Read Ebook: The Dead Lake and Other Tales by Heyse Paul Wilson Mary Translator

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Ebook has 894 lines and 92493 words, and 18 pages

Zevsin k?siss? on ihmisten kohtalo, mik?li ei Sallimuksen ikivalta ole h?nt?kin ylemp?n?. H?nen aitassaan on kaksi ammetta, t?ynn? lahjoja, toinen hyvi?, toinen pahoja. N?it? jakelee h?n kuolevaisille, tavallisesti sekotellen jokaisen osaan kumpaakin lajia, kelle enemm?n hyv??, kelle enemm?n pahaa. Kurja se ken saa osansa vaan pahasta ammeesta: h?n on vitsana itselleen ja muille . Etup??ss? Zevs kuitenkin on armollinen ja lempe?, jumalain ja ihmisten armias is?, joka suo hyv?? lapsilleen. H?nelt? saadaan onnen antimet, h?nelt? terveys sek? jalo, kelpo, urhea mieli, h?nelt? apua h?d?ss?. Koko el?m? suhteineen, perhe, yhteiskunta, valtio menestyy h?nen armonsa turvissa.

Tahtoansa luultiin ylijumalan ilmaisevan ja tulevaisia ennustavan yl?ilmaisilla merkeill?, jyrin?ll? ja leimauksilla, lintujen lennolla, mutta my?s unenn??ill? y.m.. Ennuspaikoissa eli orakeleissa n?it? h?m?ri?, yliluontoisia enteit? tutkittiin ja seliteltiin. V?liin Zevs my?s Apollonin suun kautta julisti tahtoansa.

Muuten taivaan jumalaa yleens? palveltiin, ja h?nelle uhrattiin kaikilla korkeilla vuorenhuipulla, joilla h?nen luultiin oleskelevan. Zevsin pyhi? vuoria olivat Troian Ida, Messenian Ithome, Attikan Hymettos, Boiotian Kithairon, Fokiin Parnassos, Thessalian Pelion ja Oita, Rhodos saaren vuori y.m. Lykaionilla Arkadiassa uhrattiin h?nelle ihmisi?kin vanhimpana aikana. H?nen mieluisin olinpaikkansa oli Thessalian Olympos, jossa muutkin ylijumalat asuskelivat kirkkaassa eeterinloistossa. Tuskinpa oli sit? maakuntaa tai valtiota, miss? ei Zevsin juhlia vietetty. Attikassa lepytettiin vihaista jumalaa talvimyrskyjen alkaessa uhrimenoilla ja niiden lopussa, kun h?nt? luultiin jo lempe?ksi , kunnioitettiin h?nt? toisilla juhlilla. Kreetan saarella vietettiin h?nen syntym??ns?, jopa kuoloansakin, asettaen n?in jumalaa kev??ll? elpyv?n ja syksyll? riutuvan luonnon kanssa yhteyteen. Vanhimmista ajoista perityiss? palvelusmenoissa pidettiin aina silm?ll? jumalan alkunaista luontaismerkityst? ja palvelu j?i enemmin tai v?hemmin luonnonuskon kannalle. Kes?helteell?, kun lehti, nurmi ja oras oli kuivuuteen n??ntym?isill??n, rukoiltiin ilmojen is?nt?? lempeill? sateilla virvoittamaan janoista maata, ja monilla loihduilla ja taikatempuilla koetettiin ik?v?ity? vett? pilvist? herutella. Kodin ja valtion palvelusmenoissa ilmestyi enemmin uskonnon siveellis-henkist? puolta, ja sivistyksen edistyess? t?m? saikin etusijan. Koska t?m? puoli Zevsin olennossa oli hyvin rikas ja syv?llinen, kuten ylemp?n? viittasimme, saatamme arvata ett? kultti sen mukaan kehittyi syv?mieliseksi ja monipuoliseksi. Kuinka ulkonaiset palvelusmuodot lienev?tk??n vaihdelleet, perusaatteena oli niiss? aina Zevs kaiken hiisim?isen sekasorron, raakuuden, julmuuden h??t?j?n?, pimeyden poistajana, valistuksen, sivistyksen ja onnen tuottajana, jota tointa prototyypisesti kuvaa h?nen voittonsa giganttien taistelussa. Inhimillisen sivistyksen alkuluojana harrastaa h?n miehenkuntoa sen t?rke?n? osana ja vaikuttimena, joka taas kysyy ruumiin reippautta. Kun siis voimisteluharjotuksille annettiin p??sij? suurissa Olympian kansanjuhlissa, oli aivan kreikkalaisen uskon mukaista, ett? n?m? asetettiin Zevsin ja Herakleen ylisuojan alaisiksi.

Zevs on puhdistaja. H?nest? l?htee eeterinkirkkaus, h?n poistaa varjot hengenkin mailmasta. Kun ihminen, kuten luultiin, kohtalonsa ajamana oli joutunut pahan tielle ja synti omituisella lumouksellaan h?nelt? h?mment?? j?rjen ja hurmaa h?nt? rikoksiin ja tuhot?ihin, silloin Zevs ryhtyy ilmoja puhdistamaan: rankaisee syyllist?, kostaa veren viat, mutta on my?s valmis, rikosta kaduttaissa, leppym??n. T?m? aate ilmestyy useammassa tarussa. Jos siis Zevs on tuomari ja kostaja, on h?n sen ohessa my?s leppe? is?.

Veistokuvia oli Zevsist? muinoin ??ret?n joukko, kaikista kuuluisin Feidiaan tekem?; ken sen sai n?hd?, se kreikkalaisten mielest? oli onnellisin ihminen maan p??ll?. Korkealla istuimella mahtaili yli 40 jlk. korkea jumalaishahmo, alastomat osat muovailtuina norsunluusta, tukka, parta ja vaatteet valettuina kiilt?v?st? kullasta. H?nen oikeassa k?dess??n liehui voiton henget?r, vasemmassa oli valtikka jonka k?rjess? kultakotka istui. Ylev?? majesteettia s?teili kasvoilta. Siin? esiintyi samalla mahtava Olymponvaltias, jolle ei kukaan ved? vertoja voimassa ja nerossa, sek? lempe?, armias jumalain ja ihmisten is?, lahjain ja siunauksen suoja. Tarmokasta voimaa osotti tuo kahdenpuolen p??t? valtavissa laineissa valuva, leijonanharjan n?k?inen tukka, samallainen pitk? parta, korkea otsa ja vankkavartinen nen?, leve? ponteva rinta; vaan puolittain aukeevan suun ymp?rill? eleli lempe? lohdutuksen mieli. Monta vuosisataa ilahutti ihana taideteos vanhaa mailmaa, kunnes se vihdoin h?visi kansainvaellusten myrskyiss?. -- Sama k?sitys on yleens? s?ilynyt kaikissa s?ilyneiss? taidemuistoksissa: se on mailman armias herra, joka tuntien voimansa autuaana mahtailee Olympon yl?ng?ll?. H?nen kuvansa lis?-esineit? on tavallisesti: valtikka, ukonnuoli, kotka, mailmanpallo istuimen juurella, Nike. H?nen suortuviaan kiert?? seppele h?nen pyh?n puunsa tammen lehdist?.

Hera. -- Juno.

Zevsin ja Heran avioel?m?? ei kuvata aivan kehuttavaksi. He el?v?t ep?sovussa. Aiheen t?h?n luuloon antoi jo naiivinen kansanuskonto. Kun myrskyt metel?iv?t pilviss?, sanottiin taivaan is?nn?n ja em?nn?n torelevan. T?t? uskoa kehittiv?t runoilijat edelleen uusilla aiheilla. Kun n?et juteltiin, miten Zevsill? oli monta lemmikki? sek? taivaan tytt?riss? ett? ihmisten immiss?, oli mielikuvituksen helppo t?h?n luoda lisi?ns?. Zevs on muka uskoton aviomies, jota Hera yht? ?k?isesti toruu ja pistelee kuin h?n vimmatusti vihaa ja vainoo noita suosituita, jotka ovat h?nelt? varastaneet miehens? lemmen. Siit?p? sitte Zevskin joskus suuttuu ja pitelee pahasti, kurittaapa tylystikin vaimoansa . N?in autuaallisten sulorauhaa h?iritsee moni ik?v? rettel? ja jupakka ja jumalattaren jaloa kuvaa rumentaa ilke?n riitaisuuden ja lemmenkateuden varjo, kuitenkin vaan runoilijain mielikuvitelmissa, sill? uskossa ja veistotaiteen luomissa ne olivat h?nelle vieraita. Jotenkin ihanteellinen on viel? Homeronkin h?nest? luoma kuva.

Heran luonnonmerkitys unohtui jo varhain . H?n on naissukupuolen lempe?, armias ja uskollinen suojelija. H?n on avioliiton s??t?nyt ja ankarasti h?n sen pyhyytt? puolustaa. H?n on kerrassaan uskollisen ja uskollisuutta vaativan aviovaimon perikuva. T?mm?iseksi taide h?nt? esitteli, yhdist?en h?nen kuvaansa vaimon p??hyveet, miellytt?v?isyytt?, arvollisuutta ja lujuutta, joka tosin v?h?n vivahtaa kovuuteen. H?nen kauneutensa on jalo, mutta hieman kylm?. -- Tunnusesinein??n on h?nell? tavallisesti valtikka ja otsaripa, uhrimalja k?dess?, granaattiomena hedelm?llisyyden kuvana, riikinkukko, hanhi tai kev??nennustaja k?ki lempilintuina.

Pallas. Athene. -- Minerva.

T?m? syntym?taru n?kyy allegorisesti kuvaavan ukonilmaa, jonka jyrin?? ja salamia t?ten olennoitiin. Mutta tuo luonnonvoimain purkaus puhdistaa my?s ilman ja virkist?? luontoa, taivas loistaa sen per?st? kahta kirkkaampana, maa elpyy uudestaan, kun yl?ilma, eeteri, luonnonaloista korkein, entist??n viljavammin uhkuu valoa, iloa, elon voimaa. Athene edustaa molempia: h?n on leimuva salama ja salamain puhdistama, el?hytt?v? eeteri. T?st? luonnonmerkinn?n kaksinaisuudesta aiheutuu h?nelle sek? sotaisa ett? rauhaisa, lempe? puoli, ja varsinkin j?lkimm?inen kehittyy edelleen rikkaaksi ja moninaiseksi, k?sitt?en luonnon ja hengen iloja.

Eeterin eloa antavana jumalattarena h?n l?hinn? antaa el?m?? ja terveytt? sielulle ja ruumiille, torjuu tauteja, kasvattaa nuorison reimaksi; h?n edist?? sopivilla s?ill? maan viljavuutta ja kasvullisuutta, suojelee maanviljelyst? ja karjanhoitoa. H?nen lempe?n suojansa alla laiho kypsyy vainioilla, hedelm?t puissa. H?n on ihmisille auran ja haravan antanut. Mutta maanviljelyksen perusteella on inhimillinen yhteiskunta ja sivistys syntynyt. Niinp? sama jumalatar v?lillisesti joutuu n?it?kin holhomaan. Yhteiskuntaj?rjestyksen ehdot: siveellisyys ja lakis??d?kset, sen hedelm?t: kansan onni ja menestys, elinkeinot, jopa korkeinkin hengen viljelys, tieteet ja taiteet -- kaikki Athenen mahtavan egiidin turvissa viihtyv?t ja on h?n siis t?lt?kin puolen "kaupunginsuojelija". H?n suojelee rauhaa ja rauhallisia elinkeinoja, siis ennen mainittujen lis?ksi laivanrakennusta, teollisuutta ja k?sit?it?, etenkin naisten kotiaskareita: kehruuta, kudontaa, ompelua y.m. N?in jumalattaren olento laajenee eritt?in rikkaaksi ja ??ret?n ala aukenee h?nen toiminnalleen. Voipa sanoa ett? h?ness? on Hellaan kansa esitt?nyt syvimpi? elon-aatteitansa.

Kirkas, ylh?inen valo-ilma, joka ik??nkuin luo sillan n?kyv?isen ja n?kym?tt?m?n, aineen ja hengen mailmojen v?lill?, kuvailee symboolisesti hengen valoa, viisautta, ?ly?, j?rke? -- ja niinp? Athene jo yksinkertaisen luonnonsymboliikankin tiell? sai henkisen merkityksens?, tuli viisauden, opin ja ?lyn haltiaksi. Vaikka t?m? eetillinen puoli kehittymist??n kehittyi ja p??si k?sityksess? ja kultissa miltei etusijaan, eip? silt? luonnollinenkaan puoli joutunut unohduksiin. Ne liittyiv?t kumpikin niin likitysten toisiinsa, ett? eeterin lempe? valtias ja ?lyn ylh?inen jumalatar oli vain saman jumalais-olennon eri ilmi-muotoja. Siin? on merkityksen syvyys, aatten korkeus, toimialan avaruus, joissa kohden ainoastaan Zevs ja joinkin m??rin Apollon Athenelle vertoja vet?v?t. Zevs, Apollon ja Athene k?sitt?v?tkin yhteens? kaiken jumalallisen voiman kreikkalaisen mielest?.

Muutamia el?imi? esiintyy jumalattaren kuvissa, symboolisesti kuvaten h?nen luonteensa puolia, k??rme ?ly?, p?ll?haukka miettiv?isyytt?, kukko valpasta sotamielt?.

Apollon.

He was silent for a moment, and then replied by another question: "So you would have thought the death of your husband desirable, if he had been doomed to life long insanity?"

"Spare me the answer. I cannot give you one truthfully, without pain."

"So much the better," he said. She did not understand him. A few minutes later he left the room.

He returned an hour after midnight, and insisted on relieving the mother from her watch by the sickbed. She could not resist his imperative manner, and only begged him to let her, and the nurse, relieve him alternately. He promised to do so; and this time kept his promise. In the morning when Lucille awoke, she found the nurse alone, and heard that the doctor lay on a straw mattress in the tap-room to be near at hand in case of need.

A week had passed since these events, and Everhard again sat in his little room at the crazy table, and the candle cast the same dim flickering light, as on that first occasion, only the moon shone so brightly through the casement, that one could easily have dispensed with any other light. Everhard had just perused the letter written on that dark and gloomy night, and was now adding a postscript on the blank page.

"You will be glad to hear that I have surmounted my last crisis, but I, when I search my thoughts, can only deplore this.

"Everything was ready for my departure, my trunks so nicely packed, the last leave takings exchanged; I heard the shrill whistle of the engine,--suddenly I am told that I have missed the train; and so I remain, not at home, nor abroad, but sitting at the railway station in a most provoking position. It seems ridiculous to have to stay and unpack, after all these preparations for departure. How it all happened I will tell you in a few words, lest you should think that cowardice overcame me at the last moment, that I regretted to leave this life, and persuaded myself that after all it was the best. No it was not that which played me this trick, it was my old passion, my profession! I found it of more importance to save a young life, than to despatch my own, so prematurely old. The child in question was well worth the trouble, that I can tell you. And as for the mother! don't fancy that I have fallen in love; you would be mistaken. Or do you call love, the feelings of a poor devil of a miner who after having been buried in a coal-pit, is brought to life again and rejoices in the first breath of fresh air. Do not be afraid that I shall give you a description of this young woman's charms. Whether she be handsome, amiable--what is usually so called; clever, or whether she possess all those qualities the description of which generally fills columns, I know not. All I know, is that in her presence, I forget my existence; the past, the future--all I feel is that she is there beside me and that I would desire nothing more to all eternity, than that she should remain so. Do you recollect how strange it once seemed to us, that the same passionate poet, from whose brain proceeded 'Werther' should have expressed such tame feelings as these--

"'Gaze at the moon, Or think of thee, I fancy 'tis the same. All in a holy light, I see, And know not how it came.'

"And now to my shame be it spoken, I experience the same feelings in myself. This lunacy, as we jestingly called it, has taken such possession of me, that my only desire at present is, that through all the future years of my life, I might live as in one long night, surrounded by the pale veiled halo which now calms my soul.

"Unfortunately, it is perfectly clear to me that from her, I also must keep aloof. This woman even if I ventured to offer her my unamiable society for the remainder of her life, could but politely decline. She has made a vow to remain faithful to the memory of her dead husband. What is a vow? Ought it to be a chain to bind and check our very existence, after we have outgrown our former selves. In the course of seven years the physical part of man is completely renewed, and is our spiritual part, surrounded by new flesh and blood to remain the same, because some misanthrope doubted his own power of revival. Have I not also broken my vow never again to approach a sick-bed. And I even deem this to be rather to my credit than my shame. But the vow of this woman is raised far above the fickleness of human wishes and resolves. She wishes me well; I could find no truer friend in need than she would prove. She would make any sacrifice but this for me, who have saved her child; but her whole existence, her heart, and soul are rivetted to the memory of her own passed happiness, and to the future happiness of her child--and for me, to whom the present alone is of importance.... I have carefully avoided the question as to where she lives, in what town, under what circumstances in what neighbourhood. I will part from her without knowing anything of this, lest I should be tempted to seek her, and endeavour to make the impossible possible.

"A few days more of the happiness of this singular position--in this solitary wilderness among the mountains, far from all the littlenesses and miseries of the world, and as if we were in heaven, where there is neither giving in marriage, nor parting--then come what may; what must!

"In truth it is a strange and cruel remedy which fate has employed, making a deep incision in my heart, in order to convince me how little I was ripe for death; how much strength and feeling there was still in me, how much I could yet endure!

"Enough of this for to-day. We live here totally deprived of all postal communication. When, and where, I shall close this letter and forward it, the Gods only know, if indeed they concern themselves with our correspondence.

"Farewell!"

He laid down the pen and listened. From the sick room, the child's soft prattle was heard and though free from the restless and rambling tone of fever, yet it was an unusually late hour for the child to be awake. He also heard the soft voice of the mother calming it by a few soothing words. When Everhard entered the room the child was already fast asleep.

"She has just been dreaming of you;" turning towards him with one of her charming smiles; "she told me, she dreamt that you had given her a white lamb, with a red ribbon round its neck, which took food from her hand. She had possessed it for some time when it suddenly occurred to her that she had not thanked you for it; so she begged me to call you that she might repair this neglect."

"And why did you not call me?" asked the doctor.

"I told her that her uncle Everhard would never listen to any thanks. That Mamma too had received a gift from him for which she never, never could thank him sufficiently. The best way to thank him, was to be a good child and go to sleep again. You should have seen how earnestly the dear child tried, after this, to go to sleep. You see she is asleep already and her forehead is moist. You have more influence, over her than any other person has."

He thoughtfully contemplated the childish face.

"I regret that I am not a princess," Lucille continued with a slight blush; "for then I could offer you a place at my court, and beg you to accompany me on my travels in the capacity of Court Physician. I cannot imagine what we shall do without you--at every cold little Fanny catches, we shall miss you sadly. And yet I am content with my station in life. A princess would perhaps presume that she could repay you for your devotion to her child by offering you an establishment. I cannot regret the feeling that I can never repay you for all your generosity." She stretched out her hand to him, which he pressed, strangely moved, to his lips.

"Madame Lucille," he said, without continuing the subject, "it is now eleven o'clock; it is my turn to watch, and you are relieved."

"No," she answered gaily, I am not quite so obedient as our little Fan, or rather, sleep does not so readily obey my call. You must allow me to remain awake for another hour, and if you are not tired, you shall read aloud to me. I have seen a volume of Goethe's works in your hands. I admire him above all other poets, and wish to get more fully acquainted with him, for I must confess to my shame, that on looking through your volume the other day, I remarked that most of its contents were unknown to me.

"As you please," he said, "but most of its contents will remain for ever new to you, were you to hear them ever so often. At least that is my experience of them."

He fetched the book, the first volume of the poems, and without selecting any particular poem began at the first page. He lowered his voice but read without any studied art of delivery. Never had he so keenly and clearly felt the charm of the everlasting spring which emanates from the blossoms of the poet's youthful ardour.

He dared not look at her whilst he read fearing to meet the mute enquiry in the eyes of the young woman; but when he came to "the hunter's evening song," he with difficulty faltered out the words,

'Gaze at the moon, Or think of thee, I fancy 'tis the same. All in a holy light, I see, And know not how it came!'

Suddenly he stopped, let the book glide on to the bed of the child, and rose hastily.

"What has happened?" she asked, startled. "Go and rest," he replied with averted face. "Wake the nurse; she can take my watch for this night. The atmosphere here oppresses me, I must breathe the fresh air, I already feel better, since I have risen. I will go and take a row on the lake."

So saying he disappeared, leaving her with all her feelings in a state of tumultuous disturbance at the enigma she dared not solve.

The farm-servant who hearing that the lady wished for the last strawberries of the season had climbed up there, to look for some, reported on his return that he had met the doctor seated on a rock, and looking like a man in a dream. He had bidden him good day, and the doctor had started up, and with a silent nod of recognition, had disappeared in the wood. He was evidently touched in the head, the farm-servant continued; I always said so from the moment I saw him sitting quite crazed like in the tap-room, and refusing all refreshment.

This continued during several days. In proportion to the progress of the child's recovery did the doctor's melancholy, from which the sudden call of duty had roused him, appear to increase. Those days were full of gloom; he felt how necessary it was to abridge them. One forenoon he started without waiting for dinner, not caring to meet the sad inquiring look in Lucille's eyes. He climbed up the steep ravine with the firm resolve to arrive at a final decision. In spite of the fierce noon-day heat, he pursued a road which he had recently discovered, and which led towards the south across the rocky ridge of the mountains. He knew that if he continued his walk he would reach before night fall a Romanic village which was separated from the dead lake by nearly impassable tracts of ice and snow. Once there, and he had achieved all that now seemed impossible to him, all leave taking was spared him and he was as one dead to those to whom he had now become useless.

This seemed to him the best plan, and he relied on his strength of will to carry it out. But when the last glimpse of the lake had disappeared and he found himself surrounded only by the sterile wilderness of rocks, he felt so wretched that he could not proceed, but flung himself on the ground, in the shade of a projecting rock, and buried his face amidst the moss and heather. He eagerly sought for all the reasons which should prevent his departure, and make his return necessary, his papers, his diary which he had left in his room; the anxiety his sudden disappearance would cause Lucille. Then he reflected that he was in duty bound to provide for their departure, and for their safe journey to the next town. He made a solemn vow that all should be done that very day. He would send down the farm-servant to order a carnage as soon as he had returned to the inn. In twenty-four hours everything would be accomplished, and the separation irrevocable. After that he did not care what happened.

When he had firmly settled this in his mind, he felt relieved, and hastily arose to reach the inn without further delay. He resolved to be cheerful and to enjoy the few hours that remained to him of her society as if they were to last for ever. He regretted having embittered many a day by the thought of the approaching end. He plucked a bunch of scentless Alpine flowers and ferns--it should be his farewell token to little Fanny. So thinking he rapidly descended the steep mountain, and reached the last firs in the ravine when the greatest heat of the day was over. Below him lay the lake. Not the slightest breeze ruffled its calm surface which clearly reflected the small meadow on the opposite shore; the firs on the steep slope above it, and beyond these, the bare grey rocks and crags. Then he looked towards the fisherman's house. His quick eye discerned every shingle on its stone laden roof--in the yard, the old hen followed by her yellow brood, and the linen hung out on ropes to dry. Those who lived beneath that lowly roof were nowhere to be seen. Generally at this time of the day, everyone dozed over some slight work, so Everhard was much surprised when he saw the door of the house open, and a perfect stranger step out into the bright sunshine. He was a tall young man dressed in a light summer costume. His face was partly shaded by a broad brimmed straw-hat, and only a fair moustache of a military cut was visible underneath it.

The newcomer stood still for a few minutes, looked around him as if to examine the weather, and then eagerly talked through the open door to some one who had not yet appeared. A few minutes later Lucille joined him, without a hat, only holding a large parasol to protect her delicate complexion from the sun. She accompanied the stranger to the shed on the lake, and a moment after Everhard saw them both issue from it, in one of the boats, and take the direction across the smooth lake towards the islet. The stranger wielded the oars so dextrously that they soon reached their destination. Then leaping on shore he assisted Lucille to get out. They walked along the shore wending their way between the birches and the high bulrushes, apparently with the intention of making the circuit of the small island. Everhard's heart throbbed so wildly that he had to lean against the stem of a fir-tree till the first giddiness had passed.

Who was the new comer who seemed so intimate with her, that she followed him on his boating excursions, and thus granted him what she had ever refused to Everhard her friend and helper? Who was this stranger that she leant on his arm, and while walking by his side, and gaily conversing with him seemed even to forget her child, and abandoned it to the care of the nurse? Well whoever it was, he had arrived just in time to wake them all out of the dream into which the solitary stillness of the place had lulled them.

Doubtless the sight of this old acquaintance brought back to Lucille's remembrance all that she had forgotten at the bed-side of her child; her intercourse with the outer world; her friends, and admirers, recollections to which Everhard would ever remain a stranger, and which summoned her back to a life in which he could have no share. So much the better! It could but facilitate the execution of his resolves, and confirm the urgency of a separation.

He felt it was impossible to share her presence with a third. He strode down the precipitous path, and reached the house greatly exhausted, and his knees knocking under him. He remarked a travelling carriage which stood beside the shed, and in the stables in which a cow was kept during the winter, two horses were tied to the manger. Without heeding the landlady who was dying to tell him the news, he walked straight into the room where the child sat at the table playing with a new doll.

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