that others have
never felt,--of having set footsteps in that un tracked sand where no
traveller has ever ventured. This impression never left me as I buffeted
the murky waves, and struck out boldly through the surfy stream. Nay,
more, it will never leave me while I live. I have now proved myself to
my own heart! I have been, and for a considerable time too, face to
face with death. I have regarded my fate as certain, and yet have I not
quailed in spirit or flinched in coolness. No, Billy; I reviewed every
step of my strange and wayward life. I bethought me of my childhood,
with all its ambitious longings, and my boyish days as sorrow first
broke upon me, and I felt that there was a fitness in this darksome and
mysterious ending to a life that touched on no other existence. For am I
not as much alone in the great world as when I swam there in the yellow
flood of the Magra?

As the booming breakers of the sea met my ear, and I saw that I was
nearing the wide ocean, I felt as might a soldier when charging an
enemy's battery at speed. I was wildly mad with impatience to get
forward, and shouted till my voice rang out above the din around me.
How the mad cheer echoed in my own heart! It was the trumpet-call of
victory.

Was it reaction from all this excitement--the depression that follows
past danger--that made me feel low and miserable afterwards? I know
I walked along towards Lavenza in listlessness, and when a gendarme
stopped to question me, and asked for my passport, I had not even energy
to tell him how I came there. Even the intense desire to see that spot
once more,--to walk that garden and sit upon that terrace,--all had
left me; it was as though the waves had drowned the spirit, and left the
limbs to move unguided. He led me beside the walls of the villa, by the
little wicket itself, and still I felt no touch of feeling, no memory
came back on me; I was indifferent to all! and yet _you_ know how many
a weary mile I have come just to see them once more,--to revisit a spot
where the only day-dream of my life lingered, and where I gave way to
the promptings of a hope that have not often warmed this sad heart.

What a sluggish swamp has this nature of mine become, when it needs a
hurricane of passion to stir it! Here I am, living, breathing, walking,
and sleeping, but without one sentiment that attaches me to existence;
and yet do I feel as though whatever endangered life, or jeoparded fame
would call me up to an e