Gabriel's energies, patience, and industry had been so severely taxed during the years of his life between eighteen and eight-and-twenty, to reach his present stage of progress that no more seemed to be left in him.

He leant down upon a rail, and covered his face with his hands.
Stupors, however, do not last for ever, and Farmer Oak recovered from his.

It was as remarkable as it was characteristic that the one sentence he uttered was in thankfulness:-- "Thank God I am not married: what would SHE have done in the poverty now coming upon me!" Oak raised his head, and wondering what he could do, listlessly surveyed the scene.

By the outer margin of the Pit was an oval pond, and over it hung the attenuated skeleton of a chrome-yellow moon which had only a few days to last--the morning star dogging her on the left hand.

The pool glittered like a dead man's eye, and as the world awoke a breeze blew, shaking and elongating the reflection of the moon without breaking it, and turning the image of the star to a phosphoric streak upon the water.