Yet sorrow only slept to revive more fierce, but love never woke again--its ghost, ever hovering over my father's grave, alone survived--since his death all the world was to me a blank except where woe had stampt its burning words telling me to smile no more--the living were not fit companions for me, and I was ever meditating by what means I might shake them all off, and never be heard of again.
My convalescence rapidly advanced, yet this was the thought that haunted me, and I was for ever forming plans how I might hereafter contrive to escape the tortures that were prepared for me when I should mix in society, and to find that solitude which alone could suit one whom an untold grief seperated from her fellow creatures.
Who can be more solitary even in a crowd than one whose history and the never ending feelings and remembrances arising from it is [_sic_] known to no living soul.

There was too deep a horror in my tale for confidence; I was on earth the sole depository of my own secret.

I might tell it to the winds and to the desart heaths but I must never among my fellow creatures, either by word or look give allowance to the smallest conjecture of the dread reality: I must shrink before the eye of man lest he should read my father's guilt in my glazed eyes: I must be silent lest my faltering voice should betray unimagined horrors.

Over the deep grave of my secret I must heap an impenetrable heap of false smiles and words: cunning frauds, treacherous laughter and a mixture of all light deceits would form a mist to blind others and be as the poisonous simoon to me.[44] I, the offspring of love, the child of the woods, the nursling of Nature's bright self was to submit to this?
I dared not.
How must I escape?
I was rich and young, and had a guardian appointed for me; and all about me would act as if I were one of their great society, while I must keep the secret that I really was cut off from them for ever.

If I fled I should be pursued; in life there was no escape for me: why then I must die.