And now, reader, imagine, if you can, my situation. A stranger in a strange land, and comparatively a stranger to the whole world--alone in the darkness of night, not knowing where to seek a shelter or a place to lay my head; exhausted with sea-sickness until I felt more dead than alive, it did seem as though it would be a luxury to lie down and die. My stockings and shoes were all worn out with so much walking, my feet sore, swollen, and bleeding, and my limbs so stiff and lame that it was only by the greatest effort that I could step at all. So extreme were my sufferings, that I stopped more than once before I reached the village, cast myself upon the cold ground, and thought I could go no further. Not even the idea of being run over in the darkness by some passing traveller, had power to keep me on my feet. Then I would rest awhile, and resolve to try again; and so I hobbled onward. It seemed an age of misery before I came to any house; but at length my spirits revived at the sight of brilliant lights through the windows, and the sound of cheerful voices that fell upon my ear. And now I thought my troubles over for that night at least. But no, when I asked permission to stay over night, it was coldly refused. Again and again I called at houses where the people seemed to enjoy all the comforts and even the luxuries of life; but their comforts were for themselves and not for a toil-worn traveller like me. This I was made to understand in no gentle manner; and some of those I called upon were not very particular in the choice of language. By this time my feet were dreadfully swollen, and O! so sore and stiff, that every step produced the most intense agony. Is it strange that I felt as though life was hardly worth preserving? I resolved to call at one house more, and if again refused, to lie down by the wayside and die. I accordingly entered the village hotel and asked for the landlady. The bar-tender gave me a suspicious glance that made me tremble, and asked my business. I told him my business was with the landlady and no other person. He left the room a moment, and then conducted me to her chamber. As I entered a lady came forward to meet me, and the pleasant expression of her countenance at once won my confidence. She gave me a cordial welcome, saying, with a smile, as she led me to a seat, "I guess, my dear, you are a run-a-way, are you not?" I confessed that it was even so; that I had fled from priestly cruelty, had travelled as far as I could, and now, weary, sick, and faint from long fasting, I had ventured to cast myself upon her mercy. "Will you protect me?" I asked, "and are you a Roman Catholic?" "No," she replied, "I am not a Roman Catholic, and I will protect you. You seem to have suffered much, and are quite exhausted. But you will find a friend in me. I will not betray you, for I dislike the priests and the convents as much as you do."