By my plate lay a great pile of correspondence, which I opened while making pretence to eat, but all the time I was watching Jane over the top of those wearisome letters, most of them from beggars or constituents who "wanted to know." One, however, was anonymous, from a person who signed herself "Mother." It ran:-- "Sir,--After hearing your speeches some years ago, and being told that you were such a clever man, I became a Conscientious Objector, and would not let them vaccinate any more of my children.

The three who were not vaccinated have all been taken to the hospital with the smallpox, and they tell me (for I am not allowed to see them) that one of them is dead; but the two who were vaccinated are quite well.

Sir, I thought that you would like to know this, so that if you have made any mistake you may tell others.

Sir, forgive me for troubling you, but it is a terrible thing to have one's child die of smallpox, and, as I acted on your advice, I take the liberty of writing the above." Again I looked at Jane, and saw that although she was sipping her tea and had some bacon upon her plate she had eaten nothing at all.

Like the catch of a song echoed through my brain that fearsome sentence: "It is a terrible thing to have one's child die of the smallpox." Terrible, indeed, for now I had little doubt but that Jane was infected, and if she should chance to die, then what should I be?
I should be her murderer! After breakfast I started upon my rounds of canvassing and speech-making.