The spring was the harshest ever known, and his cough grew worse and the blood-spitting returned. Esther grew seriously alarmed. Their doctor spoke of Brompton Hospital, and she insisted on his going there to be examined. William would not have her come with him; and she did not press the point, fearing to irritate him, but sat at home waiting anxiously for him to return, hoping against hope, for their doctor had told her that he feared very long trouble. And she could tell from his face and manner that he had bad news for her. All her strength left her, but she conquered her weakness and said-- "Now tell me what they said. I've a right to know; I want to know." "They said it was consumption." "Oh, did they say that?" "Yes, but they don't mean that I'm going to die. They said they hoped they could patch me up; people often live for years with only half a lung, and it is only the left one that's gone." He coughed slightly and wiped the blood from his lips. Esther was quite overcome. "Now, don't look like that," he said, "or I shall fancy I'm going to die to-morrow." "They said they thought that they could patch you up?" "Yes; they said I might go on a long while yet, but that I would never be the man I was." This was so obvious she could not check a look of pity. "If you're going to look at me like that I'd sooner go into the hospital at once. It ain't the cheerfulest of places, but it will be better than here." "I'm sorry it was consumption. But if they said they could patch you up, it will be all right. It was a great deal for them to say." Her duty was to overcome her grief and speak as if the doctors had told him that there was nothing the matter that a little careful nursing would fail to put right. William had faith in the warm weather, and she resolved to put her trust in it. It was hard to see him wasting away before her eyes and keep cheerful looks in her face and an accent of cheerfulness in heir voice. The sunshine which had come at last seemed to suck up all the life that was in him; he grew paler, and withered like a plant. Then ill-luck seemed to have joined in the hunt; he could not "touch" a winner, and their fortune drained away with his life. Favourites and outsiders, it mattered not; whatever he backed lost; and Esther dreaded the cry "Win-ner, all the win-ner!" He sat on the little balcony in the sunny evenings looking down the back street for the boy to appear with the "special." Then she had to go and fetch the paper. On the rare occasions when he won, the spectacle was even more painful. He brightened up, his thin arm and hand moved nervously, and he began to make projects and indulge in hopes which she knew were vain.