FATAL TOKEN.

Tuesday morning brought a strange little untidy packet, tied with blue
ribbon, understamped, and directed to Harold Alison, Esquire, in the
worst form of poor Dora's always bad handwriting. Within was a single
knitted muffatee, and a long lock of the stiffly curling yellow hair
peculiar to Dora's head. In blotted, sloping roundhand was written:--

"My Dear Harry,--

"Good-bye, I do fele so very ill, I can't do any more. Don't forget I
allwaies was your wiffe.

"I am your affex., D. A."

We looked at each other in wonder and dismay, sure that the child must
be very ill, and indignant that we had not been told. Harold talked of
going up to town to find out; I was rather for going, or sending, to
Therford for tidings, and all the time, alas! alas! he was smoothing
and caressing the yellow tress between his fingers, pitying the child
and fancying she was being moped to death in the school-room.

We determined on riding to Therford, and Harold had hastened to the
office to despatch some business first, when Mr. Horsman himself came
in--on his way to the Petty Sessions--to explain matters.

Mrs. Randall Horsman had arrived with her children at Therford the day
before, flying from the infection of smallpox, for which the doctor had
declared Dora to be sickening. The whole family had been spending the
autumn months at the seaside. Nessy Horsman had been with them and had
taken Dora about with him much more than had been approved. In one of
these expeditions he had taken her into the shop of a village
ratcatcher, where, it had since been ascertained, two children were ill
of smallpox. She had been ailing ever since the party had returned to
London; the doctor had been called in on Monday, and had not only
pronounced the dreadful name of the disease, but, seeking in vain for
the marks of vaccination on her arms, he greatly apprehended that she
would have it in full and unmitigated virulence.

Mrs. Randall Horsman had herself and her children vaccinated without
loss of time and fled to the country. Her husband would spend all day
in his chambers, and only sleep at home on the ground-floor with every
precaution, and Dora had been left in the charge of a young
under-house-maid, whose marked face proved her safety, until the doctor
could send in a regular nurse. It was this wretched little stupid maid
who was ignorant enough to assist the poor child in sending off he