Dr. Denbigh seated himself between the two little beds, and examined the sufferers, each in turn, with ineffable gentleness, with thoughtful patient care. "The symptoms are exactly the same," he said gravely, "but they are severest here." It was on Rena that his hand rested. The Squire groaned aloud. "Shall I lose her?" he asked. "She is my all." "The child is very ill. What does your doctor call the malady?" "Scarlet fever." "Scarlet fever! Why, there is no rash!" "He tells me that in some cases the rash does not appear--in some of the worst cases." "This is no scarlet fever, sir. It is typhus--commonly called gaol fever--distinctly marked. It is a low form of putrid fever. Your child and her companion must have been visiting some of the poor folks' cottages, where the disease is often found." "They have not been beyond the park-gates. You have not taken them among the cottagers, have you, Bridget? You have not disobeyed my strict orders?" "Never, sir. The little dears will tell you themselves, when they have got their senses back, that I never took them nowheres." "Have you had any fever case lately among your servants, indoors or out?" "Mrs. Layburne, yonder, can answer that question better than I." "No, there has been no such illness," said Barbara. "Strange," said the doctor; "the fever is gaol fever, and no other." He wrote a prescription, ordered an entire change of treatment: wine, brandy, the strongest soup that could be made--a chicken boiled down to a breakfast-cupful of broth--and, above all, cleanliness and fresh air. He gave many directions for the comfort of the children, and left within the hour of his arrival, promising to come again in three days, when he would confer with the local doctor. He would write fully to that gentleman next morning, to explain his change of treatment. "I have no doubt I shall induce him to concur with me," he said. Mr. Bosworth followed him to the chaise. "Tell me the truth, for God's sake," he said. "Is there any hope for my child?" The physician shook his head with a sorrowful air. "She is very ill; they are both dangerously ill," he answered. "I would not trifle with you for worlds. You are a man, and can meet misfortune with courage and firmness. I doubt if either of those children will recover; but I will do my utmost to save both. If the nurses follow out my instructions exactly, there may be a change for the better within forty-eight hours; if not, the case is hopeless. I would have you prepared for the worst."