As he left the dirty waiting-room, and the invisible man with the
lantern, the clock over the door marked five minutes past eight.
Although it was more than twelve hours since he had eaten food, he was
not (owing to having passed so much of the day in sleep) so hungry as he
might have been. Nevertheless, appreciating what a task was before him,
he would have given any thing that he could call his own for a good meal
before starting. But he had handed over his last cent to the conductor,
and now, time pressed him.
He was young and strong, and no one was more tireless in walking than
he; his joints were firm as iron, yet supple and springy; his muscles
tough and lean, of immense enduring power; his lungs were deep, and he
breathed easily through his nostrils; his gait was long and elastic;
but, had he been twice the man he was, the journey upon which he was now
started would have been no child's play; being what he was, it was
nothing less than a hazard of life and death. But Bressant seemed to
think the peril quite worth encountering, in consideration of the chance
of arriving by noon next day at the Parsonage-door; and, for the first
time in his life, he felt grateful to God for the mighty bones and
sinews he had given him.
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