The hour of departure arrived; the inexorable hour which was to
separate me from my wife on my wedding evening. Shall I confess what I
felt, on the first performance of my ill-considered promise to Mr.
Sherwin? No: I kept this a secret from Margaret; I will keep it a
secret here.

I took leave of her as hurriedly and abruptly as possible--I could not
trust myself to quit her in any other way. She had contrived to slip
aside into the darkest part of the room, so that I only saw her face
dimly at parting.

I went home at once. When I lay down to sleep--then the ordeal which I
had been unconsciously preparing for myself throughout the day, began
to try me. Every nerve in my body, strung up to the extremest point of
tension since the morning, now at last gave way. I felt my limbs
quivering, till the bed shook under me. I was possessed by a gloom and
horror, caused by no thought, and producing no thought: the thinking
faculty seemed paralysed within me, altogether. The physical and
mental reaction, after the fever and agitation of the day, was so
sudden and severe, that the faintest noise from the street now
terrified--yes, literally terrified me. The whistling of the
wind--which had risen since sunset--made me start up in bed, with my
heart throbbing, and my blood all chill. When no sounds were audible,
then I listened for them to come--listened breathlessly, without
daring to move. At last, the agony of nervous prostration grew more
than I could bear--grew worse even than the child's horror of walking
in the darkness, and sleeping alone on the bed-room floor, which had
overcome me, almost from the first moment when I laid down. I groped
my way to the table and lit the candle again; then wrapped my
dressing-gown round me, and sat shuddering near the light, to watch