The name of the sick American, as rendered by the maid, caught her instant attention.
“Bonny Hair, or Bonny Air—something like that,” said the maid, and how like it sounded the name of Bonair.
A quick suspicion stirred Berry’s mind into agitation.
“Why, it might be Charley’s own dear father lying there ill, and deserted by the stupid, fearsome fisher folk, helpless, for all of his millions, to secure a nurse!”
Her brown eyes flashed, and she rose up hastily.
“Hannah, I’m an American, too, and I’m going up there to nurse the old man. I cannot let my fellow countryman die for lack of a friend.”
“But, oh, my dear mistress, it’s that terrible smallpox. You wouldn’t dare! You would catch it and die.”
“No, Hannah, I’m immune. I had the disease years ago, way back in my old New Jersey home, and am not even pitted, you see, save two deep scars where it does not show. So I shall go, and at once, leaving you to care for the home till I return.”
With Berry to make up her mind was to act. She dressed herself simply and comfortably, and packed a suit case with necessary clothing, after which she went to a drug store and made some purchases. After leaving a letter for Charley, she hired the nearest conveyance to take her to the inn where she meant to take up the part of a good Samaritan.
The driver was so frightened when he saw the yellow flag waving from the gate of the inn that he refused to go within a square of the house, and she paid him and walked the rest of the way, with her luggage and her bundles.