oller seemed to
have gone, and I had, I thought, the peace of the surroundings to
myself.

All were not yet gone, however, it seemed. The peculiar echo of steps on
the hard sandy path indicated someone approaching. A shadow of a form
just appeared in the darkness along the path, and turning off,
disappeared for a moment into the dark grove. A deep sigh of despair
surprised me. I lay still, and in a moment the form came partly between
me and a glimmering of the moonlight between the branches. It was
apparently a man, at least. I strained my attention and kept perfectly
still. There was something extraordinary about the movements of the
shadow.

Suddenly, it stepped forward a stride, I saw an arm go up to the head,
both these became exposed in a open space of moonlight, and a glimmer
reached me from something in the hand. Like a flash it came across me
that I was in the presence of the extraordinary act of suicide. The
glimmer was from the barrel and mountings of a revolver! Those glintings
were unmistakable.

I would have leaped up and sprung into the midst of the scene at once
had not something else been plain at the same moment, which startled me
and froze my blood.

_The arm, the face, were those of my classmate Quinet!_ An involuntary
start of mine rustled a fallen dry branch, and the snap of a dry twig of
it seemed to dissolve his determination; the hand dropped, he sprang
off--and rushed quickly away in the darkness.

Quinet,--the life of this strange fellow always was extraordinary. There
were several of our French-Canadians in college and they differed in
some general respects from the English, but this striking-colored
compatriot of mine, with his dark-red-brown hair, and dark-red-brown
eyes set in his yellow complexion, was even from them a separated
figure. He was fearfully clever: thought himself neglected: brooded upon
it. His strange face and strange writings sometimes published, had often
fastened themselves upon me. Now it was undoubtedly my duty to save
him.

I followed him to his home, went up to his room and confronted him with
the whole story,--myself more agitated than he was. I remember his
passionate state:--"Haviland, do not wonder at me. Mankind are the key
to the universe; and I am sick of a world of turkey-cocks. To speak
frankly is to be proscribed; to be kind to the unfortunate is to lose
standing; to think deeply brings the reputation of a fool. No one
understands me. They do not un