As he crossed the dunes, at this savage pace, something seemed to break in his brain or in his heart. He spat out a mouthful of sweet-tasting blood, and, falling on his knees, fumbled in the loose sand, as if searching for some lost object.
Staggering once more to his feet, and seeing that his pursuer was near, he stumbled wildly down the slope of the dunes and tottered across the sand to the water’s edge.
He was there at last—safe from everything—safe from love and hatred and madness and pity—safe from unspeakable imaginations—safe from himself!
The long dark line of waves broke calmly and indifferently at his feet, and away—away into the eternal night—stretched the vast expanse of the sea, dim, vague, full of inexpressible, infinite reassurance.
He raised both his arms into the air. For one brief miraculous moment his brain became clear and an ecstatic feeling of triumph and unconquerable joy swept through him.
“Baptiste!” he shouted in a shrill vibrating voice, “Baptiste!”
His cry went reverberating over the water. He turned and tried to struggle back. A rush of blood once more filled his mouth. His head grew dizzy.
“Tell Nance that I—that I—” His words died into a choking murmur and he fell heavily on his face on the sand.
He was dead when she reached him. She lifted him gently till he lay on his back and then pressing her hand to his heart, she knew that it was the end.
She sank beside him, bowing her forehead till it touched the ground, and clinging to his neck. After a minute or two she rose, and taking his hand in her own she sat staring into the darkness, with wide-open tearless eyes.