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. Caroline was to do the necessary
cooking, and Charles was to bring the food and leave it in the
yard. Old Giles Blewett was to come every day and attend to the
stock, as well as help Eunice with the sick man; and the long,
hard fight with death began.
It was a hard fight, indeed. Christopher Holland, in the
clutches of the loathsome disease, was an object from which his
nearest and dearest might have been pardoned for shrinking. But
Eunice never faltered; she never left her post.
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