And when I had sat down a little way from him, away from him just because I so longed to sit next, he drew himself up to me and took my glad hand. I asked him what was amiss, saying I did not like his looks and nervous ways. "Where are your gay spirits?" said I; "I hardly know my child, he has grown so sober." "Yes," he replied. "I hardly know myself. I think I am not well. The poem is dead,--not a throb of the pulse. Emilia! you must cure me!" "Dear," said I, "how shall that be?" "Take me away! I am weary of all things. The summer is fledged; he will take wing before we realise it. You must marry me soon, very soon." And I promised that I would,--on the 15th of July, as we presently decided. Surely, if I were not mad, I should be very joyful. I feel no joy, only disbelief; I cannot believe, sore as I am with doubt and sorrow, that in nineteen days all will be well, and I again full mistress of that I fear to lose. Just at first, I was dizzy with joy, and thought my misgivings had been very vain and foolish; but then it occurred to me that Gabriel was perhaps impelled to this sudden decision by the dawning consciousness of his infidelity, and hoped--by marrying me at once--to check the further growth of his fancy. If this be so, he is wise; for that it is a passing fancy I am certain. I should not marry him if I thought otherwise. But it is very sad; I am so sorry for us all. _June 30th._--It must be late; the chimes have just told three quarters, it must be a quarter to three. I was in bed,--I am very much troubled. I think I had better write a little, lest I lose my self-possession; that would be fatal. Constance and I returned to-day from London; we had been there to get my things. I took her with me because I feared to leave her alone with Gabriel; it seemed unwise. Besides, I could not leave them; I am indeed intolerably jealous; I never leave them now for the fraction of a minute. I cannot, it is too cruel pain; and I am grown such a coward, I cannot bear it. Yet it was foolish to take her with me; I might have foretold how it would be. I saw very soon that she pined for him, perhaps as much as I did. And I knew that he wandered to and fro at home, meeting her thoughts with his. I brought her back as soon as I could. Gabriel met us at the station; the engine shrieked, as I did in my heart. It was a strange mingling of the Heaven of my life with the sordid greyness of the world. I saw at once that there was a change; I had parted them and taught them what each was worth to the other. So now I know. It is well, perhaps, to have reached the end, the limit of misery, to know that, come what may, I have suffered my fill. And I was so happy. I cannot think to-night; I know not what to do; I stare at my dead joy,--it is dead and cold, nothing can wake it now. When I have stared a little longer, I must dig its grave, bury it in the bare earth, in eternal darkness.