She shut her eyes an instant, grasped the coverlet, and drew it down; then caught her breath, and looked at the dead. It was a young, boyish face, horribly swollen and distorted, and coarse red locks were matted around his brow and temples. "Thank God, Maurice Carlyle still lives." She involuntarily raised her hands towards heaven, and the expression of dread melted from her countenance. Slowly and reverently she re-covered the corpse, and approached the nurse. "I am searching for my husband. Which cot is No. 7?" "That on your left,--next to the dead." Mrs. Carlyle turned, and gazed at the bloated crimson mass of disease that writhed on the narrow bed, and a long shudder crept over her, as she endeavored to discover in that loathsome hideous visage some familiar feature--some trace of the manly beauty that once rendered it so fascinating. The swollen blood-shot eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, and, while delirious muttering fell upon the ears of the visitor, she saw that his cheeks were somewhat lacerated, and his hands, partially confined, were tearing at the inflamed flesh. She shivered with horror, and a groan broke from her pitying heart. "What an awful retribution! My God, have mercy upon him! He is sufficiently punished." Drawing her perfumed lace handkerchief from her pocket, she leaned over and wiped away the bloody foam that oozed across his lips, and lifting his hot head turned it sufficiently to expose the right ear, where a large mole was hidden by the thick hair. "Maurice Carlyle! But what a fearful wreck?" She covered her eyes with her hand, and moaned. The nurse came nearer, and said hesitatingly,-- "Madam, surely he is not your husband? His clothes are almost in tatters, while yours are--ahem!--" "Spare me all comments on the comparison. Can I obtain a comfortable, quiet room, in this building, and have him removed to it at once? You hesitate? I will compensate you liberally, will pay almost any price for an apartment where he can at least have silence and seclusion." "We can accommodate you, but of course if the patient is carried from this ward to a private room, we shall be compelled to charge extra." "Charge what you choose, only arrange the matter as promptly as possible. How soon can you make the change?" "In twenty minutes, madam." The nurse rang for an assistant, to whom the necessary instructions were given, and in the _interim_ Mrs. Carlyle leaned against the cot, and brushed away the flies that buzzed about the pitiable victims. Two men carried the sufferer up a flight of steps, and ere long he was transferred to a large comfortable bed in an airy, well-furnished apartment. The removal had not been completed more than an hour, when the surgeon made his evening round, and followed the patient to his new quarters. He paused at sight of the elegantly dressed woman who sat beside the bed, and said, stammeringly,--