Perpetual shuddering made him terrible. Fearful to say, he seemed to be
a centre in space, with something immense leaning on him. Who can tell?
Perhaps that equity, half seen and set at defiance, which transcends
human justice. There was in his unburied continuance the vengeance of
men and his own vengeance. He was a testimony in the twilight and the
waste. He was in himself a disquieting substance, since we tremble
before the substance which is the ruined habitation of the soul. For
dead matter to trouble us, it must once have been tenanted by spirit. He
denounced the law of earth to the law of Heaven. Placed there by man, he
there awaited God. Above him floated, blended with all the vague
distortions of the cloud and the wave, boundless dreams of shadow.

Who could tell what sinister mysteries lurked behind this phantom? The
illimitable, circumscribed by naught, nor tree, nor roof, nor passer-by,
was around the dead man. When the unchangeable broods over us--when
Heaven, the abyss, the life, grave, and eternity appear patent--then it
is we feel that all is inaccessible, all is forbidden, all is sealed.
When infinity opens to us, terrible indeed is the closing of the gate
behind.




CHAPTER VI.

STRUGGLE BETWEEN DEATH AND LIFE.


The child was before this thing, dumb, wondering, and with eyes fixed.