CHAPTER XXVIII 422
" 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