"Is this Mrs. Mitchell?"
"No, sir. My name is Mrs. ——. I don't live here."
He has either escaped, I think, or is still in the house, and this party has been sitting up with him; so I say, somewhat sarcastically:
"Are you ladies in the habit of being up till three in the morning?"
"No, sir. To-night we are sitting up with a sick person."
"How sick?" I say, not half believing the reply.
There is a young girl of fifteen standing beside the woman, who has earnestly watched me, and she answers my question:
"She is my sister," she says in a trembling voice—"she is my sister, and she is dying."
"It is so," says the woman. "The doctor says she is in the last stages of diphtheria, and can live but a few hours. Captain Mitchell came back because he heard she was dying. If you don't believe me, you can come in and look for yourself."
"No," I answer, "if this family is in such affliction, we will be the last persons to intrude. I will withdraw the most of my men; and you, my girl, may go back to your sister, and feel assured that no one shall disturb you during the remainder of the night."