in the world whither he was going. He must fill his scrip with the
only wealth that would not dissolve in the waters of the river--that
was, the knowledge of Jesus.

It shot a terrible pang to the heart of Helen, herself, for all her
suffering, so full of life, when she learned that her darling must
die. Yet was there no small consolation mingled with the shock. Fear
vanished, and love returned with grief in twofold strength. She flew
to him, and she who had been so self-contained, so composed, so
unsubmissive to any sway of feeling, broke into such a storm of
passionate affection that the vexilla mortis answered from his
bosom, flaunting themselves in crimson before her eyes. In vain, for
Leopold's sake, the curate had sought to quiet her: she had resented
his interference; but this result of her impetuosity speedily
brought her to her senses, and set her to subdue herself.

The same evening Leopold insisted on dictating to the curate his
confession, which done, he signed it, making him and Helen attest
the signature. This document Wingfold took charge of, promising to
make the right use of it, whatever he should on reflection conclude
that to be; after which Leopold's mind seemed at ease.

His sufferings from cough and weakness and fever now augmented with
greater rapidity, but it was plain from the kind of light in his
eye, and the far look which was not yet retrospective, that hope and
expectation were high in him. He had his times of gloom, when the
dragon of the past crept out of its cave, and tore him afresh; but
the prospect of coming deliverance strengthened him.

"Do you really think," he said once to the curate, "that I shall