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. I never left him while the suspense lasted; but it was soon over. She suffered intensely, for the disease was of the most virulent type. It was soon over. Lance came to me one afternoon, and I read the verdict in his face.