in the town; the occupants were mostly
very poor, and the pressure of the high prices was sharpest upon them.
In addition to all else they had to suffer, typhoid broke out amongst
them, and another horrible fear was added to the terror of the cold. In
the universal gloom that hung over the city, under the mantle of
darkness, want and starvation and fear and disease wrangled together,
while Death walked silently and continually about the darkened streets.
During all this time Katrine was about the only one who kept up her
spirits and courage. She was the light and comfort of the row, there was
not a cabin in it that had not been brightened and cheered by her
smiles and benefited by her gifts. She was absolutely without fear
herself. The quality seemed to have been left out of her composition, or
perhaps it was only that her great physical health and strength made her
feel unconsciously that it was impossible for any harm to come to her.
She went in and out of the fever-stricken cabins all day, doing what she
could for each one of the inmates, and always with her brilliant smile,
which was a tonic in itself, and half the night she would sit gambling
in the saloons, winning the money to spend upon her sick patients the
following day.

As soon as Stephen learned that typhoid had broken out in the row, he
came down to her and urged her to marry him and come away to the west
gulch, if only as an asylum. But Katrine simply laughed and joked, and
would not listen to him. Then he begged her to look upon herself merely
as his tenant; he and Talbot would share the same cabin, and she could
occupy his in perfect peace and security, and be safely away from the
depressing influences of the town and its disease-laden atmosphere. Then
she grew very grave, and said simply in a sweet tone that echoed through
all the chambers of his heart--

"Dear Stephen, you are very good to be so anxious for me, but I'm not a
bit anxious for myself. I should feel like a coward if I went away from
the row now. These people are so dependent upon me, and I can do so many
little things for them. I feel it's a duty to stay here, and I'd rather
do it;" and Stephen had kissed her hand passionately and gone back to
the gulch, more in love with her than ever.

She saw very little of him, and was too busy to think about him or note
whether he came or not, having so many anxieties on her mind just then,
of which the heaviest was the girl-wife Annie in the next