Every violation he had committed upon his ideality
roused an endless, despairing, terrible remorse in him. He had lied too
flagrantly, had deceived, debased himself beyond all power of redress.
He loathed himself and all his evil works--Shame! Shame! Nothing could
wipe out those dishonouring stains, no balm could ever heal those
wounds, he must for ever endure the torment of that
self-loathing.--Shame!----
His eyes filled with tears, and dropping his head upon his arms he
abandoned himself to the weight of his misery, prostrate as a man who
has no hope of salvation.
With the new day, he awoke to new life, one of those awakenings, so
fresh and limpid, that are only vouchsafed to adolescence in its
triumphant springtide. It was a marvellous morning--only to breathe the
air was pure delight. The whole earth rejoiced in the living light; the
hills were wrapped about with a diaphanous silvery veil and seemed to
quiver with life, the sea appeared to be traversed by rivulets of milk,
by rivers of crystal and of emerald, by a thousand currents forming the
rippling intricacies of a watery labyrinth. A sense of nuptial joy and
religious grace emanated from the concord between earth and sky.
And he breathed and gazed and listened, not a little surprised During
his sleep the fever had left him. He had slumbered, lulled by the voice
of the waters as if by the voice of a faithful friend--and he who sleeps
to the sound of that lullaby enjoys a repose that is full of healing
peace.
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