‘I have been disobedient, you see,’ she says gaily; ‘but I promised to bring Mrs Black something early this morning; and she seemed so ill yesterday that I did not like to disappoint her. But I am not going to transgress orders again—for Frank’s sake,’ she adds softly.
I give an internal groan. Heaven grant she may not have transgressed them once too often! And I hasten into the cottage, to find my worst fears confirmed. Mrs Black has small-pox quite unmistakably.
For some hours I am occupied in making arrangements for her removal to the infirmary, and in vaccinating such of my poorer patients as I can frighten or coerce into allowing me to do so; and it is afternoon before I am able to go and look after Mrs Ogilvie.
She seems rather astonished when I inform her what my errand is—that I want to vaccinate her (for of course I do not wish to frighten her by telling her about Mrs Black); but she submits readily enough when I say that I have heard of a case of small-pox in a neighbouring village (which I have), and think it would be a wise precautionary measure.
‘It is very good of you,’ she says in her pretty gracious way as she bares her white arm. ‘I have never been vaccinated since I was a baby, so I suppose it will be desirable.’
Desirable? I should think so indeed! And I send up a prayer as I perform the operation that I may not be too late.
I am so busy for the next few days that I am unable to go down to the cottage. One or two more cases of small-pox appear in the village, and I am anxious and hard-worked; but Mary Anne tells me that Mrs Ogilvie has heard of Mrs Black’s removal and is dreadfully nervous about herself. ‘I hope she will not frighten herself into it,’ adds my wife.
‘If she hadn’t contracted it before I vaccinated her, I think she is pretty safe,’ I reply; ‘but there is just the chance that she may have had the poison in her previously.’
Almost as I speak a message comes from Mrs Ogilvie, who ‘wishes to see me professionally.’ My heart sinks as I seize my hat and follow the messenger; and with too good reason. I find her suffering from the first symptoms of small-pox; and in twenty-four hours it has declared itself unequivocally and threatens to be a bad case. I try to keep the nature of her illness from her, but in vain. She questions me closely, and when she discovers the truth, gives way to a burst of despair which is painful to witness. ‘I shall be marked; I shall be hideous!’ she exclaims, sobbing bitterly. ‘Poor Frank, how he will hate me!’
In vain I try to comfort her, to convince her that in not one out of a hundred cases does the disease leave dreadful traces behind it; she refuses to be consoled. And soon she is too ill to be reasoned with, or indeed to know much of her own state. She is an orphan, and has no near relatives for whom we can send, so Mary Anne installs herself in the sick-room as head-nurse; and as I see her bending lovingly over the poor disfigured face, and ministering with tender hands to the ceaseless wants of the invalid, my wife is in my eyes beautiful exceedingly; so does the shadow of a good deed cast a glory around the most homely countenance.