked on as fast as he could, on and on, until he was able to run again; and not until his knees felt like giving way beneath him did he stop. Walking and running alternately he reached at early dawn a slight elevation, on which was a stone monument called the Spinnerin am Kreuz. From this he knew that he was on the Wienerberg, and had not mistaken the way home. Here he took a short rest in order to recover his breath. He could see the walls of the city in the distance, the church towers below emerging from the darkness of the night; while beyond were the mountains looming through the morning mist. Overcome with emotion, he pondered over the power that had conducted him thus far afield.

Presently he started to walk slowly down the road. He was worn out by his long run and a prey to the fears that surged afresh in his breast every moment, and dazed by the mystery which he could not explain. When at last he reached the house on the bastion, it was broad daylight and the streets were already full of life. Creeping up the stairs to the attic, he flung himself on the bed to rest. But, as he could not sleep, he soon got up again, hurried downstairs, and timidly strolled about. The sing-song of the street-hawkers, the hurrying crowd, and the rattle of the traffic helped him to forget his state of painful wonder and to feel at one with everyday life. It comforted him to feel his fellow-­creatures all about him; he had a sensation of security when he heard them talking or saw them laughing.

Quite unconsciously he turned down the road leading to the Imperial Palace, and, taking up his stand on the square in front of St. Michael’s Church, waited, as though he expected the pageant of yesterday to be re-enacted. But nothing of the sort happened. The square wore its usual aspect, people crossed and re-crossed in all directions, no fence of halberds barred their path, and the Palace, with its old gray walls, stood out calm and massive as a lonely promontory.