.

The 4th December.

When my time has come, shall I find courage to resist my longing to see
him once more, and in spite of my resolve, bid adieu to life with my
eyes fixed on his. I think he too would wish it, whatever his present
thoughts may be regarding my sudden rupture with him. Sometimes the
idea torments me that he may have possibly misunderstood my letter and
think that I drew back because I feared gossip. I should like to tell
him once more that this is not the case; that I only did it for his
sake, for his peace of mind, and indeed for mine also.

How is he now? Can he walk out? Who will help him to bear the long
solitude of the day. I am truly grateful to him for having granted my
wish in not having answered my letter. Still something seems missing in
my life, now that I no longer see him, and cannot judge for myself
whether he is cheerful or melancholy; how he bears his sufferings, what
he reads, what he thinks--his thoughts even, I could once read in his
face, his countenance is so clear and open.

Yesterday I met his servant. The faithful creature bowed to me; I
should have liked to ask him how his master was; however it is better
not.

The 11th.

Took a walk to the Zenoburg; that dear walk of former days, but not
with my former spirits. As I passed by the house where he lodges, he
was just coming out; he perceived me and stood still and motionless to
let me pass. I dared not look at him, but the first glance told me that
he had become pale and grave--nearly as much so as when I first saw
him. He did not bow, but remained in the shade of the doorway as if
fearing to frighten me; so I passed him with my eyes fixed on the
pavement.

The hill seemed much steeper to me than when I walked up the first
time--probably I have grown weaker--and _then_ I was happy. What is it
that hinders me from being so again, in spite of all my efforts and
self-command. Is it merely compassion for him, and the want of that
intercourse which had become a necessity to me. No, it is not that
alone; it is as if I had been infringing on some duty. But how could I
have acted differently? Can one trifle with the hopes and happiness of
this life, when death is so near.

The 16th December--Evening.

A trying but pleasant day has passed. I have packed a small
Christmasbox which