"I stood wondering at this ingenuous monument of human simplicity, when I heard behind me the noise of frantic galloping. Before I could move or cry out, a hunter and a maddened horse burst from the wood, within gunshot, and plunged headlong down the steep bank that ended abruptly at the gaping pit of an old quarry. What filled me with unspeakable horror was that the rider was desperately spurring and lashing his horse, who would have been unable anyhow to stop himself in his dizzy descent toward death. In the twinkling of an eye the ground appeared to swallow them both. Nothing was to be seen but heaven and earth smiling at each other with the imperturbable smile of things that never end. "I finally regained the use of my senses. I jumped from my saddle, and I know not how, reached the bottom of the quarry. The horse had been killed outright. In a red pool lay a gasping, shattered man. It was an old friend of mine, who had been kind to me in my early days in Dorking. I called him. He opened his eyes. "'What!' he cried, 'it is not over?' "I questioned him in vain. "'It is not over! It is not over!' he repeated in vain despair, 'I shall have to go through with it again!' "Not knowing what to do or say, I climbed to the top of the bank and called for help. A farmer hastened to the spot. With infinite care, the wounded man was lifted into a cart. By some miracle he had escaped without mortal injury. Two months later he was in full convalescence. He suspected before long that I had witnessed his leap, and my embarrassment when he questioned me about our encounter at the bottom of the quarry only confirmed him in his idea. One day, he could no longer keep from speaking. "'You do not believe it was an accident, do you?' he said, looking me squarely in the eyes. "'What do you mean?' I asked, avoiding the question. "'I mean that I must have passed close by you on my way to the quarry.' "'Yes,' I said, with a sudden resolve to tell the truth. "'You know my secret. I am sure, my dear child, that you will keep it. Death would not take me. I shall go on living. But since there is now one human being before whom I can pour out the overflow of my misery, and since that one is yourself, for whom I have so long felt the warmest friendship, I will tell you all.' "'Some other day. Later on.' "'No, let me speak. In the first place, let me reassure you, there is no crime in my life.' "'What an idea!' "'No, I am merely unhappy. And my unhappiness is of a kind for which there is no help. It seems to you that I have everything, does it not? Wealth, a happy family life, beloved children. My wife, I am sure, seems to you----' "'The best in the world.' "'Doubtless. And yet, she exactly is the cause of my wretchedness. She loves me, and I hate her. It is horrible.' "'Oh, come. You do not hate your wife. That is impossible.'