h the issue that
when the scourge was over, the young West Indian doctor had so many
cures to his credit, where all other physicians had failed, that the
City Council presented him with a silver tankard, gratefully inscribed,
and filled with golden coins. Hamilton's fecund brain, scattering its
creations, made more than one reputation.

Meanwhile, he awoke one day to find Mrs. Croix sitting beside his bed.
She had left town in June, and usually did not return until late in
September. She wore a white frock and a blue sash, and looked like an
angel about to do penance.

"I have come back to take care of the sick, including yourself," she
announced, "I was born to be a nurse, and I felt that my place was here.
I have come to see you first, and I shall call daily, but otherwise I am
in Dr. Stevens's hands."

Hamilton stared at her. He was not surprised, for she was kind hearted
in her erratic imperious fashion, and much beloved by the poor; nor was
she afraid of anything under heaven. But she was the last person he had
wished to see; she was for his triumphant hours, or his furious, not for
helpless invalidism. He had longed consistently for his wife, and
written to her by every packet-boat, lest she suspect his illness and
return to the plague-stricken city. He was filled with a sudden
resentment that any other woman should presume to fill her chair. To
forget her under overwhelming provocation he had reconciled to his
conscience with little difficulty, for his extenuations were many, and
puritanism had not yet invaded the national character; but to permit
another woman to ministrate to him when ill, he felt to be an
unpardonable breach of his Eliza's rights, and his loyalty rebelled. So,
although he treated Mrs. Croix with politeness while she remained, he
gave orders to Dr. Stevens to keep her away upon any pretext he chose.
"I am too nervous to be bothered with women," he added; and Stevens
obeyed without comment.

Hamilton's convalescence was cheered by two facts: the revival of his
spirits and equilibrium, and frequent assurances from his wife that for
the first time in five years she was entirely well. She wrote that she
had regained all her old colour, "spring," vivacity, and plumpness, and
felt quite ten years younger. Hamilton was delighted; for her courage
had so far exceeded her strength that he had often feared a collapse.
Although she detested the sight of a pen, she was so elated with her
recovered heal