"How helpless a man is in the dark, after all," he muttered to
himself. "I must do this systematically, beginning at the edge of the
stream."
On all fours he reached the margin of the rivulet, and felt his way
along the brink till his head struck the opposite wall. He turned
round, took up a position that he guessed was three feet nearer the
door, and again traversed the room, becoming so eager in the search
that he forgot for the moment the horror of his situation, just as,
when engaged in a chemical experiment, everything else vanished from
his mind, and thus after several journeys back and forth he was again
reminded of the existence of the stone bench by butting against it
when he knew he was still several feet from the wall. Rubbing his
head, he muttered some unfavorable phrases regarding the immovable
bench, then crawled round it twice, and resumed his transverse
excursions. At last he reached the wall that held the door, and now
with breathless eagerness rubbed his shoulder against it till he came
to the opposite corner. He knew he had touched with knees and hands
practically every square inch of space in the floor, and yet no bread.
"Now, that's a disaster," cried he, getting up on his feet, and
stretching himself. "Still, a man doesn't starve in four days. I've
cast my bread on the waters. It has evidently gone down the stream.
Now, what's to hinder a man escaping by means of that watercourse?
Still, if he did, what would be the use? He'd float out into the
Baltic Sea, and if able to swim round the rock, would merely be
compelled to knock at the front door and beg admission again.
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