After some conversation, all tending to the same effect, Willison parted from him, continuing his route to Cupar. All the doubt that had existed in the mind of the victim was now removed, and a settled conviction took hold of him that he was on the very eve of falling into some terrible illness. A train of gloomy fancies took possession of his mind, and he pictured himself lying extended on a bed of sickness, with the angel of death hanging over him, and an awakened conscience within, wringing him with its agonizing tortures. The nature of the disease which impended over him--the putrid typhus--was fixed, and put beyond doubt; and all the cases he had known of individuals who had died of that disease were brought before the eye of his imagination, to feed the appetite for horrors, which now began to crave food. He endeavoured to analyze his sensations, and discovered, what he never felt before, a hard, fluttering palpitation at his heart, a difficulty of breathing, weakness, trembling of the limbs, and other clear indications of the oncoming attack of a fatal disease. Moving slowly forward, under the load of these thoughts, he arrived at Widow M'Murdo's, where he fed his horses. He was silent and gloomy; and the fear under which he laboured produced a _real_ appearance of illness, which soon struck the eye of the kind dame. "What ails ye?" asked she kindly; and ran and brought out her bottle of cordial, to administer to him that universal medicine. But her question was enough. Moody and miserable, he paid little attention to her kindness, and departed for Kirkcaldy. Under the same load of despondency and apprehension, he arrived at Andrew Gemmel's, where it was his practice to remain all night. He exhibited the appearance of a person labouring under some grievous misfortune; and deputing the feeding of his horses to the ostler, he seemed to be careless whether justice was done to them or not. The landlord noticed the change that had taken place upon him. "What ails ye, George?" was asked repeatedly; and the death-like import of the question prevented him from giving any satisfactory answer. Long before his usual period, he retired to his bed, where he passed a night of fevered dreams, restlessness, and misery.