"I do not know; perhaps I shall never come back. Do what you please with
my things. I cannot stay here!"

He rose from his seat.

"People say, forget, forget!" he cried, pacing the room. They are mad!
they are fools! Do they say so to men who are dying of thirst--forget,
forget? Why is it only to us they say so! It is a lie to say that time
makes it easy; it is afterward, afterward that it eats in at your heart!

"All these months," he cried bitterly, "I have lived here quietly, day
after day, as if I cared for what I ate, and what I drank, and what I did!
I care for nothing! I cannot bear it! I will not! Forget! forget!"
ejaculated Gregory. "You can forget all the world, but you cannot forget
yourself. When one thing is more to you than yourself, how are you to
forget it?

"I read," he said--"yes; and then I come to a word she used, and it is all
back with me again! I go to count my sheep, and I see her face before me,
and I stand and let the sheep run by. I look at you, and in your smile, a
something at the corner of your lips, I see her. How can I forget her
when, whenever I turn, she is there, and not there? I cannot, I will not,
live where I do not see her.

"I know what you think," he said, turning upon her. "You think I am mad;
you think I am going to see whether she will not like me! I am not so
foolish. I should have known at first she never could suffer me. Who am
I, what am I, that she should look at me? It was right that she left me;
right that she should not look at me. If any one says it is not, it is a
lie! I am not going to speak to her," he added--"only to see her; only to