My God! what have I not borne! Five whole months to be dying of thirst, and not a drop of water to cool my tongue." He bared his head and throat to the cutting wind--his chest heaved, his eyes seemed in a flame.
"God forgive me!--but I sometimes think I would give myself body and soul to the devil for one glimpse of her face, one touch of her little hand." I made no answer.

What answer could be made to such words as these?
I waited--all I could do--till the paroxysm had gone by.

Then I hinted--as indeed seemed not unlikely--that he might see her soon.
"Yes, a great way off, like that cloud up there.

But I want her near--close--in my home--at my heart;--Phineas," he gasped, "talk to me--about something else--anything.

Don't let me think, or I shall go clean mad." And indeed he looked so.