On Leaving The River Bank I Had Borne To The Left,
So As To Be Sure To Strike Either The Clearing Or The Road, And Not
Wander Off Into The Measureless Forest.
I confidently pursued this
course, and went gayly on by the left flank.
That I did not come to
any opening or path only showed that I had slightly mistaken the
distance: I was going in the right direction.
I was so certain of this that I quickened my pace and got up with
alacrity every time I tumbled down amid the slippery leaves and
catching roots, and hurried on. And I kept to the left. It even
occurred to me that I was turning to the left so much that I might
come back to the river again. It grew more dusky, and rained more
violently; but there was nothing alarming in the situation, since I
knew exactly where I was. It was a little mortifying that I had
miscalculated the distance: yet, so far was I from feeling any
uneasiness about this that I quickened my pace again, and, before I
knew it, was in a full run; that is, as full a run as a person can
indulge in in the dusk, with so many trees in the way. No
nervousness, but simply a reasonable desire to get there. I desired
to look upon myself as the person "not lost, but gone before." As
time passed, and darkness fell, and no clearing or road appeared, I
ran a little faster.
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