with law for his life, even if the latter should at once proceed to
justify a claim. From the first Faber doubted if he would ever
recover from the consequences of that exposure in the churchyard,
and it soon became evident that his lungs were more than affected.
His cough increased, and he began to lose what little flesh he had.

One day Faber expressed his conviction to Wingfold that he was
fighting the disease at the great disadvantage of having an unknown
enemy to contend with.

"The fellow is unhappy," he said, "and if that lasts another month,
I shall throw up the sponge. He has a good deal of vitality, but it
is yielding, and by that time he will be in a galloping
consumption."

"You must do your best for him," said Wingfold, but in his heart he
wished, with an honest affection, that he might not succeed.

Leopold, however, seemed to have no idea of his condition, and the
curate wondered what he would think or do were he to learn that he
was dying. Would he insist on completing his confession, and urging
on a trial? He had himself told him all that had passed with the
magistrate, and how things now were as he understood them, but it
was plain that he had begun to be uneasy about the affair, and was
doubtful at times whether all was as it seemed. The curate was not
deceived. He had been present during a visit from Mr. Hooker, and
nothing could be plainer than the impression out of which the good
man spoke. Nor could he fail to suspect the cunning kindness of
George Bascombe in the affair. But he did not judge that he had now
the least call to interfere. The poor boy had done as much as lay