She
looked towards Mittwalden; and above the hill-top, which already hid
it from her view, a throbbing redness hinted of fire. Better so:
better so, that she should fall with tragic greatness, lit by a
blazing palace! She felt not a trace of pity for Gondremark or of
concern for Grunewald: that period of her life was closed for ever,
a wrench of wounded vanity alone surviving. She had but one clear
idea: to flee; - and another, obscure and half-rejected, although
still obeyed: to flee in the direction of the Felsenburg. She had a
duty to perform, she must free Otto - so her mind said, very coldly;
but her heart embraced the notion of that duty even with ardour, and
her hands began to yearn for the grasp of kindness.
She rose, with a start of recollection, and plunged down the slope
into the covert. The woods received and closed upon her. Once
more, she wandered and hasted in a blot, uncheered, unpiloted. Here
and there, indeed, through rents in the wood-roof, a glimmer
attracted her; here and there a tree stood out among its neighbours
by some force of outline; here and there a brushing among the
leaves, a notable blackness, a dim shine, relieved, only to
exaggerate, the solid oppression of the night and silence. And
betweenwhiles, the unfeatured darkness would redouble and the whole
ear of night appear to be gloating on her steps. Now she would
stand still, and the silence, would grow and grow, till it weighed
upon her breathing; and then she would address herself again to run,
stumbling, falling, and still hurrying the more.
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