e careful of yourself," said Campbell, at last. "You
carry no charmed life."

"My dear sir, I am the most cautious and selfish man in the town. I am
living by rule; I have got--and what greater pleasure?--a good stand-up
fight with an old enemy; and be sure I shall keep myself in condition
for it. I have written off for help to the Board of Health, and I shall
not be shoved against the ropes till the Government man comes down."

"And then?"

"I shall go to bed and sleep for a month. Never mind me; but mind
yourself: and mind that curate; he's a noble brick;--if all parsons in
England were like him, I'd--What's here now?"

Miss Heale came shrieking down the street.

"Oh, Mr. Thurnall! Miss Tardrew! Miss Tardrew!"

"Screaming will only make you ill, too, Miss. Where is Miss Tardrew?"

"In the surgery,--and my mother!"

"I expected this," said Tom. "The old man will go next."

He went into the surgery. The poor girl was in collapse already. Mrs.
Heale was lying on the sofa, stricken. The old man hanging over her,
brandy bottle in hand.

"Put away that trash!" cried Tom; "you've had too much already."

"Oh, Mr. Thurnall, she's dying, and I shall die too!"

"You! you were all right this morning."

"But I shall die; I know I shall, and go to hell!"

"You'll go where you ought; and if you give way to this miserable
cowardice, you'll go soon enough. Walk out, sir! Make yourself of some
use, and forget your fear! Leave Mrs. Heale to me."

The wretched old man obeyed him, utterly cowed, and went out: but not to
be of use: he had been hopelessly boozy from the first--half to fortify
his body against infection, half to fortify his heart against
conscience. Tom had never reproached him for his share in the public
folly. Indeed, Tom had never reproached a single soul. Poor wretches who
had insulted him had sent for him, with abject shrieks. "Oh, doctor,
doctor, save me! Oh, forgive me! oh, if I'd minded what you said! Oh,
don't think of what I said!" And Tom had answered cheerfully, "Tut-tut;
never mind what might have been; let's feel your pulse."

But though Tom did not reproach Heale, Heale reproached himself. He had
just conscience enough left to feel the whole weight of his abused
responsibility, exaggerated and defiled by superstitious horror; and
maudlin tipsy, he wandered about the street, moaning that he had
murdered his wife, and all the town, and asking pardon of every one he
met; till seeing one of the