I do not recall what I had been dreaming when I slowly roused (or so I thought). It was in every way the normal sensation, I even felt the coolness of the air which Jacab Abbott made Rollo feel and which surprised me every morning as a child. I had no excuse for doubting that this was a genuine awakening. But to my distress and alarm, I found myself crouching in the middle of a strange corridor. It was not wholly dark. I could see that there opened from it three or four doors, one of which nearest me was ajar. The room was slightly lighter than the hallway, as though it were early morning. My mind was painfully clear. I was conscious of my nearsightedness, also that my bare feet were on cold matting. I knew I must have been walking in my sleep. It was a terrible discovery, and I argued against it eagerly that I had never been known to do such a thing before. But the stubborn circumstance of my position silenced me. From thinking how I could distrust myself and to what dangers I should be exposed, I passed suddenly to the awkwardness of my situation. Where was my room? The corridor did not seem to correspond to the one outside my door, but I might be mistaken. The open door might be mine and I must make some move. I would steal over there. Just at this point the scene faded out of my consciousness as gently as a dissolving view an the happy realization that my head was on a pillow and my body stretched in bed crept over me as a boundless relief. But this second waking seemed less real.