The sick man's head fell back upon the pillow, though his eyes remained wide open and the flush did not leave his cheeks.

His pulse was now very high, and his breathing grew heavy and stertorous.
"I hope I have not made him any worse," remarked Mr.Juxon aloud, as he contemplated his patient.

"But if he is going to die, I wish he would die now." The thought was charitable, on the whole.

If Walter Goddard died then and there, he would be buried in a nameless grave under the shadow of the old church; no one would ever know that he was the celebrated forger, the escaped convict, the husband of Mary Goddard.

If he lived--heaven alone knew what complications would follow if he lived.
There was a knock at the door.