filled my thoughts at
first, and so I strove to image it upon my brain, but could not.
But as I stood there feebly struggling with the thought another took
its place. Why should I live? Of course not; better end it all at
once--and possessed with this idea I started off once more.

By degrees, as I walked, a plan shaped itself before me. I would go
home, get my grandfather's key, together with the tin box containing
my father's Journal, and then make for the river. That would be an
easy death, and I could sink for ever, before I perished, all trace
of the black secret which had pursued my life. I and the mystery
would end together--so best. Then, without pain, almost with ghastly
merriment, I thought that this was the same river which had murmured
so sweetly to my love. Well, no doubt its voice would be just as
musical over my grave. The same river:--but nearer the sea now--
nearer the infinite sea.

As I reflected, the idea took yet stronger possession of me. Yes, it
was in all respects the best. The curse should end now. "Even as
the Heart of the Ruby is Blood and its Eyes a Flaming Fire, so shall
it be for them that would possess it: Fire shall be their portion and
Blood their inheritance for ever." For ever? No: the river should
wash the blood away and quench the fire. Then arose another text and
hammered at the door of my remembrance. "Many waters cannot quench
love, neither can the floods drown it." "Many waters"--"many
waters":--the words whispered appealingly, invitingly, in my ears.
"Many waters." My feet beat a tune to the words.

I reached my lodgings, ran upstairs, took out the key and the tin
box, and descended again into the hall. My landlord was slipping
down the latch. He stared at seeing me.

"Do not latch the door just yet: I am going out again," I said
simply.

"Going out! I thought, sir, it was you as just now come in."

"Yes, but I must go out again:--it is important."

He evidently thought me mad; and so indeed I was.

"What, sir, in that dress? You've got no hat--no--"

I had forgotten. "True," I said; "get me a hat and coat."

He stared and then ran upstairs for them. Returning he said, "I have
got you these, sir; but I can't find them as you usually wears."

"Those will do," I answered. "I must have left the others at the
theatre."

This reduced him to utter speechlessness. Mutely he helped me to don
the cloak over my thin evening dress. I slipped the ti