"I must; the rain is driving in--"

"Tell the young ladies. Let me see them- "

"Indeed, I will not. You are not what you ought to be, or you

wouldn't make such a noise. Move off."

"But I must die if I am turned away."

"Not you. I'm fear'd you have some ill plans agate, that bring you

about folk's houses at this time o' night. If you've any followers-

-housebreakers or such like--anywhere near, you may tell them we are

not by ourselves in the house; we have a gentleman, and dogs, and

guns." Here the honest but inflexible servant clapped the door to

and bolted it within.

This was the climax. A pang of exquisite suffering--a throe of true

despair--rent and heaved my heart. Worn out, indeed, I was; not

another step could I stir. I sank on the wet doorstep: I groaned--

I wrung my hands--I wept in utter anguish. Oh, this spectre of

death! Oh, this last hour, approaching in such horror! Alas, this

isolation--this banishment from my kind! Not only the anchor of

hope, but the footing of fortitude was gone--at least for a moment;

but the last I soon endeavoured to regain.

"I can but die," I said, "and I believe in God. Let me try to wait

His will in silence."

These words I not only thought, but uttered; and thrusting back all

my misery into my heart, I made an effort to compel it to remain

there--dumb and still.

"All men must die," said a voice quite close at hand; "but all are

not condemned to meet a lingering and premature doom, such as yours

would be if you perished here of want."

"Who or what speaks?" I asked, terrified at the unexpected sound,

and incapable now of deriving from any occurrence a hope of aid. A

form was near--what form, the pitch-dark night and my enfeebled

vision prevented me from distinguishing. With a loud long knock,

the new-comer appealed to the door.

"Is it you, Mr. St. John?" cried Hannah.

"Yes--yes; open quickly."

"Well, how wet and cold you must be, such a wild night as it is!

Come in--your sisters are quite uneasy about you, and I believe

there are bad folks about. There has been a beggar-woman--I declare

she is not gone yet!--laid down there. Get up! for shame! Move

off, I say!"

"Hush, Hannah! I have a word to say to the woman. You have done

your duty in excluding, now let me do mine in admitting her. I was

near, and listened to both you and her. I think this is a peculiar

case--I must at least examine into it. Young woman, rise, and pass

before me into the house."




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