Bressant

How dark, and cold, and blankly disheartening it was! He had now

completed fifty miles, though he knew it not; but it seemed to him as if

he had been full a hundred. His feet, rubbed raw, and stiffened by the

cold, were beginning to retard his pace alarmingly. His face and lips

were pale; a sensation of emptiness and chilled vitality pervaded his

body. It had come down to grim hard work; every step was a conscious

effort; and yet he had no time to spare.

The storm had lightened considerably, but the young man's eyes were dull

and heavy; it was a constant struggle to keep awake. He scarcely

attended to the road, but plunged along, careless of where he trod.

Suddenly, however, and for the first time since starting, he came to a

dead halt, and, after gazing about him a moment, cried out in dismay.

And well he might, for he stood in a field, with no sign anywhere of

road or path! In his sleepy inattention, he had lost his way and

wandered he knew not whither.

At first he was too much paralyzed by this discovery to think or act. He

threw himself face downward on the snow, and lay like a log. God was

against him! How could he go on? Ah, how sweet felt that cold bed! Let

him lie there in peace, to move no more! Surely he had done his best;

who could blame him for a failure beyond his power to avert? The

darkness would pass over him, and leave him stretched there motionless;

the first light of morning would mark the dark outlines of his prostrate

figure, and he would not turn to greet it. Daylight would succeed, the

sun would climb the sky and shine down upon him warmly; but he would be

insensible as to the darkness or the cold. Twilight would settle over

the field again, and night, following, would find him as she had left

him, prone upon his face, with outstretched arms. For he would be

dead--dead--dead--and at rest!

But the end had not yet come. Ere he had quite sunk into insensibility,

he was conscious of a feeling within him, as if some one were

pulling--pulling at his heart, with a force benign and loving, yet

strong as death itself. He staggered to his feet, and, stumbling as he

walked, set his face against the cold and cheerless sky once more. The

pulling at his heart-strings seemed to draw him steadily in one certain

direction; he traversed acres of field and pasture-land blind and

insensible to every thing save this mysterious guide. In his weak and

exhausted state his spiritual perceptions were doubtless less incumbered

than when he was in full possession of his strength. So he was drawn

undeviatingly on and on, until, unexpectedly, he found himself in a road

again. Then he recognized that it was Sophie's spirit which had rescued

him from death and failure. He had unconsciously made the short cut

across the fields, which he had noticed and decided not to attempt when

examining the map. He had saved five miles in distance, equal to fully

an hour in time. The thought inspired him anew, and gave him further

strength. With such divine encouragement, he could falter and hesitate

no more.