and good also. In that case, he would no
doubt arrive on the appointed date to marry Angela.

But, notwithstanding all this unanswerable reasoning, he still found
it quite impossible to look his daughter in the face. Her eyes still
burnt him, ay, even more than ever did they burn, for her widowed
dress and brow were agony to him, and rent his heart, not with remorse
but fear. But still his greed kept the upper hand, though death by
mental torture must result, yet he would glut himself with his desire.
More than ever he hungered for those wide lands which, if only things
fell out right, would become his at so ridiculous a price. Decidedly
Arthur Heigham's death was "no affair of his."

About six weeks before Angela's conversation with Mr. Fraser which
ended in her undertaking parish work, a rumour had got about that
George Caresfoot had been taken ill, very seriously ill. It was said
that a chill had settled on his lungs, which had never been very
strong since his fever, and that he had, in short, gone into a
consumption.

Of George, Angela had neither seen nor heard anything for some time--
not since she received the welcome letter in which he relinquished his
suit. She had, indeed, with that natural readiness of the human mind
to forget unpleasant occurrences, thought but little about him of
late, since her mind had been more fully occupied with other and more
pressing things. Still she vaguely wondered at times if he was really
so ill as her father thought.

One day she was walking home by the path round the lake, after paying
a visit to a sick child in the village, when she suddenly came face to
face with her father. She expected that he would as usual pass on
without addressing her, and drew to one side of the path to allow him
to do so, but to her surprise he stopped.

"Where have you been, Angela?"

"To see Ellen Mim; she is very ill, poor child."

"You had better be careful; you will be catching scarlet fever or
something--there is a great deal about."

"I am not at all afraid."

"Yes; but you never think that you may bring it home to me."

"I never thought that there was any likelihood of my bringing anything
to you. We see so little of each other."

"Well, well, I have been to Isleworth to see your cousin George; he is
very ill."

"You told me that he was ill some time back. What is it that is really
the matter with him?"

"Galloping consumption. He cannot last long."

"Poor man, why does he