Thomas Wingfold. Volume III by George MacDonald

Before the morning Leopold lay wound in the net of a low fever, / almost as ill as ever, but with this difference, that his mind was / far less troubled, and that even his most restless dreams no longer / scared him awake to a still nearer assurance of misery. And yet, / many a time, as she watched by his side, it was excruciatingly plain / to Helen that the stuff of which his dreams were made was the last / process to the final execution of the law. She thought she could / follow it all in his movements and the expressions of his / countenance. At a certain point, the cold dew always appeared on his / forehead, after which invariably came a smile, and he would be quiet / until near morning, when the same signs again appeared. Sometimes he / would murmur prayers, and sometimes it seemed to Helen that he must / fancy himself talking face to face with Jesus, for the look of / blessed and trustful awe upon his countenance was amazing in its / beauty.

For Helen herself, she was prey to a host of changeful emotions. At / one time she accused herself bitterly of having been the cause of / the return of his illness; the next a gush of gladness would swell / her heart at the thought that now she had him at least safer for a / while, and that he might die and so escape the whole crowd of / horrible possibilities. For George's manipulation of the magistrate / could but delay the disclosure of the truth; even should no / discovery be made, Leopold must at length suspect a trick, and that / would at once drive him to fresh action.