on me from.

I have been dreaming then, and am on my road to the lake: but what a
young wood! I must have lost my way; I never saw all this before. Well--I
will walk on stoutly.

May the Lord help my senses! I am _riding_!--on a mule; a bell tinkles
somewhere on him; the wind blows something about with a flapping sound:
something? in heaven's name, what? _My_ long black robes.--Why--when I
left my house I was clad in serviceable broadcloth of the nineteenth
century.

I shall go mad--I am mad--I am gone to the devil--I have lost my
identity; who knows in what place, in what age of the world I am living
now? Yet I will be calm; I have seen all these things before, in
pictures surely, or something like them. I am resigned, since it is no
worse than that. I am a priest then, in the dim, far-off thirteenth
century, riding, about midnight I should say, to carry the blessed
Sacrament to some dying man.

Soon I found that I was not alone; a man was riding close to me on a
horse; he was fantastically dressed, more so than usual for that time,
being striped all over in vertical stripes of yellow and green, with
quaint birds like exaggerated storks in different attitudes
counter-changed on the stripes; all this I saw by the lantern he carried,
in the light of which his debauched black eyes quite flashed. On he
went, unsteadily rolling, very drunk, though it was the thirteenth
century, but being plainly used to that, he sat his horse fairly well.

I watched him in my proper nineteenth-century character, with insatiable