scipline.

De Courval went daily across the doomed city to his loathsome task,
walking thither after his breakfast. He helped to feed and nurse the
sick, aided in keeping the beds decent, and in handling the many who
died, until at nightfall, faint and despairing, he wandered back to his
home. Only once Schmidt asked a question, and hearing his sad story, was
silent, except to say: "I thought as much. God guard you, my son!"

One day, returning, he saw at evening on Front Street a man seated on a
door-step. He stopped, and the man looked up. It was the blacksmith
Offley.

"I am stricken," he said. "Will thee help me?"

"Surely I will." De Courval assisted him into the house and to bed. He
had sent his family away. "I have shod my last horse, I fear. Fetch me
Dr. Hutchinson."

"He died to-day."

"Then another--Dr. Hodge; but my wife must not know. She would come.
Ask Friend Pennington to visit me. I did not approve of thee, young man.
I ask thee pardon; I was mistaken. Go, and be quick."

"I shall find some one." He did not tell him that both Pennington and
the physician were dead.

De Courval was able to secure the needed help, but the next afternoon
when he returned, the blacksmith was in a hearse at the door. De Courval
walked away thoughtful. Even those he knew avoided him, and he observed,
what many noticed, that every one looked sallow and their eyes yellow. A
strange thing it seemed.

And so, with letters well guarded, that none he loved might guess his
work, September passed, and the German was at last able to be in the
garden, but strangely feeble, still silent, and now asking for books. A
great longing was on the young man to see those he loved; but October,
which saw two thousand perish, came and went, and it was well on into
the cooler November before the pest-house was closed and De Courval set
free, happy in a vast and helpful experience, but utterly worn out and
finding his last week's walks to the hospital far too great an exertion.
What his body had lost for a time, his character had gained in an
exercised charity for the sick, for the poor, and for the opinions of
men on whom he had previously looked with small respect.

A better and wiser man on the 20th of November drove out with Schmidt to
the home of the Wynnes at Merion, where Schmidt left him to the tender
care of two women, who took despotic possession.

"At last!" cried the mother, and with tears most rare to her she held
the worn