of a fatal ending drives them in here. Congestion? Yes, sometimes
congestion pulls them under suddenly, and they're gone before they know
it. Sometimes their vitality wanes slowly, until Malaria beckons in
Consumption."

"Why, Doctor," said the city student, ruffling with pride of his town,
"there are plenty of cities as bad as this. I happen to know, for
instance"--

Dr. Sevier turned away in quiet contempt.

"It will not improve our town to dirty others, or to clean them,
either."

He moved down the ward, while two or three members among the moving
train, who never happened to know anything, nudged each other joyfully.

The group stretched out and came along, the Doctor first and the
young men after, some of one sort, some of another,--the dull, the
frivolous, the earnest, the kind, the cold,--following slowly, pausing,
questioning, discoursing, advancing, moving from each clean, slender bed
to the next, on this side and on that, down and up the long sanded
aisles, among the poor, sick women.

Among these, too, there was variety. Some were stupid and ungracious,
hardened and dulled with long penury as some in this world are hardened
and dulled with long riches. Some were as fat as beggars; some were old
and shrivelled; some were shrivelled and young; some were bold; some
were frightened; and here and there was one almost fair.

Down at the far end of one aisle was a bed whose occupant lay watching
the distant, slowly approaching group with eyes of unspeakable dread.
There was not a word or motion, only the steadfast gaze. Gradually the
throng drew near. The faces of the students could be distinguished.
This one was coarse; that one was gentle; another was sleepy; another
trivial and silly; another heavy and sour; another tender and gracious.
Presently the tones of the Doctor's voice could be heard, soft, clear,
and without that trumpet quality that it had beyond the sick-room. How
slowly, yet how surely, they came! The patient's eyes turned away toward
the ceiling; they could not bear the slowness of the encounter. They
closed; the lips moved in prayer. The group came to the bed that was
only the fourth away; then to the third; then to the second. There
they pause some minutes. Now the Doctor approaches the very next bed.
Suddenly he notices this patient. She is a small woman, young, fair to
see, and, with closed eyes and motionless form, is suffering an agony of
consternation. One startled look, a suppressed