"That is the nurse, and I hope she suits you, for you seem hard to please," answered the clerk, crustily. "She is one of the best women in the hospital, at any rate!"
The stranger turned his eyes upon the woman with a grave and pained look.
"I sent to ask your kindness for the poor lady that has just been carried to your ward," he said; "of course you are well paid by the city; but I am willing to reward you for extra care in this case!"
"Well paid by the city!" cried the woman, with a fierce and sneering laugh; "oh, yes, hard work and prison fare at the Penitentiary—harder work and pauper fare when they send us here for nurses. That is the pay we get from the corporation for nursing here in the fever. If we die there is a scant shroud, a pine coffin and Potter's field. That, is our pay, sir!" and the woman folded her arms, laughing low and dismally.
"The Penitentiary—what does she mean?" inquired the stranger, greatly shocked.
"Oh! they come from the Penitentiary, these nurses," said the clerk. "The corporation have to support the prisoners, you know, and the hospitals all get their help by law from Blackwell's Island."
"And is this woman a prisoner?"
"A prisoner—to be sure I am—you don't take me for a Poor House woman, I hope?" cried the nurse. "I haven't got to that yet—nobody can say that I was contemptible enough to come here of my own accord."
There was something too horrible in all this. The stranger sat down and drew out his purse with a suppressed groan.
"Here," he said, giving some money to the woman, "this will pay you for a little kindness to the poor lady. In the name of that God who has afflicted her, see that she has proper care."