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.