It was my little horse, which had made that place its lair—­my little horse, my only companion and friend, in that now awful solitude.  I reached the mouth of the dingle; the sun was just sinking in the far west, behind me; the fields were flooded with his last gleams.  How beautiful everything looked in the last gleams of the sun!  I felt relieved for a moment; I was no longer in the horrid dingle; in another minute the sun was gone, and a big cloud occupied the place where he had been; in a little time it was almost as dark as it had previously been in the open part of the dingle.  My horror increased; what was I to do!—­it was of no use fighting against the horror—­that I saw; the more I fought against it, the stronger it became.  What should I do? say my prayers?  Ah! why not?  So I knelt down under the hedge, and said, “Our Father”; but that was of no use; and now I could no longer repress cries; the horror was too great to be borne.  What should I do:  run to the nearest town or village, and request the assistance of my fellow-men?  No! that I was ashamed to do; notwithstanding the horror was upon me, I was ashamed to do that.  I knew they would consider me a maniac if I went screaming amongst them; and I did not wish to be considered a maniac.  Moreover, I knew that I was not a maniac for I possessed all my reasoning powers, only the horror was upon me—­the screaming horror!  But how were indifferent people to distinguish between madness and this screaming horror?  So I thought and reasoned; and at last I determined not to go amongst my fellow-men, whatever the result might be.  I went to the mouth of the dingle, and there, placing myself on my knees, I again said the Lord’s Prayer; but it was of no use; praying seemed to have no effect over the horror; the unutterable fear appeared rather to increase than diminish; and I again uttered wild cries, so loud that I was apprehensive they would be heard by some chance passenger on the neighbouring road; I, therefore, went deeper into the dingle; I sat down with my back against a thorn bush; the thorns entered my flesh; and when I felt them, I pressed harder against the bush; I thought the pain of the flesh might in some degree counteract the mental agony; presently I felt them no longer; the power of the mental horror was so great that it was impossible, with that upon me, to feel any pain from the thorns.  I continued in this posture a long time, undergoing what I cannot describe, and would not attempt if I were able.  Several times I was on the point of starting up and rushing anywhere; but I restrained myself, for I knew I could not escape from myself, so why should I not remain in the dingle?  So I thought and said to myself, for my reasoning powers were still uninjured.  At last it appeared to me that the horror was not so strong, not quite so strong upon me.  Was it possible that it was relaxing its grasp, releasing its prey?  O what a mercy! but it could not be—­and yet I looked up to heaven, and clasped my hands, and said, “Our Father.”  I said no more; I was too agitated; and now I was almost sure that the horror had done its worst.