f
the unknown lives lived in this place, the past joys, the forgotten
sorrows. What did it mean for me, the incredible and caressing beauty
of the scene? Not only did it not comfort me, but it seemed to darken
the gloom of my own unhappy mind. Suddenly, as with a surge of agony,
my misery flowed in upon me. I clutched the rail where I stood, and
bowed my head down in utter wretchedness. There came upon me, as with a
sort of ghastly hopefulness, the temptation to leave it all, to put my
case back into God's hands. Perhaps it was to this that I was moving?
There might be a new life waiting for me, but it could not well be as
intolerable as this. Perhaps nothing but silence and unconsciousness
awaited me, a sleep unstirred by any dream. Even Maud, I thought, in
her sorrow, would understand. How long I stood there I do not know, but
the air darkened about me and the mist rose in long veils about the
pasture with a deadly chill. But then there came back a sort of grim
courage into my mind, that not so could it be ended. The thought of
Maud and the children rose before me, and I knew I could not leave
them, unless I were withdrawn from them. I must face it, I must fight
it out; though I could and did pray with all my might that God might
take away my life: I thought with what an utter joy I should feel the
pang, the faintness, of death creep over me there in the dim pasture;
but I knew in my heart that it was not to be; and soon I went slowly
back through the thickening gloom. I found Maud awaiting me: and I know
in that moment that some touch of the dark conflict I had been through
had made itself felt in her mind; and indeed I think she read something
of it in my face, from the startled glance she turned upon me. Perhaps
it would have been better if in that quiet hour I could have told her
the thought which had been in my mind; but I could not do that; and
indeed it seemed to me as though some unseen light had sprung up for
me, shooting and broadening in the darkness. I apprehended that I was
no longer to suffer, I was to fight. Hitherto I had yielded to my
misery, but the time was come to row against the current, not to drift
with it.

It was dark when we left the little inn; the moon had brightened to a
crescent of pale gold; the last dim orange stain of sunset still slept
above the mist. It seemed to me as though I had somehow touched the
bottom. How could I tell? Perhaps the same horrible temptation would
beset me, aga