"Here, old man! Get up! What's the matter?"
The old man opens his eyes, and looks with wonder at the person
standing before him. The remnants of the dream-visions struggle in
his head with reality. At last the visions pale and vanish. Before
him stands Johnson, the harbour guide.
"What's this?" asked Johnson; "are you sick?"
"No."
"You didn't light the lantern. You must leave your place. A vessel
from St. Geromo was wrecked at the bar. It is lucky that no one was
drowned, or you would go to trial. Get into the boat with me; you'll
hear the rest at the Consulate."
The old man grew pale; in fact he had not lighted the lantern that
night.
A few days later, Skavinski was seen on the deck of a steamer, which
was going from Aspinwall to New York. The poor man had lost his
place. There opened before him new roads of wandering; the wind had
torn that leaf away again to whirl it over lands and seas, to sport
with it till satisfied. The old man had failed greatly during those
few days, and was bent over; only his eyes were gleaming. On his new
road of life he held at his breast his book, which from time to time
he pressed with his hand as if in fear that that too might go from
him.