From this side he could not see the bay and the ship of fate lying at anchor, but he noticed with relief that the ice was not much less.
There was no use in thinking or feeling; he must go on and do what was to be done.

So he told himself.

He shut his heart against the influence of the happy earth; he felt like a guest bidden by fate, who knew not whether the feast were to be for bridal or funeral.

That he was not a strong man was shown in this--that having hoped and feared, dreamed and suffered, struggling to see a plain path where no path was, for half the night, he now felt that his power of thought and feeling had burned out, that he could only act his part, without caring much what its results might be.
It was eight o'clock.

He had groomed his horse, and tidied his house, and bathed, and breakfasted.