"Nay, madam, you must not count on that. I implore you to leave this room instantly, and never to re-enter it. 'Tis a bad case of confluent small-pox, and I fear 'twill be fatal."
"And this poor lady is alone, her husband fighting in America, killed in the late battle, perhaps. At whatever risk I shall do all I can for her. And I hope we may save her, sir, with care and good nursing."
"Your ladyship may be sure I will do my best," said Morton.
"I will go out into the air while you see to your patient. This room is stifling. You will find me below, waiting to talk to you."
She walked on the footpath by the river till the apothecary came to her, and then gave him her instructions. Dr. Heberden was to see the patient that afternoon, if possible. Antonia would wait upon him and persuade him to do so. And Mr. Morton was to be at hand to receive his instructions. And a nurse was to be found, more serviceable than the old woman on the premises, who seemed civil and obliging, and could be kept to help her.
"And I shall see the patient every day," concluded Antonia.
"I must warn your ladyship once more, that you will do so at the peril of your life."
"My good Mr. Morton, there are situations in which that hazard hardly counts. This poor lady's husband, for instance, has he not risked his life a hundred times in America? Risked and lost it, perhaps!"
There was a catch in her voice like a stifled sob, as she spoke the last sentence.
"That is a vastly different matter, your ladyship," said Morton gravely; but he ventured no farther remonstrance.