ropes of the _Mayflower_. Under the shade of these elms stood large
old-fashioned houses, in that sort of sleepy dignity peculiar to old New
England. We who lived in these houses were also sleepy and dignified. We
knew that "under the hill," as it was called, lived many hundreds of men
and women, who were stifled in summer for want of the breezes which swept
across our heights, cold in winter because the wall of our plateau shut
down upon them the icy airs from the frozen river, and cut off the
afternoon sun. We were sorry for them, and we sent them cold meat and
flannels sometimes; but their life was as remote from our life as if they
never crossed our paths; it is not necessary to go into large cities to
find sharp lines drawn between the well-to-do and the poverty-stricken.
There are, in many small villages, "districts" separated from each other
by as distinct a moral distance as divides Fifth Avenue from the Five
Points.

And so it had come to pass that while for weeks this malignant fever had
been creeping about on the river shore, we, in our clearer, purer air, had
not felt even a dread of it. There had not been a single case of it west
of the high water mark made by the terrible freshet of the previous
spring. We sent brandy and wine and beef-tea into the poor, comfortless,
grief-stricken houses; and we said at tea-time that it was strange, people
would persist in living down under the bank: what could they expect? and
besides, they were "so careless about drainage and ventilation."

Now, on the highest and loveliest spot, in the richest and most beautiful
house, the sweetest and fairest girl of all our village lay ill of the
deadly disease.

"Annie Ware has the fever." I wondered if some fiend were lurking by my
side, who kept saying the words over and over in my ear. With that
indescribable mixture of dulled and preternaturally sharpened sense which
often marks the first moments of such distress, I walked slowly to my
room, and in a short time had made all the necessary preparation for
leaving home. I felt like a thief as I stole slowly down the stairs, with
my travelling-bag in my hand. At the door I met my father.

"Hey-day, my darling, where now? Off to Annie's, as usual?"

He had not heard the tidings! Should I tell him? I might never see him
again; only too well I knew the terrible danger into which I was going.
But he might forbid me.

"Yes, off to Annie's," I said in a gay tone, and kissing him spr