There, step by step, leaning heavily on the rails, he essays to walk as a child.

The sockets of his joints yield beneath him, the limbs are loose, the ankle twists aside; each step is an enterprise, and to gain a yard a task.

Thus day by day the convalescent strives to accustom the sinews to their work.

It is a painful spectacle; how different, how strangely altered, from the upright frame and the swift stride that struggled through the miry lane, perhaps even then bearing the seeds of disease imbibed in some foul village den, where duty called him! His wan, white face seems featureless; there is nothing but a pair of deep-set eyes.

But as you pass, and momentarily catch their glance, they are bright and burning still with living faith..