“It is very dangerous,” he said. “This is Russian typhus. He must be removed to a hospital. In the morning. The authorities insist on it in cases of infectious fevers. To-night I will send you a nurse.”
“No,” said Janet Welford. “I’m nursing him to-night.”
“At the risk of your own life, gnädiges Fräulein.
“I’ll take the risk, doctor.”
Christy was anxious, helpless, gloomy.
“Turn and turn about,” he said. “I’ll take the night watch, my dear.”
“No,” she said again, “this is my work. Lie down till the morning, and be good.”
Early in the morning she came out of Bertram’s room.
“He keeps calling for Joyce. She ought to know. Can you send her a telegram?”
“Holme Ottery,” said Christy. “That ought to find her. But she doesn’t deserve it.”