Her mind was centered upon one idea.
Christopher was ill--alone--she must go to him. It did not
matter what his disease was. When Caroline came in from her
breathless expedition to the barn, she found Eunice standing by
the table, with her hat and shawl on, tying up a parcel.
"Eunice! Where on earth are you going?"
"Over home," said Eunice. "If Christopher is going to be ill he
must be nursed, and I'm the one to do it. He ought to be seen to
right away."
"Eunice Carr! Have you gone clean out of your senses? It's the
smallpox--the smallpox! If he's got it he'll have to be taken
to the smallpox hospital in town. You shan't stir a step to go
to that house!"
"I will." Eunice faced her excited aunt quietly. The odd
resemblance to her mother, which only came out in moments of
great tension, was plainly visible. "He shan't go to the
hospital--they never get proper attention there. You needn't try
to stop me. It won't put you or your family in any danger."
Caroline fell helplessly into a chair. She felt that it would be
of no use to argue with a woman so determined. She wished
Charles was there. But Charles had already gone, post-haste, for
the doctor.
With a firm step, Eunice went across the field foot-path she had
not trodden for so long. She felt no fear--rather a sort of
elation. Christopher needed her once more; the interloper who
had come between them was not there.
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