John slept very poorly that night. The news which Dan Travers had given him was enough to keep him awake. Marston was going to Jericho the next morning! What would he bring back? What would he have to tell upon his return? Ah, God! could a man never escape the slightest misstep? Must it dog him to his grave, even though he had won through by days of anguish and hours of wrestling in the silent night? What a morsel this would be for vile tongues to handle! What possibilities for enlargement, and opportunities for misrepresentation! Haggard with wide-eyed watching as the black moments slowly passed—it was not new to him, this grim facing of an ever-present spectre—he managed to gain a few hours sleep just before day. But his cheek bones showed more plainly when he appeared upon the street the following morning, and the faint lines about his strong mouth had deepened.
He found Judge Colver and made his report; there was a caucus of the board of health in Doctor Kale's office; dodgers were ordered printed and distributed telling the fearsome news and instructing the public as to what sanitary measures they should employ to keep down the plague. The local physicians gave him respectful attention when he talked, and adopted his suggestions cheerfully. This was pleasant, but it did not lift the weight which had fallen upon him. When the business meeting was over, John found a piece of yellow cloth at one of the dry goods stores, armed himself with a supply of disinfectants, and started on his second trip to his pauper patient.
He had a half formed notion when he left town to stop at the Dudleys for a moment, and when, driving somewhat slowly in front of the house, he saw Julia bending over gathering nasturtiums, his tentative idea became a fixed resolution. He left his horse at the gate, securing him to one of the iron palings, and went up the drive afoot. She had seen him coming, and she walked forward to meet him, her face tinting delicately, and a smile showing through the look of anxiety which she wore. She gave him a pliant palm, holding a huge armful of vari-coloured blooms to her breast with her other hand—the flowers spread out over her, a wonderful breast-plate of gorgeous hues. Some matched her cheeks, and some her lips, and some her throat, which had assumed a shy pink as she came within arm's length of John, standing with hat breast high, and searching eyes. He took her hand and held it a moment longer than was necessary, but she waited until he released it, and made no effort to draw it away. He did not attempt to veil the candid admiration which beamed from his face.
"You are looking very well this morning, if you will allow the compliment," he said, gravely, and she quickly noted the weary note in his voice. "I'm sure this flower bed is the most fitting environment you could possibly have. You seem one of them."
The blood rushed up in torrents at his words, and she turned scarlet. To hide all this she buried her face for a moment in the armful of nasturtiums. Her eyes were a-sparkle when she lifted her head at once, and said, reproachfully:
"Why did you run away yesterday before any of us could see you?"
"One saw me, and I left a message with him. It was too early for either you or your father to be up. Did Peter not tell you that all went well?"
"Yes, he told us that, and I went down myself to look at The Prince. Come here a moment, Doctor Glenning."
She crossed the drive with a faint swish of drapery, and walked across the lawn to the base of a large maple, not many yards from the front door of the mansion. Beneath this tree, resting against it, was an iron settee of ornamental design. Lying upon the settee was a large revolver. Julia picked it up, cocked as it was, and held it out, muzzle earthward.
"I found this, too, inside under the window. It isn't yours, is it?"