desolate and breaking her heart! But it is ended--the abhorrent
restraint, the anxiety, the breedings over a thousand possible and
impossible schemes of revenge. If it is any consolation to know that
in breaking her heart he, at the same time, broke his own, and made
haste to join her in that silent place, I have it. Ah no! it is no
comfort to me, since I cannot but reflect that before he shattered my
life I had shattered his by taking her from him, who was his idol. We
are quits then, and I can even say, "Peace to his ashes!" But I could
not say it then in my frenzy and grief, nor could it be said in that
fatal country which I had inhabited from boyhood and had learned to
love like my own, and had hoped never to leave. It was grown hateful
to me, and, flying from it, I found myself once more in that Purple
Land where we had formerly taken refuge together, and which now seemed
to my distracted mind a place of pleasant and peaceful memories.

During the months of quietude after the storm, mostly spent in lonely
rambles by the shore, these memories were more and more with me.
Sometimes sitting on the summit of that great solitary hill, which
gives the town its name, I would gaze by the hour on the wide prospect
towards the interior, as if I could see, and never weary of seeing,
all that lay beyond--plains and rivers and woods and hills, and cabins
where I had rested, and many a kindly human face. Even the faces of
those who had ill-treated or regarded me with evil eyes now appeared
to have a friendly look. Most of all did I think of that dear river,
the unforgettable Yi, the shaded white house at the end of the little
town, and the sad and beautiful image of one whom I, alas! had made
unhappy.

So much was I occupied towards the end of that vacant period with these
recollections that I remembered how, before quitting these shores, the