walls of the room,
I recognized old friends wherever my eyes happened to rest--the gaudily
colored prints; the framed pictures in fine needle-work, which we
thought wonderful efforts of art; the old circular mirror to which
I used to lift Mary when she wanted "to see her face in the glass."
Whenever the moonlight penetrated there, it showed me some familiar
object that recalled my happiest days. Again the by-gone time looked
back in mockery. Again the voices of the past came to me with their
burden of reproach: See what your life was once! Is your life worth
living now?

I sat down at the window, where I could just discover, here and there
between the trees, the glimmer of the waters of the lake. I thought
to myself: "Thus far my mortal journey has brought me. Why not end it
here?"

Who would grieve for me if my death were reported to-morrow? Of all
living men, I had perhaps the smallest number of friends, the fewest
duties to perform toward others, the least reason to hesitate at leaving
a world which had no place in it for my ambition, no creature in it for
my love.

Besides, what necessity was there for letting it be known that my death
was a death of my own seeking? It could easily be left to represent
itself as a death by accident.

On that fine summer night, and after a long day of traveling, might I
not naturally take a bath in the cool water before I went to bed?
And, practiced as I was in the exercise of swimming, might it not
nevertheless be my misfortune to be attacked by cramp? On the lonely
shores of Greenwater Broad the cry of a drowning man would bring no help
at night. The fatal accident would explain itself. There was literally
but one difficulty in the way--the difficulty which had already
occurred to my mind. Could I sufficiently master the animal instinct of
self-preservation to deliberately let myself sink at the first plunge?

The atmosphere in the room felt close and heavy. I went out, and walked
to and fro--now in the shadow, and now in the moonlight--under the trees
before the cottage door.

Of the moral objections to suicide, not one had any influence over me
now. I, who had once found it impossible to excuse, impossible even
to understand, the despair which had driven Mrs. Van Brandt to attempt
self-destruction--I now contemplated with composure the very act which
had horrified me when I saw it committed by another person. Well may we
hesitate to condemn the frailties of our fellow-cr