I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her child, and she was better dead. What shall I do? What can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful thing of night, gloom, and fear?

25 June.- No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When the sun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of the great gateway opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed to me as if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me as if it had been a vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth.

I must take action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is upon me. Last night one of my post-dated letters was sent, the first of that fatal series which is to blot out the very traces of my existence from the earth.

Let me not think of it. Action!