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How glad he felt that he was a good swimmer！ He worked his way
onward with his feet and one arm； while he held the young girl up
firmly with the other。 He rested on the waves； he trod the water… in
fact； did everything he could think of； in order not to fatigue
himself； and to reserve strength enough to reach land。 He heard
Clara sigh； and felt her shudder convulsively； and he pressed her more
closely to him。 Now and then a wave rolled over them； the current
lifted them； the water； although deep； was so clear that for a
moment he imagined he saw the shoals of mackerel glittering； or
Leviathan himself ready to swallow them。 Now the clouds cast a
shadow over the water； then again came the playing sunbeams； flocks of
loudly screaming birds passed over him； and the plump and lazy wild
ducks which allow themselves to be drifted by the waves rose up
terrified at the sight of the swimmer。 He began to feel his strength
decreasing； but he was only a few cable lengths' distance from the
shore； and help was coming； for a boat was approaching him。 At this
moment he distinctly saw a white staring figure under the water… a
wave lifted him up； and he came nearer to the figure… he felt a
violent shock； and everything became dark around him。
On the sand reef lay the wreck of a ship； which was covered with
water at high tide； the white figure head rested against the anchor；
the sharp iron edge of which rose just above the surface。 Jurgen had
come in contact with this； the tide had driven him against it with
great force。 He sank down stunned with the blow； but the next wave
lifted him and the young girl up again。 Some fishermen； coming with
a boat； seized them and dragged them into it。 The blood streamed
down over Jurgen's face； he seemed dead； but still held the young girl
so tightly that they were obliged to take her from him by force。 She
was pale and lifeless； they laid her in the boat； and rowed as quickly
as possible to the shore。 They tried every means to restore Clara to
life； but it was all of no avail。 Jurgen had been swimming for some
distance with a corpse in his arms； and had exhausted his strength for
one who was dead。
Jurgen still breathed； so the fishermen carried him to the nearest
house upon the sand…hills； where a smith and general dealer lived
who knew something of surgery； and bound up Jurgen's wounds in a
temporary way until a surgeon could be obtained from the nearest
town the next day。 The injured man's brain was affected； and in his
delirium he uttered wild cries； but on the third day he lay quiet
and weak upon his bed； his life seemed to hang by a thread； and the
physician said it would be better for him if this thread broke。 〃Let
us pray that God may take him；〃 he said； 〃for he will never be the
same man again。〃
But life did not depart from him… the thread would not break；
but the thread of memory was severed； the thread of his mind had
been cut through； and what was still more grievous； a body remained… a
living healthy body that wandered about like a troubled spirit。
Jurgen remained in merchant Bronne's house。 〃He was hurt while
endeavouring to save our child；〃 said the old man； 〃and now he is
our son。〃 People called Jurgen insane； but that was not exactly the
correct term。 He was like an instrument in which the strings are loose
and will give no sound； only occasionally they regained their power
for a few minutes； and then they sounded as they used to do。 He
would sing snatches of songs or old melodies； pictures of the past
would rise before him； and then disappear in the mist； as it were； but
as a general rule he sat staring into vacancy； without a thought。 We
may conjecture that he did not suffer； but his dark eyes lost their
brightness； and looked like clouded glass。
〃Poor mad Jurgen；〃 said the people。 And this was the end of a life
whose infancy was to have been surrounded with wealth and splendour
had his parents lived！ All his great mental abilities had been lost；
nothing but hardship； sorrow； and disappointment had been his fate。 He
was like a rare plant； torn from its native soil； and tossed upon
the beach to wither there。 And was this one of God's creatures；
fashioned in His own likeness； to have no better fate？ Was he to be
only the plaything of fortune？ No！ the all…loving Creator would
certainly repay him in the life to come for what he had suffered and
lost here。 〃The Lord is good to all； and His mercy is over all His
works。〃 The pious old wife of the merchant repeated these words from
the Psalms of David in patience and hope； and the prayer of her
heart was that Jurgen might soon be called away to enter into
eternal life。
In the churchyard where the walls were surrounded with sand
Clara lay buried。 Jurgen did not seem to know this； it did not enter
his mind； which could only retain fragments of the past。 Every
Sunday he went to church with the old people； and sat there
silently； staring vacantly before him。 One day； when the Psalms were
being sung； he sighed deeply； and his eyes became bright； they were
fixed upon a place near the altar where he had knelt with his friend
who was dead。 He murmured her name； and became deadly pale； and
tears rolled down his cheeks。 They led him out of church； he told
those standing round him that he was well； and had never been ill； he；
who had been so grievously afflicted； the outcast； thrown upon the
world； could not remember his sufferings。 The Lord our Creator is wise
and full of loving kindness… who can doubt it？
In Spain； where balmy breezes blow over the Moorish cupolas and
gently stir the orange and myrtle groves； where singing and the
sound of the castanets are always heard； the richest merchant in the
place； a childless old man； sat in a luxurious house； while children
marched in procession through the streets with waving flags and
lighted tapers。 If he had been able to press his children to his
heart； his daughter； or her child； that had； perhaps never seen the
light of day； far less the kingdom of heaven； how much of his wealth
would he not have given！ 〃Poor child！〃 Yes； poor child… a child still；
yet more than thirty years old； for Jurgen had arrived at this age
in Old Skjagen。
The shifting sands had covered the graves in the courtyard；
quite up to the church walls； but still； the dead must be buried among
their relatives and the dear ones who had gone before them。 Merchant
Bronne and his wife now rested with their children under the white
sand。
It was in the spring… the season of storms。 The sand from the
dunes was whirled up in clouds； the sea was rough； and flocks of birds
flew like clouds in the storm； screaming across the sand…hills。
Shipwreck followed upon shipwreck on the reefs between Old Skagen
and the Hunsby dunes。
One evening Jurgen sat in his room alone： all at once his mind
seemed to become clearer； and a restless feeling came over him； such
as had often； in his younger days； driven him out to wander over the
sand…hills or on the heath。 〃Home； home！〃 he cried。 No one heard
him。 He went ou