it, the stronger it became. What should I do; say my prayers? Ah! why
not? So I knelt down under the hedge, and said, 'Our Father'; but that
was of no use; and now I could no longer repress cries--the horror was
too great to be borne. What should I do? run to the nearest town or
village, and request the assistance of my fellow-men? No! that I was
ashamed to do; notwithstanding the horror was upon me, I was ashamed to
do that. I knew they would consider me a maniac, if I went screaming
amongst them; and I did not wish to be considered a maniac. Moreover, I
knew that I was not a maniac, for I possessed all my reasoning powers,
only the horror was upon me--the screaming horror! But how were
indifferent people to distinguish between madness and the screaming
horror? So I thought and reasoned; and at last I determined not to go
amongst my fellow-men, whatever the result might be. I went to the mouth
of the dingle, and there, placing myself on my knees, I again said the
Lord's Prayer; but it was of no use--praying seemed to have no effect
over the horror; the unutterable fear appeared rather to increase than
diminish, and I again uttered wild cries, so loud that I was apprehensive
they would be heard by some chance passenger on the neighbouring road; I
therefore went deeper into the dingle. I sat down with my back against a
thorn bush; the thorns entered my flesh, and when I felt them, I pressed
harder against the bush; I thought the pain of the flesh might in some
degree counteract the mental agony; presently I felt them no longer--the
power of the mental horror was so great that it was impossible, with that
upon me, to feel any pain from the thorns. I continued in this posture a
long time, undergoing what I cannot describe, and would not attempt if I
were able. Several times I was on the point of starting up and rushing
anywhere; but I restrained myself, for I knew I could not escape from
myself, so why should I not remain in the dingle? So I thought and said
to myself, for my reasoning powers were still uninjured. At last it
appeared to me that the horror was not so strong, not quite so strong,
upon me. Was it possible that it was relaxing its grasp, releasing its
prey? Oh what a mercy! but it could not be; and yet--I looked up to
heaven, and clasped my hands, and said, 'Our Father.' I said no more--I
was too agitated; and now I was almost sure that the horror had done its
worst.

After a little time I a