第67部分(第1/7 页)

Renewing　then　my　courage；　and　gathering　my　feeble　remains　of　strength；　I　pushed　on。　I　reached　the　house；　and　knocked　at　the　kitchen…door。　An　old　woman　opened：　I　asked　was　this　the　parsonage？

“Yes。”

“Was　the　clergyman　in？”

“No。”

“Would　he　be　in　soon？”

“No；　he　was　gone　from　home。”

“To　a　distance？”

“Not　so　far—happen　three　mile。　He　had　been　called　away　by　the　sudden　death　of　his　father：　he　was　at　Marsh　End　now；　and　would　very　likely　stay　there　a　fortnight　longer。”

“Was　there　any　lady　of　the　house？”

“Nay；　there　was　naught　but　her；　and　she　was　housekeeper；”　and　of　her；　reader；　I　could　not　bear　to　ask　the　relief　for　want　of　which　I　was　sinking；　I　could　not　yet　beg；　and　again　I　crawled　away。

Once　more　I　took　off　my　handkerchief—once　more　I　thought　of　the　cakes　of　bread　in　the　little　shop。　Oh；　for　but　a　crust！　for　but　one　mouthful　to　allay　the　pang　of　famine！　Instinctively　I　turned　my　face　again　to　the　village；　I　found　the　shop　again；　and　I　went　in；　and　though　others　were　there　besides　the　woman　I　ventured　the　request—“Would　she　give　me　a　roll　for　this　handkerchief？”

She　looked　at　me　with　evident　suspicion：　“Nay；　she　never　sold　stuff　i’　that　way。”

Almost　desperate；　I　asked　for　half　a　cake；　she　again　refused。　“How　could　she　tell　where　I　had　got　the　handkerchief？”　she　said。

“Would　she　take　my　gloves？”

“No！　what　could　she　do　with　them？”

Reader；　it　is　not　pleasant　to　dwell　on　these　details。　Some　say　there　is　enjoyment　in　looking　back　to　painful　experience　past；　but　at　this　day　I　can　scarcely　bear　to　review　the　times　to　which　I　allude：　the　moral　degradation；　blent　with　the　physical　suffering；　form　too　distressing　a　recollection　ever　to　be　willingly　dwelt　on。　I　blamed　none　of