A familiar face looked up at her, and a well remembered voice said
courteously, but feebly:
"Thanks, not yet. Excuse my left hand. I'm very glad to see you."
"Mr. Fletcher, can it be you!" she cried, looking at him with
pitiful amazement. Well she might ask, for any thing more unlike his
former self can hardly be imagined. Unshaven, haggard, and begrimed
with powder, mud to the knees, coat half on, and, worst of all, the
right arm gone, there lay the "piece of elegance" she had known, and
answered with a smile she never saw before:
"All that's left of me, and very much at your service. I must
apologize for the dirt, but I've laid in a mud-puddle for two days;
and, though it was much easier than a board, it doesn't improve
one's appearance."
"What can I do for you? Where can I put you? I can't bear to see you
here!" said Christie, much afflicted by the spectacle before her.
"Why not? we are all alike when it comes to this pass. I shall do
very well if I might trouble you for a draught of water."
She poured her last drop into his parched mouth and hurried off for
more. She was detained by the way, and, when she returned, fancied
he was asleep, but soon discovered that he had fainted quietly away,
utterly spent with two days of hunger, suffering, and exposure.
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