I thanked him for his services, but he would not hear a word of them.  Helping me through the town, he took me to a small inn outside the gate, saw me put to bed, brought me a good broth, some wine and bread, and left me to my meditations while he went for a doctor.  The thorn was extracted, poultices applied; I was given a soothing medicine, fell asleep and slept heavily.

In the morning I found him by my side.  After asking how I did, and satisfying himself, by examination, that my feet were recovering, he said that he wished to serve me without being indiscreet.  “What your private purposes may be,” he said, “I neither know nor seek to inquire.  It is plain that you are a gentleman of some simplicity, or of a subtlety far too fine for my eyes of every day.  Whichever you may be, I admire.  If you are candid in calling yourself a pilgrim I appreciate your candour.  If you are not, I appreciate even more your discretion.  But you will still let me observe that for a young gentleman of personal attractions to walk half naked through an inquisitive nation, and to give oracular replies to questions put him by officials (to say the least of it) is to excite remark.  I have some recommendations to make, which I hope you’ll pardon—­as first, stockings; second, a pair of stout walking-shoes; third, a hat; fourthly, some apparent calling beside that of penitent.  Penitence is a trade open to many objections; but for those, I am sure I should have tried it myself.  Of what, for instance, do you repent?  Is it murder?  Is it coin-clipping?  Is it—­but I spare your blushes.  Besides, it can always be objected that, as there is nothing to hinder your penitent fishmonger from trading in fish and being truly contrite at the same time, so also your honour has the same privilege before you.  To be short, I recommend you to choose some calling more plainly commercial.”

I replied that he was very right, and that I would gladly embrace any calling which would not hinder my design.  To this he answered that I had not done him the honour of explaining my design, but that he conceived it to be that of walking about the country with as much discomfort as possible.  To this superficial judgment I, very naturally, demurred.

“You are dry, my dear sir,” I said, “nor do I wonder.  Allow me to tell you my story, and I shall make you sweat with indignation.”  Omitting names of persons and places, I thereupon detailed the whole of my case, and concluded thus solemnly:  “I hope that you now understand how I am placed.  I am a gentleman who has behaved himself like a ruffian, a Christian who has stultified his religion.  I love a certain lady and have insulted her; I was placed in a sacred relationship and betrayed it.  Still a lover, still a postulant for service, I have three objects in life:  (a) to bite and burn the vice out of myself; (b) to find my mistress; (c) to make her amends.  Whatever occupation you propose for my consideration must subserve these three great ends.”