inted and uncleaned by any crew eager to show their best to shore--a
black and blistered brig, with furled sails and silent deck; and some men
called it the fever-ship, and some men called it the Sabrina.

As the news of the brig's return and of her terrible companion spread
through the town, a panic followed it, and the feeling with which she was
regarded all along the shore during that day and the next would hardly be
believed by any but those who have once been in the neighborhood of a
pestilence themselves. Exaggerated accounts of a swift, strange illness,
by many believed to be the ancient plague revived again and cast loose
through the land from Asiatic ships had reached the old port; and aware
that they were peculiarly exposed by reason of their trade, small as it
was, the people there had already died a thousand deaths through
expectation of the present coming of the fever already raging in other
parts. Hitherto, the health-officers, boarding everything that appeared,
had found no occasion to give anything but clean papers, and the town had
breathed again. But now, when at last it spread from lip to lip that the
fever lay at anchor in mid-channel, knees shook and cheeks grew white, and
health-officer and port-physician, in spite of the almost instantaneous
brevity of their visit to the infected vessel, were avoided as though they
were the pestilence themselves, and not a soul in all the town was found
to carry a cup of cold water to the gasping, burning men cared for only by
those in less desperate strait than themselves, and who, having buried
two-thirds of their number in deep-sea soundings, were likely to be denied
as much as a grave on shore themselves; while to Mr. Maurice, half wild
with perplexity and foreboding and amazement at Miss Frarnie's yet wilder
terror,--to him the red lantern hung out by the brig at nightfall
magnified itself in the mist into a crimson cloud where with wide wings
lurked the very demon of Fever himself.

Not a soul to carry the cup of cold water, did I say? Yes, one timid
little soul there was, waiting in a fever of longing herself--waiting that
those who had a right to go might do so if they would--waiting till
assured that neither Frarnie Maurice nor her parents had the first
intention of going, though affianced husband and chosen son lay dying
there--waiting in agony of impatience, since every delay might possibly
mean death,--one little brave and timid soul there was who ventu