on which the red cross had been painted; and seeing
her so stand before it, a man detached himself from a group hard by
and asked her business, since the house was closed.

"I am a nurse," answered Gertrude, boldly. "I have come to nurse
the sick. Let me into this house, I pray, for I hear the need is
very sore."

"Sore enough, mistress," answered the man, fumbling with his key,
for of course there was admittance to plague nurses and doctors
into infected houses; "but if you take my advice, you'll not
venture within the door. The dead cart has had four from it these
last two days. Like enough by this time they are all dead. They
have asked for nothing these past ten hours--not since the cart
came last night."

With a shudder of pity and horror, but without any personal
shrinking, Gertrude signed to the man to open the door, which he
proceeded to do in a leisurely manner. Then she stepped across the
threshold, the door was closed behind her, and she heard the key
turn in the lock.

Truly her work had now begun. She was incarcerated in a
plague-stricken house, and this time by her own will.

For the first few seconds she stood still in the dark entry, unable
to see her way before her; but soon her eyes grew used to the dim
light, and she saw that there was a door on one side of the passage
and a steep flight of stairs leading upwards, and it was from some
upper portion of the house from which the sound of crying
proceeded.

Just glancing into the lower room, which she found quite empty, and
which was unexpectedly clean, she mounted the rickety staircase,
the wailing sound growing more distinct every step she took. The
house was a very tiny one even for these small tenements, and there
were only two little rooms upon the upper floor. It was from one of
these that the crying was proceeding, but Gertrude could not be
sure which.

With a beating heart she opened the first door, and saw a sight
which went to her heart. Upon a narrow bed lay two little forms
wrapped in the same sheet, rigidly still, waiting their last
transit to the common grave. Except for the two dead children the
room was empty, and Gertrude, softly closing the door, and
breathing a silent prayer, she scarce knew whether for herself, for
the living, or for the dead, she opened the other, and came upon a
scene, the pathos and inexpressible sadness of which made a lasting
impression upon her, which even after events did not efface from
her memory.