"But what, then," said he, "do you expect me to do for you?"
"Nothing," I replied. My strength sufficed for but short answers.
Diana took the word "Do you mean," she asked, "that we have now given you what aid you
require? and that we may dismiss you to the moor and the rainy
night?"
I looked at her. She had, I thought, a remarkable countenance,
instinct both with power and goodness. I took sudden courage.
Answering her compassionate gate with a smile, I said--"I will trust
you. If I were a masterless and stray dog, I know that you would
not turn me from your hearth to-night: as it is, I really have no
fear. Do with me and for me as you like; but excuse me from much
discourse--my breath is short--I feel a spasm when I speak." All
three surveyed me, and all three were silent.
"Hannah," said Mr. St. John, at last, "let her sit there at present,
and ask her no questions; in ten minutes more, give her the
remainder of that milk and bread. Mary and Diana, let us go into
the parlour and talk the matter over."
They withdrew. Very soon one of the ladies returned--I could not
tell which. A kind of pleasant stupor was stealing over me as I sat
by the genial fire. In an undertone she gave some directions to
Hannah. Ere long, with the servant's aid, I contrived to mount a
staircase; my dripping clothes were removed; soon a warm, dry bed
received me. I thanked God--experienced amidst unutterable
exhaustion a glow of grateful joy--and slept.