dreamless draperies of
eternal oblivion, rather than have eternal life, with all its
torments--mingling with the legions of the past, and with mother
earth--the dust of success and happiness indistinguishable from the dust
of failure and despair. Time alone would be his relief--the great
physician that healed all wounds.

The wind blew stronger and the rain fell heavier, the one chasing, the
other in raging gusts, and both tearing round and lashing the form of
the man who sat motionless and unaware of all this fury. The wind god
tried to shake him up by rushing and roaring at him; but still there was
no response. Then, gathering re-inforcements, he came on in a mad
charge, driving a cloud of rain in front of him as a sort of spear-head
to break the defense of fearlessness and unconcern of this unhappy
mortal. Yet the figure moved not.

Baffled and still more angry, the wind god retired behind the hills
again to rest; then, driving a larger rain-cloud before him, with a roar
and a crash he tore down the slope, raging and tearing in a wild tumult
of anger, straight against the lonely figure which sat there never
moving, his head sunk upon his breast.

Beaten and sullen, the god again retired to re-collect his strength. He
moaned and growled as he retired, frightening the moor-birds and the
hares, which lay closer to earth, their little hearts quivering with
fear. Young birds were tucked safely under the parent wing, as terror
strode across the moor, striking dread into every fluttering little
heart and shivering body. Low growled the wind, as he ran around his
broken forces, gathering again new forces in greater and greater
multitudes.

Just then, with an oath, the figure rose and faced the storm, striding
again up the slope, as if determined to carry the war into the camp of
the enemy.

A low growl came rumbling from the hills, as the wind god rushed along,
encouraging his legions, threatening, coaxing, pleading, commanding
them to fight, and so to overcome this figure who now boldly faced his
great army.

The advance guard of the storm broke upon him in wild desperation,
rushing and thundering, howling and yelling, sputtering and hissing,
spitting and hitting at him, and then the main body struck him full in
the face, all the bulk and the force of it hurled upon him with terrible
impetuous abandon, and Robert's foot striking a tuft at the moment, he
went down, down into a bog-pool among the slush and moss, and