nted by a chaplain, and, more than that, a
widower? And Madeleine! how could she have accepted him? And the more
his thoughts turned upon her, the more he felt how truly he loved her.

How different it might have been! Yes, many things might have been
different in his life, when he came to review it fairly. His thoughts
then fell upon Jacob Worse, who had lately quite given him up. It had
often happened to Delphin that people did not remain friends with him
long. It was only Fanny who did not give him up. He made one more effort
to bring up her image in his thoughts, in all its most enchanting
beauty, but he failed in the effort. Madeleine seemed to overshadow
everything. Then his thoughts reverted to Martens, and his agony
returned. He seemed no longer to have any aim in life, which had been so
utterly wasted, useless and desolate, and he began to regard himself
with loathing, friendless as he was, and thus entangled in an intrigue
with one for whom he had no affection, and despised by her whose love he
really longed for.

All this time the mist was stealing in light wreaths over the shore; it
came gliding beyond the line of the waves, and on over the sand. It
paused for an instant at the man who was thus lying in despair, then
stole on further, and finally settled behind the sand-hills. The grey
wall of mist had now attained such a height that it obscured the evening
sun, so that the landscape became all at once cold and grey, whilst the
fog went scudding along, denser and denser every moment.

Delphin stretched himself on the sand, wearied with his long ride and
his bitter thoughts. The long white breakers came curling ever nearer
and nearer, as they broke on the beach with their subdued and monotonous
roar.

He could not but think how easy it would be to have done with the life
altogether, which now seemed to him of so little worth. He had but to
roll himself down the sandy slope, and the waves would take his body
into their embrace, and, after rocking him on their bosom, perhaps bear
him far away and leave him on a distant shore. But he felt full well
that he had not the courage; and as he lay there, thus pondering over
his past life, he fell into a reverie, while the breakers murmured their
monotonous song, and the mist, which was borne up on the light evening
breeze, breathed over him cold and chill.

The landscape assumed a general tone of grey. The mist stole on, still
more close and compact, and the form