Wild beyond the imagination of the happy are the thoughts bred by
misery and despair.

At length we reached the overhanging beach; a cottage stood beside the
path; we knocked at the door and it was opened: the bed within
instantly caught my eye; something stiff and straight lay on it,
covered by a sheet; the cottagers looked aghast. The first words that
they uttered confirmed what I before knew. I did not feel shocked or
overcome: I believe that I asked one or two questions and listened to
the answers. I har[d]ly know, but in a few moments I sank lifeless to
the ground; and so would that then all had been at an end!




CHAPTER VIII


I was carried to the next town: fever succeeded to convulsions and
faintings, & for some weeks my unhappy spirit hovered on the very
verge of death. But life was yet strong within me; I recovered: nor
did it a little aid my returning health that my recollections were at
first vague, and that I was too weak to feel any violent emotion. I
often said to myself, my father is dead. He loved me with a guilty
passion, and stung by remorse and despair he killed himself. Why is it
that I feel no horror? Are these circumstances not dreadful? Is it not
enough that I shall never more meet the eyes of my beloved father;
never more hear his voice; no caress, no look? All cold, and stiff,
and dead! Alas! I am quite callous: the night I was out in was fearful
and the cold rain that fell about my heart has acted like the waters