The dawn was a recurrence of weariness; the long nights were cold and blank.
The old unrest, which he had believed at an end when once 'the task of his life' was discovered, troubled him through many a cloud-enveloped day.

Had he been free, it would have driven him on new travels.

Yet that was no longer a real resource.

He did not desire to see other lands, but to make a home in his own.

And no home was promised him.