o bad; and Mother told me to tell you, Sir--if he's not
better--he'll never live out the day!'

Poor Harold, who had never seemed to heed his brother's illness, was
quite overwhelmed now. It had come upon him all at once.

'What is it? Has the doctor been?'

'No, Sir; I went in at six o'clock this morning to ask him to come out,
and he said he'd come--and sent him a blister--but Alf was worse by the
time I got back, Sir,--he can't breathe--and don't seem to notice.'

And without another word, nor waiting for comfort, Harold dug his heels
into Peggy, passed his elbow over his eyes, and cantered on with the
tears drying on his face in the brisk March wind.

There was no finishing breakfast for the Curate; he thrust his letters
into his pocket, caught up his hat, and walked off with long strides for
the post-office.

It shewed how different things were from usual, that Paul, who had hardly
yet been four times down-stairs, his thin pointed face all in a flush,
was the only person in the shop, trying with a very shaky hand to cut out
some cheese for a great stout farm maid-servant, who evidently did not
understand what was the matter, and stared doubly when the clergyman put
his strong hand so as to steady Paul's trembling one, and gave his help
to fold up the parcel.

'How is he, Paul?'

Paul was very near crying as he answered, 'Much worse, Sir. Mother has
been up all night with him. O Sir! he did so want to live till you came
home.'

'May I go up?' asked Mr. Cope.

Paul was sure that he might, and crept up after him. It was bad enough,
but not quite so bad as Harold, in his fright, had made Mr. Cope believe.
Poor boy! it had all come upon him now; and seeing his brother unable to
speak and much oppressed, he fancied he did not know him, whereas Alfred
was fully sensible, though too ill to do more than lift his eyes, and put
out his weak fingers as Mr. Cope came into the room, where he was lying
raised on his pillows, with his mother and sister doing all they could
for him.

A terrible pain in the side had come on in the night, making every breath
painful, every cough agonizing, and his whole face and brow were crimson
with the effort of gasping.

Paul looked a moment but could not bear it, and went, and sat down on the
top of the stairs; while Mr. Cope kindly held Alfred's hot hand, and Mrs.
King, in her low patient tone, told how the attack had begun.

She was in the midst, when Mr. Blunt's gig was s