“A case—of what?” said Merl.
“Cholera or typhus, as it may be,” said Crow, not a little surprised at the unmistakable terror of the other's face.
“And she's gone to see it!” exclaimed the Jew.
“To do more than see it. She 'll nurse the sick man, and bring him medicine and whatever he wants.”
“And not afraid?”
“Afraid!” broke in Crow. “I'd like to know what she's afraid of. Ask Mr. Scanlan what would frighten her.” But Mr. Scanlan had already slipped noiselessly from the room, and was already on his way down the shore.
“Well,” said Merl, lighting his cigar, and drawing an arm-chair close to the fire, “I don't see the advantage of all that. She could send the doctor, I suppose, and make her servants take down to these people whatever she wanted to send them. What especial utility there is in going herself, I can't perceive.”
“I'll tell you, then,” said Crow. “It's more likely the doctor is busy this minute, ten or fifteen miles away,—for the whole country is down in sickness; but even if he was n't, if it were not for her courage in going everywhere, braving danger and death every hour, there would be a general flight of all that could escape. They'd rush into the towns,—where already there's more sickness than they know how to deal with. She encourages some,—she shames more; and not a few are proud to be brave in such company, for she is an angel,—that's her name,—an angel.”
“Well, I should like to see her,” drawled out Merl, as he smoothed down his scrubby mustachios.
“Nothing easier, then,” rejoined Crow. “Put on your coat and hat, and we 'll stroll down the beach till she comes out; it can't be very long, for she has enough on her hands elsewhere.”