Thedaylightcame.Iroseatdawn.Ibusiedmyselfforanhourortwowitharrangingmythingsinmychamber,drawers,andwardrobe,intheorderwhereinIshouldwishtoleavethemduringabriefabsence.Meantime,IheardSt.Johnquithisroom.Hestoppedatmydoor:Ifearedhewouldknoo,butaslipofpaperasseduhedoor.Itookitup.Itborethesewords—

    “Youleftmetoosuddenlylastnight.Hadyoustayedbutalittlelonger,youwouldhavelaidyourhandontheChristian’scrossandtheangel’s.Ishallexpectyourcleardecisionwheurnthisdayfht.Meadpraythatyoueiation:thespirit,Itrust,iswilling,buttheflesh,Isee,isweak.Ishallprayforyouhourly.—Yours,ST.JOHN.”

    “Myspirit,”Iansweredmentally,“iswillingtodowhatisright;andmyflesh,Ihope,isstrongenoughtoaplishthewillofHeaven,whewillisdistinctlyknowanyrate,itshallbestrongenoughtosearquire—togropeanoutletfromthiscloudofdoubt,andfindtheopendayofcertainty.”

    ItwasthefirstofJuhemwasovercastandchilly:raifastonmycasement.Iheardthefront-dooropen,andSt.Johnpassout.Lookingthroughthewindow,IsawhimtraversethegardeookthewayoverthemistymoorsinthedireofWhitcross—therehewouldmeetthecoach.

    “InafewmorehoursIshallsucceedyouinthattrack,cousin,”thoughtI:“ItoohaveacoaeetatWhitcross.ItoohavesometoseeandaskafterinEngland,beforeIdepartforever.”

    Itwatwohoursofbreakfast-time.Ifilledtheintervalinwalkingsoftlyaboutmyroom,andpthevisitationwhichhadgivenmyplanstheirprese.IrecalledthatinwardsensationIhadexperienced:forIcouldrecallit,withallitsunspeakablestrangeness.IrecalledthevoiceIhadheard;agaiionedwhecame,asvainlyasbef