ures of the damned.
Not Brace; he alone would be held responsible for the death; and
perhaps not altogether unjustly. Lying there, a prey to morbid
apprehensions, he rebuilt the case in memory, struggling to recall each
slight variation in temperature, each swift change for better or worse;
but as fast as he captured one such detail, his drowsy brain let the
last but one go, and he had to beat it up anew. During the night he
grew confident that the relatives of the dead woman intended to take
action against him, for negligence or improper attendance.

An attempt to speak of these devilish imaginings to wife and friend was
a failure. He undertook it in a fit of desperation, when it seemed as
if only a strong and well grounded opposition would save his reason.
But this was just what he could not get. Purdy, whom he tried first,
held the crude notion that a sick person should never be gainsaid; and
soothingly sympathised and agreed, till Mahony could have cried aloud
at such blundering stupidity. Polly did better; she contradicted him.
But not in the right way. She certainly pooh-poohed his idea of the
nearness of Yuille's Swamp making the house unhealthy; but she did not
argue the matter, step by step, and CONVINCE him that he was wrong. She
just laughed at him as at a foolish child, and kissed him, and tucked
him in anew. And when it came to the typhoid's fatal issue, she had not
the knowledge needed to combat him with any chance of success. She
heard him anxiously out, and allowed herself to be made quite nervous
over a possible fault on his part, so jealous was she for his growing
reputation.

So that in the end it was he who had to comfort her.

"Don't take any notice of what I say to-day, wife. It's this blessed
fever.... I'm light-headed, I think."

But he could hear her uneasily consulting with Purdy in the passage.

It was not till his pulse beat normally again that he could smile at
his exaggerated fears. Now, too, reviving health brought back a
wholesome interest in everyday affairs. He listened with amusement to
Polly's account of the shifts Purdy was reduced to, to enter the house
unseen by Miss Tilly. On his faithful daily call, the young man would
creep round by the back door, and Tilly was growing more and more irate
at her inability to waylay him. Yes, Polly was rather redly forced to
admit, she HAD abetted him in his evasions. ("You know, Poll, I might
just as well tie myself up to old Mother B. hers