for an event which to be sure troubled only me. We
rode home early, as the sun so soon sets behind the mountains. Morrik
was very merry, and talked to his mule, jestingly giving it credit for
a sense of the beautiful; he stopped at the farms, and spoke to the
children and their mothers, and as we rode past a white bearded old man
whom we met panting up the hill, he stuck a paper florin in the old
peasant's hat, and was delighted with the thought of what he would say
when a passing acquaintance told him of the strange ornament. So we
reached the bridge by a shorter road, there I saw on a bench a young
Pole whom I had several times noticed, and not in the favourable sense
of the word. I had now and then met him alone, and then he had stared
at me with such a fierce look in his dark eyes that I always hurried
past him. He is evidently one of the most suffering of the strangers
here, and his passionate temper seems constantly to be in revolt
against his fate, and this inward conflict distorts his otherwise
handsome and attractive features. His strange costume, all black, with
high boots, and a fur-cap with white feathers in it, gives him a
striking appearance, which sometimes has haunted me in troubled dreams,
always menacing me with terrible looks. To-day he sat quite quietly,
and did not appear to see me. Morrik was in front as the bridge is so
narrow that two riders cannot cross it side by side, and I had to pass
close to the bench on which he was reclining apparently asleep.
Suddenly he jumped up seized the bridle of my mule, and looked at me
fixedly with piercing eyes; he wanted to speak, but only burst out in a
frantic laugh, so that my mule shied and gave such a start that it
nearly sent me flying over the parapet of the bridge. Before I had
recovered from my astonishment, he had disappeared round a turning of
the road. The guide in a fury sent a curse after him, and I had hardly
time to enforce silence on him, before we reached Morrik, to whom I
would on no account mention this singular adventure until I ascertain
whether there is any mystery concealed under it. I have written too
much, and my pulse is beating feverishly. This night I shall have to
pay for the pleasures of the day. Good night.

The 8th November--rain and sirocco.

This the second day we have had of this unwholesome air in which no
patient dares to go out. It is a pity. I had anticipated the pleasure
of discussing di