And Barbara! Goaded by the thought of her, I rise up quickly, and walk hastily along the road, till I reach a gate into the park.

Arrived there, and now free from all fear of interruption from passers-by, I again sit down on an old dry log that lies beneath a great oak, and again cover my face with my hands.
What care I for the growing dark?
the darker the better! Ah! if it were dark enough to hide me from myself! How shall I break it to her--I, who, confident in my superior discernment, have always scouted her misgivings and turned into derision her doubts?
If I thought that she would rave and storm, and that her grief would vent itself in _anger_, it would not be of half so much consequence.

But I know her better.

The evening has closed in colder.

The birds have all ceased their singing, and I still sit on, in the absolute silence, unconscious--unaware of any thing round me; living only in my thoughts, and with a resolution growing ever stronger and stronger within me.