en
the letters from his mother and sisters. The characters were uncertain
and tremulous, as though written in the dark. The words ran as
follows:--"Farewell, my beloved friend, my _only_ friend! It grieves me
much that I must grieve you so, must leave you so! But there is no
other way. You would never let me go there where I needs must go,
unless both are to be made unhappy. I thank thee for thy true love. But
all the sweetness in thy soul can never wash away the bitterness from
mine. Sleep well--farewell! I kiss thee once more in sleep. I know not
whether thou wilt be able to read this. Do not grieve; believe that all
is well with me now. Thy own loving one even in death."

The maid who was in the habit of coming about this time to light the
kitchen-fire, heard a hollow cry in the next room, and opened the door
in her terror. She there saw the young student lying on the sofa as
though prostrated by some heavy blow. When she called him by name, he
only shook his head as if to say she need not concern herself about
him, and then stooped to pick up the paper that had fallen out of his
hand.

"What o'clock?" he enquired.

"It has just struck six."

"Give me my cloak and stick. I will--"

He tottered to the door.

"You are going out bare-headed in all this cold? All the shops are
closed, there is not a creature in the streets: you know this is a
holiday?"

"A holiday," he said, repeating the syllables one by one as though
trying to make out their meaning. "Give me--"

"Your cap? Here it is. Will you not first of all have a cup of coffee?
The water will soon boil."

He made no further reply, but went out with heavy steps, and stumbled
down the dark staircase. The snow crunched under his feet, and thick
icicles hung in his beard. Far and near there was not a living creature
to be seen in the dim streets; the sentinels in the sentry-boxes looked
like stiff snow men. As he passed the bridge he saw that the river had
frozen over during the night. He followed its course a long way, his
eyes riveted on the ice as though looking for something there. Then he
plunged into the neighbouring streets, quite aimlessly, like one
walking in his sleep. For he could not expect to find what he was
searching for by any pondering or thinking of his own. But the fever of
an immeasurable agony drove him restlessly on, until he was utterly
exhausted.

He might have been wandering a couple of hours or more, for the streets
were beginn