When a man has reached his mature age he can rest at that point of
vantage, and cast his eyes back at the long road along which he has
travelled, lying with its gleams of sunshine and its stretches of shadow
in the valley behind him. He knows then its whence and its whither, and
the twists and bends which were so full of promise or of menace as he
approached them lie exposed and open to his gaze. So plain is it all
that he can scarce remember how dark it may have seemed to him, or how
long he once hesitated at the cross roads. Thus when he tries to recall
each stage of the journey he does so with the knowledge of its end, and
can no longer make it clear, even to himself, how it may have seemed to
him at the time. And yet, in spite of the strain of years, and the many
passages which have befallen me since, there is no time of my life which
comes back so very clearly as that gusty evening, and to this day I
cannot feel the briny wholesome whiff of the seaweed without being
carried back, with that intimate feeling of reality which only the sense
of smell can confer, to the wet shingle of the French beach.

When I had risen from my knees, the first thing that I did was to put my
purse into the inner pocket of my coat. I had taken it out in order to
give a gold piece to the sailor who had handed me ashore, though I have
little doubt that the fellow was both wealthier and of more assured
prospects than myself. I had actually drawn out a silver half-crown,
but I could not bring myself to offer it to him, and so ended by giving
a tenth part of my whole fortune to a stranger. The other nine
sovereigns I put very carefully away, and then, sitting down upon a flat
rock just above high water mark, I turned it all over in my mind and
weighed what I should do. Already I was cold and hungry, with the wind
lashing my face and the spray smarting in my eyes, but at least I was no
longer living upon the charity of the enemies of my country, and the