shall go out into
the world once more. I must again behold the scenes of my past life. I
have tested myself severely.

May it not be a love of adventure, that genteel yet vulgar desire to
undertake what is unusual or fraught with peril. Or is it a morbid
desire to wander through the world after having died, as it were?

No; far from it. What can it be? An intense longing to roam again, if
it be only for a few days. I must kill the desire, lest it kill me.

Whence arises this sudden longing?

Every tool that I use while at work, burns my hand.

I must go.

I shall obey the impulse, without worrying myself with speculations as
to its cause. I am subject to the rules of no order. My will is my only
law. I harm no one by obeying it. I feel myself free; the world has no
power over me.

I dreaded informing Walpurga of my intention. When I did so, her tone,
her words, her whole manner, and the fact that she, for the first time,
called me "child," made it seem as if her mother were still speaking to
me.

"Child," said she, "you're right! Go! It'll do you good. I believe that
you'll come back and will stay with us, but if you don't, and another
life opens up to you--your expiation has been a bitter one, far heavier
than your sin."

Uncle Peter was quite happy when he learned that we were to be gone
from one Sunday to the Sunday following. When I asked him whether he
was curious as to where we were going, he replied:

"It's all one to me. I'd travel over the whole world with you, wherever
you'd care to go; and if you were to drive me away, I'd follow you like
a dog and find you again."

I shall take my journal with me, and will note down every day.

*

(By the lake.)--I find it difficult to write a word. The threshold I am
obliged to cross, in order to go out into the world, is my own
gravestone.

I am equal to it.

How pleasant it was to descend toward the valley. Uncle Peter sang, and
melodies suggested themselves to me, but I did not sing. Suddenly he
interrupted himself and said:

"In the inns, you'll be my niece, won't you?"

"Yes."

"But you must call me 'uncle' when we're there?"

"Of course, dear uncle."

He kept nodding to himself, for the rest of the way, and was quite
happy.

We reached the inn at the landing. He drank, and I drank, too, from the
same glass.

"Where are you going?" asked the hostess.

"To the capital," said he, although I had not said