Nor was I aware of any Darrell Standing--as I could not well be, considering that Darrell Standing was as yet unborn and would not be born for centuries.
But you shall see.
I lay with closed eyes, lazily listening.

From without came the clacking of many hoofs moving orderly on stone flags.

From the accompanying jingle of metal bits of man-harness and steed-harness I knew some cavalcade was passing by on the street beneath my windows.

Also, I wondered idly who it was.

From somewhere--and I knew where, for I knew it was from the inn yard--came the ring and stamp of hoofs and an impatient neigh that I recognized as belonging to my waiting horse.
Came steps and movements--steps openly advertised as suppressed with the intent of silence and that yet were deliberately noisy with the secret intent of rousing me if I still slept.