To tell you all the questionings and conjectures⁠—the fears, and hopes, and wild emotions that jostled and chased each other through my mind as I descended the hill, would almost fill a volume in itself. But before I was halfway down, a sentiment of strong sympathy for her I had left behind me had displaced all other feelings, and seemed imperatively to draw me back: I began to think, “Why am I hurrying so fast in this direction? Can I find comfort or consolation⁠—peace, certainty, contentment, all⁠—or anything that I want at home? and can I leave all perturbation, sorrow, and anxiety behind me there?”

And I turned round to look at the old Hall. There was little besides the chimneys visible above my contracted horizon. I walked back to get a better view of it. When it rose in sight, I stood still a moment to look, and then continued moving towards the gloomy object of attraction. Something called me nearer⁠—nearer still⁠—and why not, pray? Might I not find more benefit in the contemplation of that venerable pile with the full moon in the cloudless heaven shining so calmly above it⁠—with that warm yellow lustre peculiar to an August night⁠—and the mistress of my soul within, than in returning to my home, where all comparatively was light, and life, and cheerfulness, and therefore inimical to me in my present frame of mind⁠—and the more so that its inmates all were more or less imbued with that detestable belief, the very thought of which made my blood boil in my veins⁠—and how could I endure to hear it openly declared, or cautiously insinuated⁠—which was worse?⁠—I had had trouble enough already, with some babbling fiend that would keep whispering in my ear, “It may be true,” till I had shouted aloud, “It is false! I defy you to make me suppose it!”

I had not thus looked, and wished, and wondered long, before I vaulted over the barrier, unable to resist the temptation of taking one glance through the window, just to see if she were more composed than when we parted;⁠—and if I found her still in deep distress, perhaps I might venture attempt a word of comfort⁠—to utter one of the many things I should have said before, instead of aggravating her sufferings by my stupid impetuosity. I looked. Her chair was vacant: so was the room. But at that moment someone opened the outer door, and a voice⁠—her voice⁠—said⁠—“Come out⁠—I want to see the moon, and breathe the evening air: they will do me good⁠—if anything will.”

I did not hear the rest of the sentence; for he walked close beside her and spoke so gently that I could not catch the words. My heart was splitting with hatred; but I listened intently for her reply. I heard it plainly enough.

“But wherever you go, Helen, there will be the same sources of annoyance. I cannot consent to lose you: I must go with you, or come to you; and there are meddling fools elsewhere, as well as here.”

“Oh, Gilbert, how you tremble!” exclaimed my anxious parent. “How white you look! Do tell me what it is? Has anything happened?”

“Confound it! I’m going,” said I.