“Ah!” said the old man, shaking his head; “no shadow! that was indeed a
terrible illness, sir.”
But he did not resume his narrative; and at the very first cross-road we
came to, left me without uttering a syllable. Fresh tears flowed from my
eyes, and my cheerfulness had fled. With a heavy heart I travelled on,
avoiding all society. I plunged into the deepest shades of the forest;
and often, to avoid a sunny tract of country, I waited for hours till
every human being had left it, and I could pass it unobserved. In the
evenings I took shelter in the villages. I bent my steps to a mine in
the mountains, where I hoped to meet with work underground; for besides
that my present situation compelled me to provide for my own support, I
felt that incessant and laborious occupation alone could divert my mind
from dwelling on painful subjects. A few rainy days assisted me
materially on my journey; but it was to the no small detriment of my
boots, the soles of which were better suited to Count Peter than to the
poor foot-traveller. I was soon barefoot, and a new purchase must be
made. The following morning I commenced an earnest search in a
marketplace, where a fair was being held; and I saw in one of the booths
new and second-hand boots set out for sale. I was a long time selecting
and bargaining; I wished much to have a new pair, but was frightened at
the extravagant price; and so was obliged to content myself with a
second-hand pair, still pretty good and strong, which the beautiful
fair-haired youth who kept the booth handed over to me with a cheerful
smile, wishing me a prosperous journey. I went on, and left the place
immediately by the northern gate.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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