"It is not always the case," said Edith; "there have been several deaths amongst tradespeople." "Ah! poor things, they have to deal with the poor, you see; but what I mean is, that it seldom goes higher up; which is a great comfort, you know; for what good would it do the poor that those above them should die?" "None, of course. The doctor also mentioned another case--very sad too-- such a fine young man, he had been told, an artist, I think; but he did not know his name, who is lying ill--all but given up." "Really," said Mrs. Brand, "this gets quite alarming. Do you know whereabouts that unfortunate young man lives?" Until then, I had listened to them as we listen to speech in which we take no interest. I was young, full of health; the evening air felt pleasant and fresh about me; and standing on that cool verandah above a fragrant garden, I recked not of the fevered dwellings where the poor perish, and of the sick chamber where even the rich man may be reached by death; but when Mrs. Langton spoke of the young artist who lay given up, I felt touched. When Mrs. Brand asked to know where he dwelt, I just turned my head a little to catch the reply of the beautiful Edith. She gave it carelessly. "In a place called the Grove, I believe; is it far off?" "Two miles away at least," complacently replied Mrs. Brand. I know not how I entered the room; but I know that the two ladies screamed faintly, as they saw me stepping in, through the open window. "Miss Burns, is the house on fire?" exclaimed Mrs. Brand. "'T is he!" I said, with that dead calmness which many find in their woe. "I know it is. We live in the Grove, and there is not another artist in it." "I am not sure he is an artist," said Edith, rising. "I now think it was an architect." "There is no architect in the Grove," I replied; "not one." "My dear," observed Mrs. Brand, soothingly taking my hand, "it is all a mistake, depend upon it." I looked at her, and shook my head. "The house was close and silent; the blinds were drawn down. I know why now--lest the contagion should reach me." Mrs. Brand dropped my hand rather hastily. "I shall send and inquire at once," she observed. "Pacify yourself, my dear." She stretched out her hand to ring the bell. "You need not," I said, "I am going." "Oh! but you must not!" cried Mrs. Brand, "think of the danger." I laughed drearily in her face. "Of the contagion, my dear?" "Do not fear, I shall come back, Ma'am," I replied, turning to the door. She followed me. "My dear, you must have the carriage." "I shall go by the lanes," I said impatiently. The carriage was, I knew, the delay of at least an hour. "By the lanes, at this hour? I cannot allow it, Miss Burns." I turned round upon her. "But I will go," I said, and even in that moment, I wondered the woman could be so blind as to think her will had the power to detain me.