By the aid of the lantern, and a good deal of dusting, he finally discovered the spot in which he then stood, and managed to trace out a doubtful line of road, between that and the place whither he was bound.  There seemed to be few cross-roads, however, and such as there were he rapidly noted in his memory.  In one place the road ran off in a kind of loop, to pass through an outlying village, and, by making a cross-cut at that point, he might save himself five or six miles.  But since, on calculation, he found it would be at least six o’clock in the morning before he got to the loop in question, he decided not to risk abandoning, in the state he would then be in, the beaten track for any such problematical advantage.

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.  This was the time to use them, if they were paralyzed forever after!

Having gained the road, he set off with a long, swinging stride, such as the Indians use, half-way between a walk and a run.  As long as he could keep that up, he would be making six miles an hour—­a mile and a half over the necessary rate; but he well knew he would need all his surplus before morning broke, and was determined to make it as large as possible before want of food weakened him.  The road, except for the snow, was favorable for speed, being nearly level and tolerably straight; but the flakes flying into his eyes made it impossible to be sure of his footing; and the various ruts and inequalities, common to all American turn-pikes, and aggravated by the half-frozen snow covering, caused him several slips and stumbles; trifling matters enough at other times, but now, when every unnecessary breath and false step would count up terribly, in the end, quite sufficiently serious.