distant trees were lost in the gloom of a starless night.

CHAPTER V

HE BETRAYS HIMSELF

The confession was entitled, "Memoirs of a Miserable Man." It began
abruptly in these words:

I

"I acknowledge, at the outset, that misfortune has had an effect on me
which frail humanity is for the most part anxious to conceal. Under the
influence of suffering, I have become of enormous importance to myself.
In this frame of mind, I naturally enjoy painting my own portrait in
words. Let me add that they must be written words because it is a painful
effort to me (since I lost my hearing) to speak to anyone continuously,
for any length of time.

"I have also to confess that my brains are not so completely under my own
command as I could wish.

"For instance, I possess considerable skill (for an amateur) as a painter
in water colors. But I can only produce a work of art, when irresistible
impulse urges me to express my thoughts in form and color. The same
obstacle to regular exertion stands in my way, if I am using my pen. I
can only write when the fit takes me--sometimes at night when I ought to
be asleep; sometimes at meals when I ought to be handling my knife and
fork; sometimes out of doors when I meet with inquisitive strangers who
stare at me. As for paper, the first stray morsel of anything that I can