"I do think you must be going mad!" cried Lord Hartledon, in
bewilderment; "and I hope you'll forgive me for saying so. I--"

"Go and change your clothes!" was all she could reiterate. "Every minute
you stand in them is fraught with danger. If you choose to die yourself,
it's downright wicked to bring death to us. Oh, go, that I may get out of
here."

Lord Hartledon, to pacify her, left the room, and the countess-dowager
rushed forth and bolted herself into her own apartments.

Was she mad, or making a display of affectation, or genuinely afraid?
wondered Lord Hartledon aloud, as he went up to his chamber. Hedges gave
it as his opinion that she was really afraid, because she had been as bad
as this when she first heard of the illness, before his lordship arrived.
Val retired to rest laughing: it was a good joke to him.

But it was no joke to the countess-dowager, as he found to his cost when
the morning came. She got him out of his chamber betimes, and commenced a
"fumigating" process. The clothes he had worn she insisted should be
burnt; pleading so piteously that he yielded in his good nature.

But there was to be a battle on another score. She forbade him, in the
most positive terms, to go again to the Rectory--to approach within
half-a-mile of it. Lord Hartledon civilly told her he could not comply;
he hinted that if her alarms were so great, she had better leave the
place until all danger was over, and thereby nearly entailed on himself
another war-dance.

News that came up that morning from the Rectory did not tend to assuage
her fears. The poor dairymaid had died in the night, and another servant,
one of the men, was sickening. Even Lord Hartledon looked grave: and the
countess-dowager wormed a half promise from him, in the softened feelings
of the moment, that he would not visit the infected house.

Before an hour was over he came to her to retract it. "I cannot be so
unfeeling, so unneighbourly, as not to call," he said. "Even were my
relations not what they are with Miss Ashton, I could not do it. It's of
no use talking, ma'am; I am too restless to stay away."

A little skirmish of words ensued. Lady Kirton accused him of wishing to
sacrifice them to his own selfish gratification. Lord Hartledon felt
uncomfortable at the accusation. One of the best-hearted men living, he
did nothing in his vacillation. He would go in the evening, he said to
himself, when they could not watch him from the house.

B