Well, if that was all, I could bear it, certainly.

"But he will get well," I said.

He was looking far out at the purple sky, and his face seemed old and
gray.

"I hope and pray so," he said at last. "He has the smallpox, Tom.
There are some cases along the river near Charles City, and he must
have caught it there. Doctor Brayle has done everything for him that
can be done."

But I was not listening. There was room for only one thought in my brain.

"And my mother is with him!" I cried, and my heart seemed bursting.

He held me tight against him, and I felt a tear fall upon my head. This
was the trial, then--for him no less than me.

"Yes, she is with him, Tom. She believes it her duty, and will allow no
one else to enter. Ah, she has not been found wanting. Dear heart, I knew
she would never be."

Of what came after, I have no distinct remembrance. Mr. Fontaine told me
that my mother wished me to go home with him, so that I might be quite
beyond reach of the infection. He had agreed that this would be the
wisest course, and so, too stricken at heart to resist, I was bundled
into his chaise with a chest of my clothes, and driven away through the
crowd of sobbing negroes to the little house at Charles City where he and