The village vanished, like the old year, behind him.  He was now crossing a lofty plateau, over which swept the wind, strong and chilly.  He began to feel the cold now, and his wet clothes, once in a while, made him shiver.  His physical exhilaration had left him, and his long trot, save where a downward slope favored him, had gradually sobered into a quick walk.  His shoes, soaked with snow-water, began to chafe his feet.  But he knew better than to stop for rest:  the only safety lay in keeping steadily on; and on he kept, his mouth set grimly, and his head a little bent forward.

From the top of the plateau was a gradual descent of some five miles; and here Bressant again fell into a run, reaching the bottom, without extraordinary exertion, in a trifle less than three-quarters of an hour.  He felt the need of his watch very keenly now; it would have been a great assistance and encouragement to know just how much he was doing.  He could no longer afford to waste any strength, even in making calculations; he was fully occupied in putting one foot before another.

How dark, and cold, and blankly disheartening it was!  He had now completed fifty miles, though he knew it not; but it seemed to him as if he had been full a hundred.  His feet, rubbed raw, and stiffened by the cold, were beginning to retard his pace alarmingly.  His face and lips were pale; a sensation of emptiness and chilled vitality pervaded his body.  It had come down to grim hard work; every step was a conscious effort; and yet he had no time to spare.

The storm had lightened considerably, but the young man’s eyes were dull and heavy; it was a constant struggle to keep awake.  He scarcely attended to the road, but plunged along, careless of where he trod.  Suddenly, however, and for the first time since starting, he came to a dead halt, and, after gazing about him a moment, cried out in dismay.  And well he might, for he stood in a field, with no sign anywhere of road or path!  In his sleepy inattention, he had lost his way and wandered he knew not whither.

At first he was too much paralyzed by this discovery to think or act.  He threw himself face downward on the snow, and lay like a log.  God was against him!  How could he go on?  Ah, how sweet felt that cold bed!  Let him lie there in peace, to move no more!  Surely he had done his best; who could blame him for a failure beyond his power to avert?  The darkness would pass over him, and leave him stretched there motionless; the first light of morning would mark the dark outlines of his prostrate figure, and he would not turn to greet it.  Daylight would succeed, the sun would climb the sky and shine down upon him warmly; but he would be insensible as to the darkness or the cold.  Twilight would settle over the field again, and night, following, would find him as she had left him, prone upon his face, with outstretched arms.  For he would be dead—­dead—­dead—­and at rest!