s conscious of his own
unconsciousness. And the thought proceeded farther. Yes, solitude,
this is the rest upon the mother-earth, this is the story of Antaeus,
who is inspired with fresh strength from the ever-present energies of
mother-earth, as soon as he touches her. We are raised from the ground
by our constant thinking, and so are rendered powerless. And farther
yet went his dreaming and meditation. This is one trouble of wealth,
this is its curse, that it does not enter into the heavens, cannot
again be immersed in the primitive might of earthly being, for wealth
possesses everything except this, a deliverance from the world, a being
alone with one's self. Ballast! ballast! too much ballast!

The doctor's word came into his mind, and the word ballast again and
again recurred to his thoughts, just as the finch in the tree over his
head continually repeated the same notes.

In the midst of this dreaming and unlimited contemplation, he fell
asleep, and when he waked up, he was invigorated and full of a fresh
life; for the first time, since a long period, he felt at home within
himself. He smiled, for a new thought occurred to him, and, as it were,
shone through him. Adam slept in Paradise, and when he waked, he saw
his wife by his side; a world is his, and also another who is to become
one with him.

It was one of those days and hours in which all the past and the
present, all that humanity has ever dreamed and ever obtained for
itself by toil, bright with a reflected glory, and gleaming in its own
splendor, stands before the eyes. All riddles seem solved. All is
peaceful, harmonious, and divine.

So must it be to the thoughtful man when he awakens from the sleep of
death, and the eternal life opens to his view.

But the struggle must be entered upon anew, in order to maintain the
battle of life.

Eric went into the park and around the house, and took in all with
newly opened eyes; he had forgotten how all looked, it had been put far
away, and now he surveyed everything like a man newly awakened and
endowed with fresh strength.

It is well that the world abides, and is always ready in its place when
we return to it again from the sphere of unconscious forgetfulness.

A whole day passed, in which Eric read nothing and wrote nothing.

The next morning, ordering his horse to be saddled, he mounted and rode
towards Clodwig's house.

He had scarcely been riding fifteen minutes, when a boy called to him,
and b