I
Barnard became conscious that he was dreaming. It was a bad dream, a
nightmare.
He had been dreaming for a long time; but at first he had not understood
that it was all a dream. It had been too real. When he realized that it
was only a dream, he began, as dreamers do, to fight for wakefulness.
But sleep held him stubbornly.
His dream was long; it dragged interminably. An endless procession of
scenes and events harassed his troubled slumbers. He appeared in these
scenes, participated in these events. He was at the same time an actor
in his dream, and a spectator.
Some portions of the dream were gay, some were somber; some were happy,
some were tragic. But over gay and somber, happy and tragic, there hung
an uneasy Cloud. It haunted and harassed him. He tried to escape from
this dark Cloud, but he could not. Thus his dream was one long, futile
struggle....