But the end had not yet come.  Ere he had quite sunk into insensibility, he was conscious of a feeling within him, as if some one were pulling—­pulling at his heart, with a force benign and loving, yet strong as death itself.  He staggered to his feet, and, stumbling as he walked, set his face against the cold and cheerless sky once more.  The pulling at his heart-strings seemed to draw him steadily in one certain direction; he traversed acres of field and pasture-land blind and insensible to every thing save this mysterious guide.  In his weak and exhausted state his spiritual perceptions were doubtless less incumbered than when he was in full possession of his strength.  So he was drawn undeviatingly on and on, until, unexpectedly, he found himself in a road again.  Then he recognized that it was Sophie’s spirit which had rescued him from death and failure.  He had unconsciously made the short cut across the fields, which he had noticed and decided not to attempt when examining the map.  He had saved five miles in distance, equal to fully an hour in time.  The thought inspired him anew, and gave him further strength.  With such divine encouragement, he could falter and hesitate no more.

Morning began to break dully over the sullen clouds as he resumed in earnest his weary journey.  Each yard of ground passed was now a battle gained—­every breath drawn a sobbing groan.  Hills and dales rose successively before him, clothed in the dead-white snow that had become a nightmare to his darkening sight.  He reeled sometimes as he walked, dizzy from lack of sleep; a thousand fantastic fancies flitted through his hot brain; a deadly lethargy began once more to creep over his senses, but he gnawed the flesh of his lips to keep back consciousness.  And still, when will grew powerless, he felt the mysterious strain upon his heart.

Only ten miles more!  But they seemed by far the longer part of the whole way.  He was now within the range of his walks while living at the boarding-house, and could see in his mind every slope and ascent, every curve and angle, that lay between him and the Parsonage-door; and he felt the weight of every hill upon his shoulders.  At the risk of falling, he stooped, snatched a handful of snow, and put it inside his cap, so that it lay, cold and refreshing, upon his brain.  Then he took a handful in either hand, and so kept on.

The minutes grew into hours; the hours seemed to become days; but there, at last, the well-known village lay!  How reposeful and unconcerned the houses looked, as if there were no such thing in the world as effort, despair, or victory!  As he came near, Bressant tried to nerve himself, to walk erect and steady, to clear and concentrate his swimming sight and confused head.  He dreaded to meet the village-people, to have them come staring and questioning about him, whispering and laughing among themselves, and asking one another what was the matter with the man who was engaged to the minister’s daughter on this his wedding-morning.  Just then he felt a gentle pulling at his heart!