“He’s been consumptive for a long time past,” said Mr. Roker, “and he’s taken wery bad in the breath tonight. The doctor said, six months ago, that nothing but change of air could save him.”

“Great Heaven!” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick; “has this man been slowly murdered by the law for six months?”

“I don’t know about that,” replied Roker, weighing the hat by the brim in both hands. “I suppose he’d have been took the same, wherever he was. He went into the infirmary, this morning; the doctor says his strength is to be kept up as much as possible; and the warden’s sent him wine and broth and that, from his own house. It’s not the warden’s fault, you know, sir.”

“Of course not,” replied Mr. Pickwick hastily.