nnis to-morrow and I had
promised myself to take it in this year. But I don't want to leave you,
if you need me."

Ellery insisted that he did not need anyone, was getting along finely,
and would not hear of his friend's missing the medical society's
meeting. So the physician went.

"Good-by," he called as he drove off. "I guess your term is pretty
nearly over. I shall let you out of jail inside of four or five days, if
you behave yourself."

This should have been cheering news, but, somehow, John Ellery did not
feel cheerful that afternoon. The tired feeling he had spoken of so
lightly was worse than he had described it, and he was despondent, for
no particular reason. That night he slept miserably and awoke with a
chill to find a cold, pouring rain beating against the windows of the
shanty.

He could not eat and he could not keep warm, even with the cook-stove
top red hot and a blanket over his shoulders. By noon the chill had
gone and he was blazing with fever. Still the rain and the wind, and no
visitors at the ropes, not even the light-keeper.

He lay down on his bed and tried to sleep, but though he dozed a bit,
woke always with a start and either a chill or fever fit. His head began
to ache violently. And then, in the lonesomeness and misery, fear began
to take hold of him.

He remembered the symptoms the doctor had warned him against, headache,
fever, and all the rest. He felt his wrists and arms and began to
imagine that beneath the skin were the little bunches, like small shot,
that were the certain indications. Then he remembered how that other man
had looked, how he had died. Was he to look that way and die like that?
And he was all alone, they had left him alone.

Night came. The rain had ceased and stars were shining clear. Inside the
shanty the minister tossed on the bed, or staggered back and forth about
the two rooms. He wondered what the time might be; then he did not care.
He was alone. The smallpox had him in its grip. He was alone and he
was going to die. Why didn't some one come? Where was Mrs. Coffin? And
Grace? She was somewhere near him--Parker had said so--and he must see
her before he died. He called her name over and over again.

The wind felt cold on his forehead. He stumbled amidst the beach grass.
What was this thing across his path? A rope, apparently, but why should
there be ropes in that house? There had never been any before. He
climbed over it and it was a climb of hundreds