thralled
by her charms! It was like his cool impudence. And then, again, his
asking me his stupid, inane questions, as if I cared what man, and how
many. Lizzie Dangler or any other girl might have "in tow," as he
called it. Idiot! I declare to you I positively hated Horner at that
moment, inoffensive and harmless as he was.

I left the precincts of the church; and, walking along the path by the
fosse, directed my steps towards the Prebend's Walk, hoping to light
upon the object of my quest.

The air was filled with the fragrance of wild flowers and the smell of
the new-mown hay from the adjacent meadows. One heard the buzzing sound
of busy insect life around, and the love-calls of song-birds from the
hedge-rows; while the grateful shade of the lime-grove seemed to invite
repose and suggest peaceful meditation: but I heeded none of these
things. I felt, like the singer of "The Banks and Braes of Bonny Doon,"
out of harmony with nature and all its surroundings. My thoughts were
jostling one another in a wild dance through my breast. Where on earth
could they have disappeared so very suddenly! It was quite
inexplicable. I must find them. Himmel! I must see _her_ again. I
felt in a perfect state of frenzy. So excited was I, that, although it
was a broiling hot day in July, I walked along as if I were walking for
a wager. I do not think, by the way, that a very learned and
distinguished philosopher was so very much out in his reckoning after
all, when he laid down the general dogma, that all men are more or less
mad. I know, at all events, that I felt mad enough at this moment, as I
was careering along the Prebend's Walk. I was almost nerved up to
desperation.

I was an only child; and my parents being both elderly people, rarely
mixing in society, I could not make use of home influence, as I might
have done if I had had any kind sister to assist me in the way that kind
sisters sometimes can assist their brothers when they fall victims to
the tender passion. Whom should I ask to help me in my strait? I could
not go round everywhere, asking everybody after two ladies dressed in
half-mourning, could I? Not exactly. People might take me for a maniac
at large; and, even should I be one, still, I would naturally wish to
keep my mental derangement to myself. What could I do?

While I was thus perplexing myself with vain imaginings, the
recollection of the Dashers occurred to my mind. How was it that I