Look at me, and tell me if you think I am going to die--not that I take your opinion for worth anything.

That's not what I wanted you for, though.

I wasn't so ill then.

But I want you the more to talk to now.

_You_ have a bit of a heart, even for people that don't deserve it--at least I'm going to believe you have; and, if I am wrong, I almost think I would rather not know it till I'm dead and gone!--Good God! where shall I be then ?" I have already said that, whether in consequence of remnants of mother-teaching or from the movements of a conscience that had more vitality than any of his so-called friends would have credited it with, Mr.Redmain, as often as his sufferings reached a certain point, was subject to fits of terror--horrible anguish it sometimes amounted to--at the thought of hell.