, equal to fully
an hour in time. The thought inspired him anew, and gave him further
strength. With such divine encouragement, he could falter and hesitate
no more.

Morning began to break dully over the sullen clouds as he resumed in
earnest his weary journey. Each yard of ground passed was now a battle
gained--every breath drawn a sobbing groan. Hills and dales rose
successively before him, clothed in the dead-white snow that had become
a nightmare to his darkening sight. He reeled sometimes as he walked,
dizzy from lack of sleep; a thousand fantastic fancies flitted through
his hot brain; a deadly lethargy began once more to creep over his
senses, but he gnawed the flesh of his lips to keep back consciousness.
And still, when will grew powerless, he felt the mysterious strain upon
his heart.

Only ten miles more! But they seemed by far the longer part of the whole
way. He was now within the range of his walks while living at the
boarding-house, and could see in his mind every slope and ascent, every
curve and angle, that lay between him and the Parsonage-door; and he
felt the weight of every hill upon his shoulders. At the risk of
falling, he stooped, snatched a handful of snow, and put it inside his
cap, so that it lay, cold and refreshing, upon his brain. Then he took a
handful in either hand, and so kept on.

The minutes grew into hours; the hours seemed to become days; but there,
at last, the well-known village lay! How reposeful and unconcerned the
houses looked, as if there were no such thing in the world as effort,
despair, or victory! As he came near, Bressant tried to nerve himself,
to walk erect and steady, to clear and concentrate his swimming sight
and confused head. He dreaded to meet the village-people, to have them
come staring and questioning about him, whispering and laughing among
themselves, and asking one another what was the matter with the man who
was engaged to the minister's daughter on this his wedding-morning.
Just then he felt a gentle pulling at his heart!

Presently he was in the village. There was a disjointed vision of faces,
some of which he knew, floating around him. Once in a while he caught
the sound of a voice through the humming in his ears. Were they offering
him assistance? warning him? calling to him? He knew not, nor cared. He
passed on, feebly but desperately. He saw the clock on the
church-steeple mark half-past eleven; still in time, thank God! but no
time to lose.