“Mrs. Smith.”
Mrs. Carlyle rose and approached him.
“Are you Mrs. Smith,—my landlady?”
“No, sir. I am merely your nurse.”
“My nurse? What is the matter with me?”
“Small-pox,—but the danger is now over.”
“Small-pox! Where did I catch it? Am I still in Elm Street?”
“No, sir; you are in the hospital.”
Shading his inflamed eyes with his hand, he mused for some moments, and she saw a perplexed and sorrowful expression cross his features.
“Is there any danger of my dying?”