Journal Entry 72 - July 24th, 1895 – 11:27 p.m. [Continued]
Yet worst of all, when I opened the front doors, I found Wismer to be gone, with his lead rope also missing. But seeing how the gale only furthered its rage, I hid away behind some ruined furnishings, back in the room where I had first rested. “When the storm subsides,” I told myself, “I’ll flee quietly.” Footsteps, echoing from the solid floor in one of the more distant apartments of the domain, then started up. “He knows I’m here, but he doesn’t know where,” I assured myself. Although it would be courteous to explain my reasons for trespassing to the resident, I can’t bring myself to. Why did he take my horse? And why hasn’t he called out? Would he understand why one such as myself might mistakenly presume his house to be forsaken?
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