The Unbridled Madness

The night did not promise to be a good one. The clouds were scudding
wildly from east to west. The air was moist and chill. There was
no light from moon or stars, and I strode with difficulty, though
still rapidly, through the unpaved streets. I was singularly and
painfully excited by the conversation with Kingsley. My own experience
before, had prepared me to become so, with the slightest additional
provocation. Facts were rapidly accumulating to confirm my fears,
and lessen my doubts. That dark, meaning letter of Mrs. Delaney!
The adventure in the streamlet.--The scream--the look--the secrecy!
What a history seemed to be compressed in these few topics.

I hurried forward--I was now among the trees. I had almost to grope
my way, it was so dark. I was helped forward by some governing
instincts. My fiend was busy all the while. I fancied, now, that
there was something exulting in his tone. But he drove me forward
without forbearance. I felt that these clouds in the sky--this gloom
and excitement in my heart--were not for nothing. Every gust of
wind brought to me some whisper of fear; and there seemed a constant
murmur among the trees--one burden--whose incessant utterance was
only shame and wo. How completely the agony of one's spirit sheds
its tone of horror upon the surrounding world. How the flowers wither
as our hearts wither--how sickly grows sunlight and moonlight, in
our despair--how lonely and utter sad is the breath of winds, when
our bosoms are about to be laid bare of hope and sustenance by the
brooding tempest of our sorrows.