Saturday morning, four o'clock
-- Since I wrote yesterday in these pages the narrative of our escape , I have done nothing but think over those moments , too dangerous because too dear ; but at last I have steeled my heart -- I have yielded to my own weakness too long -- I shudder at the abyss from which I have escaped . I can yet fly . He will come here to-day -- he shall receive my farewell . Saturday morning , four o'clock . -- I have sat in this room alone since eleven o'clock . I can not give vent to my feelings ; they seem as if crushed by some load from which it is impossible to rise . `` He is gone , and for ever ! ''