ot even turning a look on her
as I went. I think, I'm almost certain, I heard a heavy sob close
behind me, but I would not look round for worlds. I was in one of those
moods--all weak men know them well--when a harsh or an ungracious act
appears something very daring and courageous. The very pain my conduct
gave myself, persuaded me that it must be heroic, just as a devotee is
satisfied after a severe self-castigation.

"Yes, Potts," said I, "you are doing the right thing here. A little
more of such association as this, and you would be little better than
themselves. Besides, and above all, you ought to be 'real.' Now, these
are not real any more than the tinsel gems and tinfoil splendors they
wear on their tunics." It broke on me, too, like a sudden light, that
to be the fictitious Potts, the many-sided, many-tinted,--what a
German would call "der mitviele-farben bedeckte Potts,"--I ought to be
immensely rich, all my changes of character requiring great resources
and unlimited "properties" as stage folk call them; whereas, "der echte
wahrhaf-tige Mann Potts" might be as poor as Lazarus. Indeed, the poorer
the more real, since more natural.

While I thus speculated, I caught sight of a man scaling one of
the precipitous paths by which the winding road was shortened for
foot-travellers; a second glance showed me that this was Harpar, who,
with a heavy knapsack, was toiling along. I made a great effort to
come up with him, but when I reached the high road, he was still a
long distance in front of me. I could not, if there had been any one to
question me, say why I wished to overtake him. It was a sort of chase
suggested simply by the object in front; a rare type, if we but knew it,
of one half the pursuits we follow throughout life.

As I mounted the last of these bypaths which led to the crest of the
mountain, I felt certain that, with a lighter equipment, I should come
up with him; but scarcely had I gained the top, than I saw him striding
away vigorously on the road fully a mile away beneath me. "He shall not
beat me," said I; and I increased my speed. It was all in vain. I could
not do it; and when I drew nigh Lindau at last, very weary and footsore,
the sun was just sinking on the western shore of the lake.

"Which is the best inn here?" asked I of a shopkeeper who was lounging
carelessly at his door.

"Yonder," said he, "where you see that post-carriage turning into."

"To-night," said I, "I will be guilty of