There was not a moment to spare, however, and so, without waiting even to make my toilet, we hurried to the train.
The relief I experienced when fairly seated in the car, the excitement of finding myself in the world once more, among bustling, wide-awake people, stimulated me, and for some time I was unconscious of my fatigue.
The Englishman was to leave me at a station a few miles beyond Bangor, as his journey lay in a different direction. We exchanged cards, and I could not help saying, as we parted:
'I met you a stranger, but I have found in you a friend and a brother.'[A]
The Scotchman continued on to Boston with me.
His chivalrous and thoughtful consideration remained undiminished.
At last, after many intervals of lassitude and reanimation, I broke down altogether. My strength left me. Over-powered with grief and fatigue, I was glad to rest my weary head on my old plaid cloak, which the Scotchman rolled into a pillow for me in the saloon of the car, where I lay for the last six hours until we reached Boston.
Kind friends were there to meet me, and the Scotchman gave me into their charge, a poor, exhausted creature.
But I was in time—and that was enough.