gs, and he did not like Alfred
or himself to think of last night's alarm, so he said, 'Oh, very well,
I'll see about it.'

He had not made up his mind. Very likely, if chance had brought him face
to face with Mr. Cope, he would have spoken about Alfred as the best way
to hinder the Curate from reproving himself; but he had not that right
sort of boldness which would have made him go to meet the reproof he so
richly deserved, and he was trying to persuade himself either that when
Alfred was amused and cheery, he would forget all about 'that there
Betsey's nonsense,' or else that Mr. Cope might come that way of himself.

But Alfred was not likely to forget. What he had heard hung on him
through all the little occupations of the morning, and made him meek and
gentle under them, and he was reckoning constantly upon Mr. Cope's
coming, fastening on the notion as if he were able to save him.

Still the Curate came not, and Alfred became grieved, feeling as if he
was neglected.

Mr. Blunt, however, came, and at any rate he would have it out with him;
so he asked at once very straightforwardly, 'Am I going to die, Sir?'

'Why, what's put that in your head?' said the doctor.

'There was a person here talking last night, Sir,' said Mrs. King.

'Well, but am I?' said Alfred impatiently.

'Not just yet, I hope,' said Mr. Blunt cheerfully. 'You are weak, but
you'll pick up again.'

'But of this?' persisted Alfred, who was not to be trifled with.

Mr. Blunt saw he must be in earnest.

'My boy,' he said, 'I'm afraid it is not a thing to be got over. I'll do
the best I can for you, by God's blessing; and if you get through the
winter, and it is a mild spring, you might do; but you'd better settle
your mind that you can't be many years for this world.'

Many years! that sounded like a reprieve, and sent gladness into Ellen's
heart; but somehow it did not seem in the same light to Alfred; he felt
that if he were slowly going down hill and wasting away, so as to have no
more health or strength in which to live differently from ever before,
the length of time was not much to him, and in his sickly impatience he
would almost have preferred that it should not be what Betsey kindly
called 'a lingering job.'

There he lay after Mr. Blunt was gone, not giving Ellen any trouble,
except by the sad thoughtfulness of his face, as he lay dwelling on all
that he wanted to say to Mr. Cope, and the terror of his sin and of
judgment sw