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Still, as I urged our leaving Ireland with such inquietude and

impatience, my father thought it best to yield. We took our

passage on board a vessel bound for Havre-de-Grace and sailed

with a fair wind from the Irish shores. It was midnight. I lay on

the deck looking at the stars and listening to the dashing of the

waves. I hailed the darkness that shut Ireland from my sight, and

my pulse beat with a feverish joy when I reflected that I should

soon see Geneva. The past appeared to me in the light of a

frightful dream; yet the vessel in which I was, the wind that

blew me from the detested shore of Ireland, and the sea which

surrounded me, told me too forcibly that I was deceived by no

vision and that Clerval, my friend and dearest companion, had

fallen a victim to me and the monster of my creation. I repassed,

in my memory, my whole life; my quiet happiness while residing

with my family in Geneva, the death of my mother, and my

departure for Ingolstadt.