like to see Mr. George
as soon as he came in; but as the train had been an hour late, and the
message had not been delivered immediately on their coming in, George
thought it could not concern that night, so he waited till morning; but
he was awaked in the winter twilight by Harold at his door, saying,
"Doctor, I'm not quite right. I wish you would come up presently and
see after me."

He was gone again, while he was being called to wait; and, dressing as
fast as possible, George Yolland went out after him into the dark,
cold, frosty, foggy morning, and overtook him, leaning on the gate of a
field, shivering, panting, and so dizzy, that it was with difficulty he
was helped to the house. He made known that he had felt very unwell
all the day before, and had had a miserable night, in which all the
warnings about infection had returned on him. The desire to keep clear
of all whom he might endanger, as well as a fevered--perhaps already
half-delirious--longing for cool air, had sent him forth himself to
summon George Yolland. And already strong shivering fits and increased
distress showed what fatal mischief that cold walk had done. All he
cared now to say was that he trusted to his doctor to keep everybody
out of the house; that I was not to be called away from Dora, and that
it was all his own fault.

One person could not be kept away, and that was Dermot Tracy. He came
over to spend the Sunday with his friend, and finding the door closed,
and Richardson giving warning of smallpox, only made him the more
eagerly run upstairs. George could by that time ill dispense with a
strong man's help, and after vaccinating him, admitted him to the room,
where the checking of the eruption had already produced terrible fever
and violent raving.

It was a very remarkable delirium, as the three faithful watchers
described it. The mind and senses seemed astray, only not the will. It
was as if all the vices of his past life came in turn to assail him,
and he was writhing and struggling under their attacks, yet not
surrendering himself. When--the Sunday duties over--Ben Yolland came
in, he found him apparently acting over some of the wild scenes of his
early youth, with shreds of the dreadful mirth, and evil words of
profane revelry; and yet, as if they struck his ears, he would catch
himself up and strike his fist on his mouth, and when Ben entered, he
stretched out his arms and said, "Don't let me." Prayer soothed him
for a