I raised her hand to my lip, and she, thinking I was going, said quickly:—­

“There is still time, they have only rung the second bell!”

But I really wished to leave.  Oh, those wretched nerves of mine!  Clara’s companion wore a stiff mackintosh which rustled at her every motion; and that rustle, or rather swish of the india-rubber, set my very teeth on edge.  Besides, we had only a few minutes left.  I stepped aside to make place for Pani Sniatynska, who came rushing up.

“Hilst, Frankfurt,” Clara called out after me; “at home they will forward my letters wherever I go!”

Presently I found myself on the platform under the window of her carriage, among all those who had come to see her off.  Their farewells and good-bys mingled with the labored breathing of the locomotive and the shouts of the railway men.  The window of the carriage was lowered, and I saw the friendly, honest face once more.

“Where are you going to spend the summer?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I will write to you,” I replied.

The panting of the locomotive grew quick, then came the last shrill whistle, and the train began to move.  We gave Clara a loud cheer, she waved her hands to us, and then disappeared in the distance and the dusk.

“You will feel very lonely,” said suddenly close to me Pani Sniatynska’s voice.

“Yes, very,” I said, and lifting my hat to her, I went home.  And truly I had the feeling as if somebody had left, who in case of need would have given me a helping hand.  I felt very despondent.  Possibly the gloomy evening, the mist and drizzling rain, in the midst of which the street lamps looked like miniature rainbow arches, had something to do with it.  The last spark of hope seemed to have died out.  There was darkness not only within me, but it seemed to encompass the whole world, and weigh upon it as the atmosphere weighs upon us and permeates all nature.

I carried home with me a heaviness of feeling and great restlessness and a fear as if something unknown was threatening me.  There woke up within me a sudden longing for the sun and brighter skies, for countries where there is no mist, no rain, and no darkness.  It seemed to me that if I went where there was sun and brightness, it would shield me from some unknown danger.

Oh, to go away!  The entire capacity of my thoughts was filled with that eager desire.  Then suddenly another fear clutched at my heart:  if I went away, Aniela would be exposed to that same impalpable danger from which I wanted to fly.  I knew it was only a delusion of my brain, and that really my departure would be the best thing for her.  Yet I could not get rid of the sensation that to desert her would be cowardice and meanness.  All my reasoning cannot get over this.  Besides, the going away is only an empty word; I may say it to myself a hundred times, but if I were to try to change it into fact I should find it altogether beyond my power.  I have put so much of my life in that one feeling that it would be easier to cut me into pieces than to part me from it.