Rowland spoke to him, but he made vague answers; at last he closed his eyes.

It seemed to Rowland, also, a place to stay in forever; a place for perfect oblivion of the disagreeable.

Suddenly Roderick turned over on his face, and buried it in his arms.

There had been something passionate in his movement; but Rowland was nevertheless surprised, when he at last jerked himself back into a sitting posture, to perceive the trace of tears in his eyes.
Roderick turned to his friend, stretching his two hands out toward the lake and mountains, and shaking them with an eloquent gesture, as if his heart was too full for utterance.
"Pity me, sir; pity me!" he presently cried.

"Look at this lovely world, and think what it must be to be dead to it!" "Dead ?" said Rowland.
"Dead, dead; dead and buried! Buried in an open grave, where you lie staring up at the sailing clouds, smelling the waving flowers, and hearing all nature live and grow above you! That 's the way I feel!" "I am glad to hear it," said Rowland.