to the stables, and had my horse saddled immediately. No
idea of proceeding in any particular direction occurred to me. I
simply felt resolved to pass my two days' ordeal of suspense away from
home--far enough away to keep me faithful to my promise not to see
Margaret. Soon after I started, I left my horse to his own guidance, and
gave myself up to my thoughts and recollections, as one by one they rose
within me. The animal took the direction which he had been oftenest used
to take during my residence in London--the northern road.

It was not until I had ridden half a mile beyond the suburbs that I
looked round me, and discovered towards what part of the country I was
proceeding. I drew the rein directly, and turned my horse's head back
again, towards the south. To follow the favourite road which I had so
often followed with Clara; to stop perhaps at some place where I
had often stopped with her, was more than I had the courage or the
insensibility to do at that moment.

I rode as far as Ewell, and stopped there: the darkness had overtaken
me, and it was useless to tire my horse by going on any greater
distance. The next morning, I was up almost with sunrise; and passed
the greater part of the day in walking about among villages, lanes, and
fields, just as chance led me. During the night, many thoughts that I
had banished for the last week had returned--those thoughts of evil omen
under which the mind seems to ache, just as the body aches under a dull,
heavy pain, to which we can assign no particular place or cause.
Absent from Margaret, I had no resource against the oppression that
now overcame me. I could only endeavour to alleviate it by keeping
incessantly in action; by walking or riding, hour after hour, in the
vain attempt to quiet the mind by wearying out the body. Apprehension of
the failure of my application to Mr. Sherwin had nothing to do with the
vague gloom which now darkened my thoughts; they kept too near home
for that. Besides, what I had observed of Margaret's father, especially
during the latter part of my interview with him, showed me plainly
enough that he was trying to conceal, under exaggerated surprise and
assumed hesitation, his secret desire to profit at once by my
offer; which, whatever conditions might clog it, was infinitely more
advantageous in a social point of view, than any he could have hoped
for. It was not his delay in accepting my proposals, but the burden
of deceit, the fetters of