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 vulture； hunger； thus sank beak and talons in my side。
I drew near houses； I left them； and came back again； and again I wandered away： always repelled by the consciousness of having no claim to ask—no right to expect interest in my isolated lot。 Meantime； the afternoon advanced； while I thus wa