Pure and sweet as they were, his heart at times grew sick for his own kind, and instead of the faint, moist, languorous atmosphere, with never a disturbing storm, he longed for the rocky promontories of his Norway; the reverberation of the rolling thunder among the hills, and the wild lashing of the sea on the rocky base of the cliffs. Sometimes he dreamed—half-awake, half-asleep—that the briny spray was dashing in his face, and thought that he could taste the pungent savor of the salt, and awoke to find the tears trickling down his cheek, moistening his tongue. His heart grew faint unto sickness for the light of the sun, and the shifting shadows of the clouds on the distant hills, where the grass grew like a flower-decked carpet, and the white sheep bleated lovingly to one another. And oh! for a sight of the stately, white-robed ships as they sailed away into the unknown which he now deplored. He numbly wondered what had become of his good ship, Nord Rhyn. Alas, that he had not been content with his father’s land, and his father’s homely ways! He grew unutterably weary of the unreality of all things surrounding him, he longed for the interchange of day and night; he longed for food—actual food—with a throe of maddening pain, so keen was his desire; he longed for creatures of flesh and blood, with their inborn predilection for evil, which gave the doing of right things so much sweeter flavor. He wearied of the love of the She which so completely enveloped him, as men ever tire of that which is so wholly their own that they cannot for one fascinating hour escape it; it is worse than a diet of sweets, although the effect is the same, a nauseated surfeit. She, poor soul! She learned to dread his scowling brow, his harsh tone; to shrink and tremble in wild affright whenever he ordered her away; she sought ever to win a more kindly regard by added devotion, by hanging more fondly and constantly about him. After all she differed not so greatly from her sisters on the face of the earth. He grew more intolerant of her presence, and violently ordered her to leave him; he noted her agony of fear, her deathless devotion, and her hopeless pain with indifference, as with a cry of despair she turned away. He seized the opportunity and fled, whither he knew not; he could but die, which meant surcease from all the wild longings that so beset him. On, ever onward! How far! How long! Oh, it was terror not to know—to have no account of time—no knowledge of distance; it was like sailing a ship through eternal void, no landmarks—no limit—just on, and on—so far as he had knowledge of it. Ah! A change came over him. The spirit of the explorer stirred once more within him. He felt that he was once again describing an immense circle, as had been his experience upon entering; he felt that there was a reason for this, and his mind became busy trying to solve the problem.