MY spirits rose as I walked through the bright empty streets, andbreathed the fresh morning air.

Taking my way eastward through the great city, I stopped at thefirst office that I passed, and secured my place by the earlycoach to Ipswich. Thence I traveled with post-horses to themarket-town which was nearest to Greenwater Broad. A walk of afew miles in the cool evening brought me, through well-rememberedby-roads, to our old house. By the last rays of the setting sun Ilooked at the familiar row of windows in front, and saw that theshutters were all closed. Not a living creature was visibleanywhere. Not even a dog barked as I rang the great bell at thedoor. The place was deserted; the house was shut up.

After a long delay, I heard heavy footsteps in the hall. An oldman opened the door.

Changed as he was, I remembered him as one of our tenants in theby-gone time. To his astonishment, I greeted him by his name. Onhis side, he tried hard to recognize me, and tried in vain. Nodoubt I was the more sadly changed of the two: I was obliged tointroduce myself. The poor fellow's withered face brightenedslowly and timidly, as if he were half incapable, half afraid, ofindulging in the unaccustomed luxury of a smile. In his confusionhe bid me welcome home ag ain, as if the house had been mine.

Taking me into the little back-room which he inhabited, the oldman gave me all he had to offer--a supper of bacon and eggs and aglass of home-brewed beer. He was evidently puzzled to understandme when I informed him that the only object of my visit was tolook once more at the familiar scenes round my old home. But hewillingly placed his services at my disposal; and he engaged todo his best, if I wished it, to make me up a bed for the night.

The house had been closed and the establishment of servants hadbeen dismissed for more than a year past. A passion forhorse-racing, developed late in life, had ruined the rich retiredtradesman who had purchased the estate at the time of our familytroubles. He had gone abroad with his wife to live on the littleincome that had been saved from the wreck of his fortune; and hehad left the house and lands in such a state of neglect that nonew purchaser had thus far been found to take them. My oldfriend, "now past his work," had been put in charge of the place.As for Dermody's cottage, it was empty, like the house. I was atperfect liberty to look over it if I liked. There was the key ofthe door on the bunch with the others; and here was the old man,with his old hat on his head, ready to accompany me wherever Ipleased to go. I declined to trouble him to accompany me or tomake up a bed in the lonely house. The night was fine, the moonwas rising. I had supped; I had rested. When I had seen what Iwanted to see, I could easily walk back to the market-town andsleep at the inn. Taking the key in my hand, I set forth alone onthe way through the grounds which led to Dermody's cottage.

Again I followed the woodland paths along which I had once idledso happily with my little Mary. At every step I saw somethingthat reminded me of her. Here was the rustic bench on which wehad sat together under the shadow of the old cedar-tree, andvowed to be constant to each other to the end of our lives. Therewas the bright little water spring, from which we drank when wewere weary and thirsty in sultry summer days, still bubbling itsway downward to the lake as cheerily as ever. As I listened tothe companionable murmur of the stream, I almost expected to seeher again, in her simple white frock and straw hat, singing tothe music of the rivulet, and freshening her nosegay of wildflowers by dipping it in the cool water. A few steps further onand I reached a clearing in the wood and stood on a littlepromontory of rising ground which commanded the prettiest view ofGreenwater lake. A platform of wood was built out from the bank,to be used for bathing by good swimmers who were not afraid of aplunge into deep water. I stood on the platform and looked roundme. The trees that fringed the shore on either hand murmuredtheir sweet sylvan music in the night air; the moonlight trembledsoftly on the rippling water. Away on my right hand I could justsee the old wooden shed that once sheltered my boat in the dayswhen Mary went sailing with me and worked the green flag. On myleft was the wooden paling that followed the curves of thewinding creek, and beyond it rose the brown arches of the decoyfor wild fowl, now falling to ruin for want of use. Guided by theradiant moonlight, I could see the very spot on which Mary and Ihad stood to watch the snaring of the ducks. Through the hole inthe paling before which the decoy-dog had shown himself, atDermody's signal, a water-rat now passed, like a little blackshadow on the bright ground, and was lost in the waters of thelake. Look where I might, the happy by-gone time looked back inmockery, and the voices of the past came to me with their burdenof reproach: See what your life was once! Is your life worthliving now?

I picked up a stone and threw it into the lake. I watched thecircling ripples round the place at which it had sunk. I wonderedif a practiced swimmer like myself had ever tried to commitsuicide by drowning, and had been so resolute to die that he hadresisted the temptation to let his own skill keep him fromsinking. Something in the lake itself, or something in connectionwith the thought that it had put into my mind, revolted me. Iturned my back suddenly on the lonely view, and took the paththrough the wood which led to the bailiff's cottage.

Opening the door with my key, I groped my way into thewell-remembered parlor; and, unbarring the window-shutters, I letin the light of the moon.

With a heavy heart I looked round me. The old furniture--renewed,perhaps, in one or two places--asserted its mute claim to myrecognition in every part of the room. The tender moonlightstreamed slanting into the corner in which Mary and I used tonestle together while Dame Dermody was at the window reading hermystic books. Overshadowed by the obscurity in the oppositecorner, I discovered the high-backed arm-chair of carved wood inwhich the Sibyl of the cottage sat on the memorable day when shewarned us of our coming separation, and gave us her blessing forthe last time. Looking next round the walls of the room, Irecognized old friends wherever my eyes happened to rest--thegaudily colored prints; the framed pictures in fine needle-work,which we thought wonderful efforts of art; the old circularmirror to which I used to lift Mary when she wanted "to see herface in the glass." Whenever the moonlight penetrated there, itshowed me some familiar object that recalled my happiest days.Again the by-gone time looked back in mockery. Again the voicesof the past came to me with their burden of reproach: See whatyour life was once! Is your life worth living now?

I sat down at the window, where I could just discover, here andthere between the trees, the glimmer of the waters of the lake. Ithought 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? Ofall living men, I had perhaps the smallest number of friends, thefewest duties to perform toward others, the least reason tohesitate at leaving a world which had no place in it for myambition, no creature in it for my love.

Besides, what necessity was there for letting it be known that mydeath was a death of my own seeking? It could easily be left torepresent 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 wentto bed? And, practiced as I was in the exercise of swimming,might it not nevertheless be my misfortune to be attacked bycramp? On the lonely shores of Greenwater Broad the cry of adrowning man would bring no help at night. The fatal accidentwould explain itself. There was literally but one difficulty inthe way--the difficulty which had already occurred to my mind.Could I sufficiently master the animal instinct ofself-preservation to deliberately let myself sink at the firstplunge?

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

Of the moral objections to suicide, not one had any influenceover 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 withcomposure the very act which had horrified me when I saw itcommitted by another person. Well may we hesitate to condemn thefrailties of our fellow-creatures, for the one unanswerablereason that we can never feel sure how soon similar temptationsmay not lead us to be guilty of the same frailties ourselves.Looking back at the events of the night, I can recall but oneconsideration that stayed my feet on the fatal path which ledback to the lake. I still doubted whether it would be possiblefor such a swimmer as I was to drown himself. This was all thattroubled my mind. For the rest, my will was made, and I had fewother affairs which remained unsettled. No lingering hope wasleft in me of a reunion in the future with Mrs. Van Brandt. Shehad never written tome again; I had never, since our last parting, seen her again inmy dreams. She was doubtless reconciled to her life abroad. Iforgave her for having forgotten me. My thoughts of her and ofothers were the forbearing thoughts of a man whose mind waswithdrawn already from the world, whose views were narrowing fastto the one idea of his own death.

I grew weary of walking up and down. The loneliness of the placebegan to oppress me. The sense of my own indecision irritated mynerves. After a long look at the lake through the trees, I cameto a positive conclusion at last. I determined to try if a goodswimmer could drown himself.