should fail to affect with a sanative contagion those who labor under
many diseases?"

"The only reply I can make to your question," said Woodward, "is this:
the one has been long and generally known to exist, whereas the latter
has never been heard of, which most assuredly would not have been the
case if it had ever existed; as for the cure of the King's Evil it is a
royal imposture."

"I believe in the latter," observed the other calmly.

"Upon what grounds?" asked his companion.

"Simply because I know a person who possesses the sanative power I speak
of."

"And I believe in the former," replied Woodward, "and upon better
grounds still, because I possess it myself."

"You will pardon me," said the other; "but I hesitate to believe that."

Woodward, who felt this imputation against his veracity with resentment,
suddenly pulled up his horse, and, turning himself on the saddle, looked
upon his companion with an expression that was as extraordinary as it
was blighting. The stranger, on the other hand, reining in his horse,
and taking exactly the same attitude as Woodward, bent his eye on him in
return; and there they sat opposite to each other, where we will leave
them until we describe the somewhat extraordinary man who had become the
fellow-traveller of the hero of the breakfast table.