The next instant Michael’s senses came back and without stopping to think he sprang forward and caught her up in his arms, bearing her from the room and setting her down at the bath-room door.
“Oh, Starr! what have you done!” he said, a catch in his voice like a sob, for he did not know what he was saying.
Starr, frightened, struggling, sobbing, turned and looked at him.
“Michael! How did you come to be here? Oh, what is the matter with my father?”
“Go wash your hands and face quickly with this antiseptic soap,” he commanded, all on the alert now, and dealing out the things the doctor had given him for his own safety, “and here! rinse your mouth with this quickly, and gargle your throat! Then go and change your things as quick as you can. Your father has the smallpox and you have been in there close to him.”
“The smallpox!”
“Hurry!” commanded Michael, handing her the soap and turning on the hot water.
Starr obeyed him because when Michael spoke in that tone people always did obey, but her frightened eyes kept seeking his face for some reassurance.
“The smallpox! Oh, Michael! How dreadful! But how do you know? Has the doctor been here? And how did you happen to be here?”
“I was passing last night when your father came home and he asked me to help him in. Yes, the doctor was here, and will soon come again and bring a nurse. Now hurry! You must get away from the vicinity of this room!”