“Well, nothing more can be done at present. You may as well lie down for a while and save your strength.”
But Eunice could not do that. There was too much to attend to. She went out to the hall and threw up the window. Down below, at a safe distance, Charles Holland was waiting. The cold wind blew up to Eunice the odor of the disinfectants with which he had steeped himself.
“What does the doctor say?” he shouted.
“He thinks it’s the smallpox. Have you sent word to Victoria?”
“Yes, Jim Blewett drove into town and told her. She’ll stay with her sister till it is over. Of course it’s the best thing for her to do. She’s terribly frightened.”
Eunice’s lip curled contemptuously. To her, a wife who could desert her husband, no matter what disease he had, was an incomprehensible creature. But it was better so; she would have Christopher all to herself.
The night was long and wearisome, but the morning came all too soon for the dread certainty it brought. The doctor pronounced the case smallpox. Eunice had hoped against hope, but now, knowing the worst, she was very calm and resolute.
By noon the fateful yellow flag was flying over the house, and all arrangements had been made. Caro-
