第66部分(第7/8 頁)

topped　at　it。　What　business　had　I　to　approach　the　white　door　or　touch　the　glittering　knocker？　In　what　way　could　it　possibly　be　the　interest　of　the　inhabitants　of　that　dwelling　to　serve　me？　Yet　I　drew　near　and　knocked。　A　mild…looking；　cleanly…attired　young　woman　opened　the　door。　In　such　a　voice　as　might　be　expected　from　a　hopeless　heart　and　fainting　frame—a　voice　wretchedly　low　and　faltering—I　asked　if　a　servant　was　wanted　here？

“No；”　said　she；　“we　do　not　keep　a　servant。”

“Can　you　tell　me　where　I　could　get　employment　of　any　kind？”　I　continued。　“I　am　a　stranger；　without　acquaintance　in　this　place。　I　want　some　work：　no　matter　what。”

But　it　was　not　her　business　to　think　for　me；　or　to　seek　a　place　for　me：　besides；　in　her　eyes；　how　doubtful　must　have　appeared　my　character；　position；　tale。　She　shook　her　head；　she　“was　sorry　she　could　give　me　no　information；”　and　the　white　door　closed；　quite　gently　and　civilly：　but　it　shut　me　out。　If　she　had　held　it　open　a　little　longer；　I　believe　I　should　have　begged　a　piece　of　bread；　for　I　was　now　brought　low。

I　could　not　bear　to　return　to　the　sordid　village；　where；　besides；　no　prospect　of　aid　was　visible。　I　should　have　longed　rather　to　deviate　to　a　wood　I　saw　not　far　off；　which　appeared　in　its　thick　shade　to　offer　inviting　shelter；　but　I　was　so　sick；　so　weak；　so　gnawed　with　nature’s　cravings；　instinct　kept　me　roaming　round　abodes　where　there　was　a　chance　of　food。　Solitude　would　be　no　solitude—rest　no　rest—　while　the　vul