In the quiet hotel at which all three are registered they are seated at supper in the small private dining-room. The round, neatly appointed table at which they sit is loaded with luxuries to which they are doing but meager justice. It is late in October, and a small fire burns on the hearth, tempering the slightly chilly air, and lending cheerfulness to the room. Bright gas-light glimmers down on crimson carpets, curtains, chairs, that throw into vivid relief the faces of our three friends--pale all of them, and thin, earnest, and full of thoughtful gravity. It is no child's play, this nursing the yellow fever patients in houses and hospitals. These faces bear the impress of sleepless nights and days, and the silver threads on the elder lady's brow are more abundant, while in Captain Clendenon's curly brown locks one or two snow-flakes from the winter of care, not time, are distinctly visible. There are slight hollows in the smooth cheeks of Grace, faint blue circles around her large eyes, and no color at all in her face except the vivid line of her red lips. She looks like a little Quakeress in the pale gray dress that clings closely about the slight figure, relieved only by white frills at throat and wrists. All her bright hair is drawn back in soft waves from her face, and confined at the back with a silver arrow that lets it fall in a soft, bright mass of natural curls below the waist--lovely still, though pallid, sad, and worn; and in this quiet nun-like garb, with a beauty that grows daily less earthly, and more heavenly. The pensive shade of a smile dwells on her lip a moment as she looks across on Mrs. Clendenon in mute rebellion at the physician's mandate. "You need not look defiance," the lady returns, "for I shall add my commands to those of Doctor Constant. This is Thursday, and you have not slept a single night this week, while I have had two nights' rest. My dear child, listen to reason, and remain at the hotel to-night and get some sleep." "I am not so very tired. I can hold out to watch to-night." "Oh, of course! and die at your post. What can you be thinking of, Grace? Flesh and blood cannot stand such a strain. You must take needful rest, or you will fall a victim to the fever through sheer exhaustion." "I cannot rest," she answered, wearily. "It is a physical impossibility for me to take rest and sleep when I know how many are suffering and needing attention that I could render them." "There are others who will supply your place," interposed the captain. "I learned this evening that you were at two death-beds to-day. This, I think, is too much strain on your nervous system, and did I dare I should add my commands to the rest that you remain in your room and take needful repose to-night. As it is, I can only offer my earnest entreaties."