Remember that it was not only the imaginary wrong from which his mind suffered; the fact that Thyrza loved Egremont was in itself an agony almost enough to threaten his reason.

His love was not demonstrative; perhaps he did not himself know all its force until jealousy taught him.

How, think you, did he spend that night on the Channel, voyaging from Southampton to Jersey?
What sort of companions were the winds and waves as he paced the deck in the dim light before dawn, straining his eyes for the first sight of land?
To the end of all things that night would remain with him, a ghastly memory.

And since then he had not known one full hour of forgetfulness.
The days and the nights had succeeded each other as in a torture-chamber.

His body had wasted; his mind ever renewed its capability of anguish.