cry of terror, with his tongue cleaving to his mouth, he rushed madly

forward. Armed with supernatural strength, he waded through the

sand, until, exhausted with fatigue and thirst, he fell senseless on the

earth. What fragrant coolness revived him; what gushing sound was

that? Water! It was indeed a well; and the clear fresh stream was

running at his feet. He drank deeply of it, and throwing his aching

limbs upon the bank, sank into a delicious trance. The sound of

approaching footsteps roused him. An old gray-headed man tottered

forward to slake his burning thirst. It was HE again! Fe wound his

arms round the old man's body, and held him back. He struggled, and

shrieked for water - for but one drop of water to save his life! But he

held the old man firmly, and watched his agonies with greedy eyes;

and when his lifeless head fell forward on his bosom, he rolled the

corpse from him with his feet.

'When the fever left him, and consciousness returned, he awoke to

find himself rich and free, to hear that the parent who would have let

him die in jail - WOULD! who HAD let those who were far dearer to

him than his own existence die of want, and sickness of heart that

medicine cannot cure - had been found dead in his bed of down. He

had had all the heart to leave his son a beggar, but proud even of his

health and strength, had put off the act till it was too late, and now

might gnash his teeth in the other world, at the thought of the wealth

his remissness had left him. He awoke to this, and he awoke to more.

To recollect the purpose for which he lived, and to remember that his

enemy was his wife's own father - the man who had cast him into

prison, and who, when his daughter and her child sued at his feet for

mercy, had spurned them from his door. Oh, how he cursed the

weakness that prevented him from being up, and active, in his scheme

of vengeance! 'He caused himself to be carried from the scene of his

loss and misery, and conveyed to a quiet residence on the sea-coast;

not in the hope of recovering his peace of mind or happiness, for both

were fled for ever; but to restore his prostrate energies, and meditate

on his darling object. And here, some evil spirit cast in his way the

opportunity for his first, most horrible revenge.

It was summer-time; and wrapped in his gloomy thoughts, he would

issue from his solitary lodgings early in the evening, and wandering

along a narrow path beneath the cliffs, to a wild and lonely spot that

had struck his fancy in his ramblings, seat himself on some fallen

fragment of the rock, and burying his face in his hands, remain there

for hours - sometimes until night had completely closed in, and the

long shadows of the frowning cliffs above his head cast a thick, black

darkness on every object near him.

'He was seated here, one calm evening, in his old position, now and

then raising his head to watch the flight of a sea-gull, or carry his eye

along the glorious crimson path, which, commencing in the middle of

The Pickwick Papers