The rill which ran brawling loud through the village, swollen by the late rains, at length forced on his perception that he was fearfully thirsty, and that his throat was parched and dry.
"This is the way men feel in hell, I think," said he.

"Lord! let me get a drink while I can.

The rich man old Jack reads about couldn't get one for all his money." He walked up to a stone horse-trough, a little off the road.

He stooped to drink, and started back with an oath.

What pale, wild, ghastly face was that, looking at him out of the cool calm water?
Not his own, surely?
He closed his eyes, and, having drunk deep, walked on refreshed.