And by and by the sun went westering down the hill, and he shook himself out of his dreams, and pocketed his book and turned homeward.

His day, he thought, had not amounted to much after all, and he would spend the evening in sober study, and not dream any more until bedtime.

But he would be sociable this evening and eat his supper--now he thought about it, it would be dinner and supper combined--in the company of his colleagues at their favourite haunt.

And he would go to-morrow, he would certainly go to the Engadine.
But to-morrow came, and the Herr Doctor looked out of his window as usual, and he did not go to Pontresina or anywhere else, nor the next day, nor the day after.

Only up to the Schloss every day through the hot week, with his book and his pipe, and there he would lie and read and smoke, and say to himself, "To-morrow I will certainly go." There was something almost pathetic in Claudius, thus day after day revisiting the scene where he had experienced a momentary sensation of youth and vitality, where he had discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that he was still alive and full of strength and sanguine hope, when he thought himself so old.