"Ring the bell, John, and order some hot tea; she is as cold as death." Her eyes met mine, and in them I read the question--"What are you going to do ?" I was struck by her dreadful pallor.
"Is your head bad again today ?" I asked.
"Yes, it aches very much," she replied.
The hot tea came, and it seemed to revive her; but after a few minutes the dreadful shivering came over her again.

She stood up.
"Lance," she said, "I will go to my room, and you must lead me; my head aches so that I am blind." She left her pretty drawing-room, never to re-enter it.

The next day at noon Lance came to me with a sad face.
"John, my wife is very ill, and I have just heard bad news." "What is it, Lance ?" I asked.
"Why, that the girl she went yesterday to see, Rose Winter, is ill with the most malignant type of small-pox." I looked at him in horror.
"Do you think," I gasped, "that the--that Mrs.Fleming has caught it ?" "I am quite sure," he replied.

"I have just sent for the doctor, and have telegraphed to the hospital for two nurses.

And my old friend," he added, "I am afraid it is going to be a bad case." It was a bad case.