nd I had even begun to think of it
without horror, as we are in the habit of doing of horrors of which we
conceive we run no danger; and lo! when least thought of, it had seized
me again. Every moment I felt it gathering force, and making me more
wholly its own. What should I do?--resist, of course; and I did resist.
I grasped, I tore, and strove to fling it from me; but of what avail were
my efforts? I could only have got rid of it by getting rid of myself: it
was a part of myself, or rather it was all myself. I rushed amongst the
trees, and struck at them with my bare fists, and dashed my head against
them, but I felt no pain. How could I feel pain with that horror upon
me! And then I flung myself on the ground, gnawed the earth, and
swallowed it; and then I looked round; it was almost total darkness in
the dingle, and the darkness added to my horror. I could no longer stay
there; up I rose from the ground, and attempted to escape. At the bottom
of the winding path which led up the acclivity I fell over something
which was lying on the ground; the something moved, and gave a kind of
whine. It was my little horse, which had made that place its lair; my
little horse; my only companion and friend in that now awful solitude. I
reached the mouth of the dingle; the sun was just sinking in the far west
behind me, the fields were flooded with his last gleams. How beautiful
everything looked in the last gleams of the sun! I felt relieved for a
moment; I was no longer in the horrid dingle. In another minute the sun
was gone, and a big cloud occupied the place where he had been: in a
little time it was almost as dark as it had previously been in the open
part of the dingle. My horror increased; what was I to do?--it was of no
use fighting against the horror--that I saw; the more I fought against
it, the stronger it became. What should I do: say my prayers? Ah! why
not? So I knelt down under the hedge, and said, "Our Father"; but that
was of no use; and now I could no longer repress cries--the horror was
too great to be borne. What should I do? run to the nearest town or
village, and request the assistance of my fellow-men? No! that I was
ashamed to do; notwithstanding the horror was upon me, I was ashamed to
do that. I knew they would consider me a maniac, if I went screaming
amongst them; and I did not wish to be considered a maniac. Moreover, I
knew that I was not a maniac, for I possessed all my reasoning po