The common impulse to cast himself down the precipices along whose margin he crept had only to be yielded to, and all his earthly woe would be over.

Even to give way to the weary drowsiness that overtook him at times as the sun went down, and the night fell upon him far away from shelter, might have soothed him into the slumber from which there is no awaking.

But he dared not.

He was willing enough to die, if dying had been all.

But he believed in the punishment of sin here, or hereafter; in the dealing out of a righteous judgment to every man, whether he be good or evil.
As the autumn passed by, and the mountain chalets were shut up, the cattle and the herdsmen descending to the lower pastures, Roland Sefton was compelled to descend too.