of a
dazzling toilette, the lady without nerves, and beside her, silently
looking on the ground, and perfectly restored--Morrik! She was eagerly
talking to him, and he listened patiently, a kind smile even
brightening his face. I grudged her that smile, as I would have done to
no one else. I cannot express the misery I felt, the longing to be
away, never to see, or be seen of them again; never to be forced to
speak indifferently to those with whom, in the presence of death, I had
exchanged words full of weal or woe.

I fled across the bridge, and along the highroad which leads through
the beautiful valley of the Adige, and after passing several villages
reaches Botzen sixteen miles off. I soon left the first village of
Untermais behind me, and then sat down on a bench, and there collected
my thoughts sufficiently to devize a plan, which though wiser than the
rest was still exceedingly foolish. If I walk on for several hours, I
thought, I shall reach Botzen to-day, and probably some carriage or
omnibus may overtake me, and give me a lift. Once at Botzen, I can
write to the people with whom I lodged, and apprize them that I was
forced to leave suddenly, send them some money, and beg them to pack my
things and forward them to me. By so doing, I should never again see
them all, and should avoid the trials and pain of leave taking in case
anyone should care about my departure--at least it will not trouble
_my_ rest. And who will care? Perhaps the doctor, and I can write to
him. I need not be uneasy about _him_ whom I once called my friend. He
must have _quite_ recovered, if he can sit beside the lady without
nerves, and smile when she speaks to him in her shrill voice. When I
had taken this resolution, I felt quite satisfied, at least I fancied
that I was so; so I walked bravely on towards the south, and tried to
enjoy the fine scenery around me; the green meadows, the bare rugged
mountains with the snow glittering on their summits, the picturesque
houses of the peasants, the vineyards, the rushing streams which I
passed on my way, and above all, I tried to rejoice in the thought that
I had now put an end to all my doubts and cares, and had depended on no
one but myself. It seemed quite a relief to return home, and to hide my
broken wings. They had been too weak to soar aloft, and had not borne
the test of freedom. Is not that a common misfortune among caged birds?

The sun had now set. I had passed a village the name of wh