not even dare to look at her as she entered the room.

On the fifth morning she was late for breakfast, not a common thing, for
as a rule she rose early. I sent one of the parlour-maids to her room to
ask if she was coming down, and stood awaiting the answer with much the
same feeling as a criminal on his trial awaits the verdict of the jury.
Presently the girl returned with the message that Miss Therne would be
down in a few minutes, whereat I breathed again and swallowed a little
food, which till then I had been unable to touch.

Soon she came, and I saw that she was rather pale and languid, owing to
the heat, perhaps, but that otherwise she looked much as usual.

"You are late, dear," I said unconcernedly.

"Yes, father," she answered; "I woke up with a little headache and went
to sleep again. It has gone now; I suppose that it is the heat."

As she spoke she kissed me, and I thought--but this may have been
fancy--that her breath felt cold upon my cheek.

"I daresay," I said, and we sat down to table. By my plate lay a great
pile of correspondence, which I opened while making pretence to eat,
but all the time I was watching Jane over the top of those wearisome
letters, most of them from beggars or constituents who "wanted to know."
One, however, was anonymous, from a person who signed herself "Mother."
It ran:--

"Sir,--After hearing your speeches some years ago, and being told that
you were such a clever man, I became a Conscientious Objector, and would
not let them vaccinate any more of my children. The three who were not
vaccinated have all been taken to the hospital with the smallpox, and
they tell me (for I am not allowed to see them) that one of them is
dead; but the two who were vaccinated are quite well. Sir, I thought
that you would like to know this, so that if you have made any mistake
you may tell others. Sir, forgive me for troubling you, but it is a
terrible thing to have one's child die of smallpox, and, as I acted on
your advice, I take the liberty of writing the above."

Again I looked at Jane, and saw that although she was sipping her tea
and had some bacon upon her plate she had eaten nothing at all. Like the
catch of a song echoed through my brain that fearsome sentence: "It is
a terrible thing to have one's child die of the smallpox." Terrible,
indeed, for now I had little doubt but that Jane was infected, and
if she should chance to die, then what should I be? I should be her
murdere