Not a word could she utter, and was but just able to
force a faint smile, with intent to reassure him.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE RESULT.
Letty would never perhaps have come to herself in the cold of
this world, under the shifting tent of the winter night, but for
an outcast mongrel dog, which, wandering masterless and hungry,
but not selfish, along the road, came upon her where she lay
seemingly lifeless, and, recognizing with pity his neighbor in
misfortune, began at once to give her--it was all he had that was
separable--what help and healing might lie in a warm, honest
tongue. Diligently he set himself to lick her face and hands.
By slow degrees her misery returned, and she sat up. Rejoiced at
his success, the dog kept dodging about her, catching a lick here
and a lick there, wherever he saw a spot of bare within his
reach. By slow degrees, next, the knowledge of herself joined on
to the knowledge of her misery, and she knew who it was that was
miserable. She threw her arms round the dog, laid her head on
his, and wept. This relieved her a little: weeping is good, even
to such as Alberigo in an ice-pot of hell. But she was cold to
the very marrow, almost too cold to feel it; and, when she rose,
could scarcely put one foot before the other.
Not once, for all her misery, did she imagine a return to
Thornwick. Without a thought of whither, she moved on, unaware
even that it was in the direction of the town.
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