On the preceding evening, he had hurried through his “chores,” excused himself from giving an account of the adventures of the day on the ground of fatigue, and retired to his room to cherish in his heart the memories of that beautiful face and the prospects of the future.  He could not sleep.  For hours he tossed on his bed or sat in the window looking out into the night, and when at last he fell into an uneasy slumber his dreams were haunted by two faces which struggled ceaselessly to crowd each other from his mind.  One was the young and passionate countenance of the gypsy, and the other was that of his beautiful mother with her pale, carven features, her snow-white hair, her pensive and unearthly expression.  They both looked at him, and then gazed at each other.  Now one set below the horizon like a wan, white moon, and the other rose above it like the glowing star of love.  Now the moon passed over the glowing star in a long eclipse and then disappearing behind a cloud left the brilliant star to shine alone.

When he awoke the gray dawn revealed in vague outline the realities of the world, and warned him that he had but a few moments to execute his plans.  He sprang from his couch strong in his purpose to depart, for the fever of adventure was still burning in his veins, and the rapturous looks with which Pepeeta had received his promise to be her companion still made his pulses bound.  He hurriedly put a few things into a bundle and stole out of the house.

As he moved quietly but swiftly away from the familiar scenes, his heart which had been beating so high from hope and excitement began to sink in his bosom.  He had never dreamed of the force of his attachment to this dear place, and he turned his face toward the old gray house again and again.  Every step away from it seemed more difficult than the last, and his feet became heavy as lead.  But he pressed on, ashamed to acknowledge his inability to execute his purpose.  He came to the last fence which lay between him and the bridge where he had agreed to await the adventurers, and then paused.

He was early.  There was still time to reflect.  Had the carriage arrived at that moment he would have gone; but it tarried, and the tide of love and regret bore him back to the old familiar life.  “I cannot go.  I cannot give it up,” he murmured to himself.

Torn by conflicting emotions, inclining to first one course and then another, he finally turned his face away from the bridge and fled, impelled by weakness rather than desire.  He did not once look back, but ran at the top of his speed straight to the old barn and hid himself from sight.  There, breathless and miserable, he watched.  He had not long to wait.  The dazzling “turn-out” dashed into view.  On the high seat he beheld Pepeeta, saw the eager glance she cast at the farm house, followed her until they arrived at the bridge, beheld her disappointment, raved at his own weakness, rushed to the door, halted, returned, rushed back again, returned, threw himself upon the sweet smelling hay, cursed his weakness and indecision and finally surrendered himself to misery.