of it. Up and down I walked quickly, as a man
torn and tormented with thoughts that his steps, however hasty, cannot
outstrip. The crew stared at me, the pilot himself spared a glance of
amused wonder at the man who strode to and fro so restlessly. Once I
paused at the stern of the ship, where Lie's boat, towed behind us, cut
through the water as a diamond cuts a pane of glass. For an instant I
thought of leaping in and making a bid for liberty alone. The strange
tone in which "You, Simon!" had struck home to my heart forbade me. But
I was sick with the world, and turned from the boat to gaze over the
sea. There is a power in the quiet water by night; it draws a man with a
promise of peace in the soft lap of forgetfulness. So strong is the
allurement that, though I count myself sane and of sound mind, I do not
love to look too long on the bosom of deep waters when the night is
full; for the doubt comes then whether to live is sanity and not rather
to die and have an end of the tossing of life and the unresting
dissatisfaction of our state. That night the impulse came on me
mightily, and I fought it, forcing myself to look, refusing the weakness
of flight from the seductive siren. For I was fenced round with troubles
and of a sore heart: there lay the open country and a heart at peace.

Suddenly I gave a low exclamation; the water, which had fled from us as
we moved, seeming glad to pass us by and rush again on its race
undisturbed, stood still. From the swill came quiet, out of the shimmer
a mirror disentangled itself, and lay there on the sea, smooth and
bright. But it grew dull in an instant; I heard the sails flap, but saw
them no more. A dense white vapour settled on us, the length of my arm
bounded my sight, all movement ceased, and we lay on the water, inert
and idle. I leant beside the gunwale, feeling the fog moist on my face,
seeing in its baffling folds a type of the toils that bound and fettered
me. Now voices rose round me, and again fell; the crew questioned, the
captain urged; I heard Colbert's voice as he hurried on deck. The
sufficient answer was all around us; where the mist was there could be
no wind; in grumbling the voices died away.

The rest of what passed seems even now a strange dream that I can hardly
follow, whose issue alone I know, which I can recover only dimly and
vaguely in my memory. I was there in the stern, leaning over, listening
to the soft sound of the sea as Thomas Lie's boat rolled