too probably,
he had been creeping round a belt. Oh, precious thought of change! for
within three hours there was light a-head, light beneath the tangled
underwood: he struggled through the last cluster of thick bushes,
longing for a sight of fertile plain, and open country. Who knows? are
there not men dwelling there with flocks and herds, and food and plenty?
Yes--yes, and Dillaway will do among them yet. You envious boughs, delay
me not! He tore aside the last that hid his view, and found that he was
standing on the edge of an ocean of sand--hot yellow sand to the
horizon!

He fainted--he had like to have died; but as for prayer--he only
muttered curses on this bitter, famishing disappointment. He dared not
strike into the wood again--he dared not advance upon that yellow sea
exhausted and unprovisioned: it was his wisdom to skirt the wood; and so
he trampled along weakly--weakly. This liberty to starve is horrible!

Is it, John Dillaway? What, have you no compunctions at that word
starve? no bitter, dreadful recollections? Remember poor Maria, that own
most loving sister, wanting bread through you. Remember Henry Clements,
and their pining babe; remember your own sensual feastings and
fraudulent exultation, and how you would utterly have starved the good,
the kind, the honest! This same bitter cup is filled for your own lips,
and you must drink it to the dregs. Have you no compunctions, man?
nothing tapping at your heart? for you must _starve_!

No! not yet--not yet! for chance (what Dillaway lyingly called
chance)--in his moments of remorse at these reflections, when God had
hoped him penitent at last, and, if he still continued so, might save
him--sent help in the desert! For, as he reelingly trampled along on the
rank herbage between this forest and that sea of sand, just as he was
dying of exhaustion, his faint foot trod upon a store of life and
health! It was an Emeu's ill-protected nest; and he crushed, where he
had trodden, one of those invigorating eggs. Oh, joy--joy--no
thanks--but sensual joy! There were three of them, and each one meat for
a day; ash-coloured without, but the within--the within--full of sweet
and precious yolk! Oh, rich feast, luscious and refreshing: cheer
up--cheer up: keep one to cross the desert with: ay--ay, luck will come
at last to clever Jack! how shrewd it was of me to find those eggs!

Thus do the wicked forget thee, blessed God! thou hast watched this bad
man day by day, a