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