“That the fever is here? Yes, it is.”
“And very bad?”
“Poor Frank is our worst case as yet. He is constantly delirious. The others are generally sensible, except that Terry is dreadfully haunted with mathematics.”
“Then it is all true about the Hall. Any one else ill?”
“Only the two Willses. They were carousing at the ‘Three Pigeons.’ I hope that Raymond’s prohibition against that place may have been the saving of the Hall servants. See here,” and he gave the note.
“I had better take those two funerals. I can at least do that,” said Herbert. “That Driver must be a regular case of a hireling.”
“He never professed that the sheep were his,” said Julius.
“Then I’ll go to the Vicarage and get a list of the sick, and see after them as far as I can,” said Herbert, in a grave, humble tone, showing better than a thousand words how he felt the deprivation he had brought on himself; and as to shame or self-consciousness, the need had swallowed them all.
“It will be a great act of kindness, Herbert. The point of infection does not seem clear yet, but I am afraid it will be a serious outbreak.”
“I did not believe it could all be true when the report came to Rood House, but of course I came to hear the truth and see what I could do. How is Mrs. Poynsett bearing up?”