But this affected me but little in comparison with other incidents. Not
only the countenance was human, but, in spite of shaggy and tangled
locks, and an air of melancholy wildness, I speedily recognised the
features of the fugitive Clithero!

One glance was not sufficient to make me acquainted with this scene. I
had come hither partly in pursuit of this man, but some casual appendage
of his person, something which should indicate his past rather than his
present existence, was all that I hoped to find. That he should be found
alive in this desert, that he should have gained this summit, access to
which was apparently impossible, were scarcely within the boundaries of
belief.

His scanty and coarse garb had been nearly rent away by brambles and
thorns; his arms, bosom, and cheeks were overgrown and half concealed by
hair. There was somewhat in his attitude and looks denoting more than
anarchy of thoughts and passions. His rueful, ghastly, and immovable
eyes testified not only that his mind was ravaged by despair, but that
he was pinched with famine.

These proofs of his misery thrilled to my inmost heart. Horror and
shuddering invaded me as I stood gazing upon him, and, for a time, I was
without the powrer of deliberating on the measures which it was my duty
to adopt for his relief. The first suggestion was, by calling, to inform
him of my presence. I knew not what counsel or comfort to offer. By what
words to bespeak his attention, or by what topics to mollify his direful
passions, I knew not. Though so near, the gulf by which we were
separated was impassable. All that I could do was to speak.

My surprise and my horror were still strong enough to give a shrill and