I had been three days without food; but hitherto I had not
felt the want of it, as my more importunate thirst had overcome the
sensation. Now that the greater evil had been removed, the lesser
increased and became hourly more imperious. I walked out and scanned the
horizon with the hopes of some caravan appearing in sight, but I watched
in vain; and returned to the fountain. Two more days passed away, and no
relief was at hand: my strength failed me; I felt that I was dying; and,
as the fountain murmured, and the birds sang, and the cool breeze
fanned my cheeks, I thought that it would have been better to have been
swallowed up in the desert than to be tantalised by expiring in such a
paradise. I laid myself down to die, for I could sit up no more; and as
I turned round to take a last view of the running water, which had
prolonged my existence, something hard pressed against my side. I
thought it was a stone, and stretched out my hand to remove it, that I
might be at ease in my last moments; but when I felt, there was no stone
there; it was something in the pocket of my jacket. I put my hand in,
unconscious what it could be; I pulled it out, and looking at it before
I threw it away, found that it was a piece of _hard dry bread_. I
thought that it had been sent to me from heaven, and it was as pure an
offering as if it had come from thence, for it was the gift of innocence
and affection--it was the piece of bread which my little darling girl
had received for her breakfast, and which on my departure she had thrust
into my pocket, when I imagined she had been searching for fruit.
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