They resembled knobs on the adobe wall, rising perhaps half a foot above it, and the sight troubled Ned.

Was fancy to prove too strong, when he had drilled himself so long to see the real?
Was he to be played with by the imagination, as if he had no will of his own?
He thought once of speaking to the sentinels at the other doors, but he could not compel himself to do it.

They would laugh at him, and it is a bitter thing to be laughed at.

So he kept his watch, and while he looked the projections appeared, disappeared and appeared once more.
He could stand it no longer.

Putting his rifle under his blanket in order to keep the weapon dry he stepped out of doors, but flattened himself against the wall of the convent.