Undoubtedly this same sense of dreariness led De Noyan to sing, caused me such painful restlessness under that same singing, and left Eloise saddened in her lonely thoughts.
Every occurrence impressed me that night as unusual.

Perchance this was because both heart and head were sadly out of tune.

Yet, at best, it was a lonesome journey, and remains a grewsome memory, haunting with many a spectre, as weird as the shadows of delirium.

The few stars, peeping shyly forth between scurrying black cloud masses, were so far away they merely silvered the cloud edges, leaving them as though carven from granite.

The low shore, often within reach of our oar blades, appeared gloomy and inhospitable, the spectral rushes creeping far out upon the water like living things, seeming to grasp after us as the wind swept them, and we glided past in phantom silence.