still thinking of it when ten o’clock struck, and I came in and went to bed.
As a rule, I sleep soundly and dream seldom. But I suppose I was worried by the disagreeable events of the evening, for I continued to have queer dreams: as that Ringmer was seizing me in his muscular arms; now I thought he was throttling me, another time that he was boring into me with one of those strange tools of his, and 
"'Sorry to make you come up.'" (p. 254).
again that I was bound to his lathe and was being whirled round and round upon it. At last I began to dream that Ringmer was creeping in at the window with a tool in his hand to brain me as I slept, and that time I woke. As I sat up with the idea vividly in my recollection I distinctly heard the creeper rustling, as if someone were climbing up it, and I sprang out of bed and peered over the sill, for I had followed Ringmer's example, and had opened both windows as wide as they would go. There was a faint light in the east, and I was able to see things fairly. Not a sound could I hear, but I was positive that the lower branches of the creeper were quivering, and a trailer or two on Ringmer's level were swinging, although there was not the ghost of a wind. Cats, I told myself; their flirtations had been going on all around me the whole time I sat in the garden.
I was roused again by a steam-saw getting to work in a timber yard. It was a glorious morning, and the sun was pouring into the room, so I got up and dressed and went down through the still sleeping house into the garden. At a nearer view it was not quite so attractive. The grass was long and in seed; the paths, too, sadly required weeding, and a number of sturdy wild flowers had sown themselves and were spreading in all directions; all the same, it was a very fine garden, and I calculated there must have been the best part of an acre within the walls. At the far end I discovered a door. The wood was very rotten and shaky, and at first I hesitated to draw the bolt, so rusty and stiff did it look; but it shot back easily, and I found myself standing in a narrow way which curved round to join the high road lower down. As I closed the door again I noticed the tracks of a cycle leading into the garden. They were quite fresh on the damp ground, and I recognised the pattern of Ringmer's tyres. Strolling back, I looked in at the outhouse; there were the two cycles just as I had left them last evening; but on glancing at Ringmer's
