and I wish no eye to see me now: strangers would wonder what I am doing, lingering here at the sign-post,
evidently objectless and lost. I might be questioned: I could give no answer but what would sound incredible
and excite suspicion. Not a tie holds me to human society at this moment -- not a charm or hope calls me
where my fellow-creatures are -- none that saw me would have a kind thought or a good wish for me. I have
no relative but the universal mother, Nature: I will seek her breast and ask repose.
I struck straight into the heath; I held on to a hollow I saw deeply furrowing the brown moorside; I waded
knee-deep in its dark growth; I turned with its turnings, and finding a moss-blackened granite crag in a hidden
angle, I sat down under it. High banks of moor were about me; the crag protected my head: the sky was over
that.
Some time passed before I felt tranquil even here: I had a vague dread that wild cattle might be near, or that
some sportsman or poacher might discover me. If a gust of wind swept the waste, I looked up, fearing it was
the rush of a bull; if a plover whistled, I imagined it a man. Finding my apprehensions unfounded, however,
and calmed by the deep silence that reigned as evening declined at nightfall, I took confidence. As yet I had
not thought; I had only listened, watched, dreaded; now I regained the faculty of reflection.
What was I to do? Where to go? Oh, intolerable questions, when I could do nothing and go nowhere! -- when
a long way must yet be measured by my weary, trembling limbs before I could reach human habitation --
when cold charity must be entreated before I could get a lodging: reluctant sympathy importuned, almost
certain repulse incurred, before my tale could be listened to, or one of my wants relieved!
I touched the heath, it was dry, and yet warm with the beat of the summer day. I looked at the sky; it was pure:
a kindly star twinkled just above the chasm ridge. The dew fell, but with propitious softness; no breeze
whispered. Nature seemed to me benign and good; I thought she loved me, outcast as I was; and I, who from
man could anticipate only mistrust, rejection, insult, clung to her with filial fondness. To-night, at least, I
would be her guest, as I was her child: my mother would lodge me without money and without price. I had
one morsel of bread yet: the remnant of a roll I had bought in a town we passed through at noon with a stray
penny -- my last coin. I saw ripe bilberries gleaming here and there, like jet beads in the heath: I gathered a
handful and ate them with the bread. My hunger, sharp before, was, if not satisfied, appeased by this hermit's
meal. I said my evening prayers at its conclusion, and then chose my couch.
Beside the crag the heath was very deep: when I lay down my feet were buried in it; rising high on each side,
it left only a narrow space for the night-air to invade. I folded my shawl double, and spread it over me for a
coverlet; a low, mossy swell was my pillow. Thus lodged, I was not, at least -- at the commencement of the
night, cold.
