“Nor did we at the time. But at any rate, that was the first appearance of the eruption—little as we guessed it at the time. You see, she naturally began to grow better when this other disease began to break out, I suppose. Indeed, I have no doubt it was the coming of the small-pox, that arrested the fatal termination of the brain fever. Well, you see, last night after you had left her so much better, we entrusted her to the care of Zuleime, who did not seem to be so much worn out with watching as the rest of us. So Zuleime sat up with her; and she tells me that before midnight her face was sprinkled all over with those pimples. And this morning, when I first saw her—” The old man’s voice broke down for a moment. “Oh! it was dreadful! Her beautiful, fair face, neck, bosom, arms, all covered over with that horrible eruption! It had all run together in one mass. We sent off to hasten the arrival of the doctor, who, when he came, pronounced the disease to be confluent small-pox. Oh, it is horrible! horrible, even, if her life be spared! Disfigured for life! What a fate for a woman! I drove Zuleime out of the room against her will—for she, dear, generous girl, wished to stay and tend her sister. Georgia told me at breakfast, that she had just got a letter from her father, who was ill—and that she must have the carriage to go to Richmond. She did not show me the letter, for she made haste and started almost immediately. Everything falls out disastrously at once. Now, what am I to do? I cannot procure a nurse to that disease, for love or money, in this neighborhood. Advise me what to do. The necessity is so urgent!” Mrs. Clifton was now sitting up, supporting her head upon her hand, and essaying her strength. “I must go back, and nurse Carolyn myself.” “You! Now, never suppose, my dear sister, that I have been hinting for you to return and finish killing yourself for us! I would not permit it, if you wished it ever so much! I’ll lock and bar the doors and windows, to keep you out, first. But think and counsel me as to the best thing to be done. There is no one at home but Zuleime—and even if I were willing she should risk taking the dreadful disease, she is so very young and inexperienced that I should be afraid to trust her sister’s safety in her hands. But I am not willing that she should run any risk to _herself_—that’s flat. But what’s to be done?” “There is not a servant on your plantation, or on this farm, fit to be trusted in such a case. I must go and take care of my daughter myself!” “D—d if you shall, ma’am! I’ll bar my doors and windows against you, first, I tell you! Why, in your weak state, it would be suicide!” The lady maintained her purpose against Mr. Clifton’s vehement opposition, and her calm persistence must have conquered, but Kate Kavanagh mildly interposed, by saying— “Let me go.” “You!” exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Clifton, in a breath. “Yes; I am not a bad nurse. I have had considerable experience with sick people.”