“I guess I’m goin’ to be sick,” she said, with a despairing cadence.  “I expect it’s somethin’ catchin’.  I’ll go home.  Let me go home.”

She started for the door, but her limbs suddenly gave way, and she fell, a limp little heap on the floor.

Miss De Courcy looked at her a moment in silence.  Her eyes wandered about the room, and fell on a crumpled letter on the table.  She paused a moment, then she turned decisively, and let down the folding-bed that stood in the corner by day.  She lifted the half-conscious Druse in her strong young arms, and laid her on the bed.  It was only a few minutes’ work to remove the coarse garments, and wrap her in a perfumed, frilled nightdress, that hung loosely on the spare little form.  Miss De Courcy surveyed the feverish face against the pillows anxiously.  Druse half opened her dull eyes and moaned feebly; she lifted her thin arms and clasped them around Miss De Courcy’s neck.  “Ain’t you good!” she said thickly, drawing the cool cheek down against her hot brow.

“I’m going for the doctor, Druse,” said Miss De Courcy, coaxingly.  “Now, you lay right still, and I’ll be back in no time.  Don’t you move; promise, Druse!”

And Druse gave an incoherent murmur that passed for a promise.

The doctor, who lived on the corner, a shabby, coarse little man, roused her from a fevered dream.  He asked a few questions perfunctorily, turned the small face to the light a moment, and cynically shrugged his shoulders.

“Small-pox,” was his laconic remark, when he had followed Miss De Courcy into the next room.

“Then she’s going to stay right here,” said that young woman firmly.

“Well, I guess not” replied the doctor, looking her over.  “How about your own complexion if you take it?” he added, planting a question he expected to tell.

Miss De Courcy’s remark was couched in such forcible terms that I think I had better not repeat it.  It ought to have convinced any doctor living that her complexion was her own affair.

“Oh! that’s all right,” replied the man of science, unoffended, a tardy recognition of her valor showing through his easy insolence.  “But how about the Board of Health, and how about me?  She’s better off in a hospital, any way.  You can’t take care of her,” with a scornful glance at the draggled finery and striking hat.  “What do you want to try it for?  I can’t let the contagion spread all over the house, you know; how would you get anything to eat?  No, it’s no use.  She’s got to go.  I’m not going to ruin my reputation as a doctor, and—­”

Miss De Courcy smiled sweetly into the doctor’s hard, common face.  She drew a purse from her pocket, and selected several bills from a roll that made his small eyes light up greedily, and pressing the little packet into his not too reluctant fingers, she remarked significantly, as she sat down easily on the top of a low table: