He repeated this often to himself, as though he were a desperate man ready to engage in any desperate measure; but his manner visibly softened when he thought of the pretty girl whose ways were so engaging, innocent, and frank. He knew himself so well,--the number of times he had gone over the story of his life, in his own mind, since coming to The Locks even, would have run up into the hundreds; therefore he knew himself very well indeed,--that he felt in honor bound to give up his acquaintance with her, although it cost him a keen pang of regret, this determination to hear the music no more, and never again see the player. Avoiding even a look at the church, which was a reminder of how much pleasure he had found in Davy's Bend, and how much misery he would probably find there in the future, he passed out of the iron gate of The Locks, and set his face toward the quiet country, where he hoped to walk until his body would call for rest at night, and permit him to sleep; a blessing that had been denied him of late more than before he knew Annie Benton, and when he thought that Davy's Bend contained people only fit to be avoided. But he was glad that he had resolved never to see the girl again,--for her sake, not his own. He had made this resolve after a struggle with himself, thinking of the strange fatality that had made duty painful throughout his entire life; and he walked toward the country because he believed the girl was in the direction of the town; probably seated in the church at that moment, watching the door for his approach. She was a comfort to him, therefore he must avoid her; but this had always been the case--he was accustomed to being warned that he was an intruder whenever he entered a pleasant place. There was something in store for her besides a life of hiding and fear, and an unknown grave at last, with a fictitious name on the headboard; and he would not cross a path which led toward happiness for one he so much admired. Thus he argued to himself as he walked along; but when he remembered how dull his life would be should her smile never come into it again, he could not help shuddering. "But I have been so considerate of others," he said aloud, as he pursued his way, "that even the worms in my path impudently expected me to go round them, and seemed to honestly believe me unworthy of living at all if I did not. Let me not show a lack of consideration now that my heart is concerned." Above his house, and so near the river that the water rippled at its base, was a rugged bluff, separated from the town by a deep and almost impassable ravine, and for this reason it was seldom visited; Allan Dorris had found it during his first month in the town, and he resolved to visit it now, and get the full benefit of the sunshine and delightful air of the perfect summer day.