with painful effort I write
these lines, each moment doubting whether I should not erase this, or
insert that. Were it not for this glove, that lies on my paper before
me, I should believe all to be mere illusion. What a painful struggle
this is, and how impossible to allay the fears of self-deception! At
one moment I am half resolved to order a saddle-horse and return to
Eberstein--for what?--with what hope of unravelling the mystery? At the
next I am determined to repair to the Countess's villa near the town,
and ask if she has returned; but how shall I venture on such a liberty?
If my ears had not deceived me, she is and must be Caroline Graham; and
yet would I not rather believe that my weary brain had wandered, than
that this were so?

But what are these sounds of voices in the antechamber? I hear
Guckhardt's voice!

Yes: my servant had thought it prudent to fetch the doctor, and he
has been here and felt my pulse, and ordered cold to my temples, and
a calming draught. It is clear, then, that I have been ill, and I must
write no more!

CHAPTER XI.

Gasthaus, Zum Baer, Dallas, Tyrol.

It is exactly seven weeks this day since I last opened my journal. I
promised Guckhardt not to look into it for a month, and so I have
well kept my word! It would seem, indeed, a small privation in most
circumstances to abstain from chronicling the ebbing hours of a life;
but Egotism is next of kin to Sickness, and I can vent mine more
harmlessly here than if spent in exhausting the patience of my friends.
Some listener must be found to the dreamy querulousness of the invalid,
and why not his own heart?

Even to those nearest and dearest to our affections, there is always
a sense of shame attendant on the confessions of our weakness, more so
than of our actual vices. But what a merciful judge is Self! how
gentle to rebuke! how reluctant to punish! how sanguine to hope for
reformation! Hence is it that I find a comfort in jotting down these
"mems" of the past; but from a friend, what shaking of the head, what
regretful sorrowings, should I meet with! How should I hear of faculties
and fortune--life itself--wasted without one object, even a wish,
compassed! When I reflect upon the position in life attainable by one
who starts with moderate abilities, a large fortune, reasonable habits
of industry, and a fair share of well-wishers, and then think of what
I now am, I might easily be discontented and dispirited; but if I had