means the fever, and the fever means death? No, no, you cannot go; let others who have nothing to live for risk their lives—"
He looked at her sadly, and raised her hand to his lips.
"You will miss me?"
There was an infinite yearning in his face and voice. The next moment he was gone; and Sara Harden, burying her fair head in her hands, sat down and wept as the carriage bore away toward the pest-stricken town the man whom she had always loved as a heart's' brother.
At the station there was the usual crowd of hangers-on, and but few passengers, as it was still very early. A small, clean-shaven man leaning against the rail outside the ticket-office seemed absorbed in studying the labyrinthine table of outgoing trains. A cab drove up at a sharp pace, and Philip Rondelet, jumping lightly to the ground, turned and said in an undertone to his companion: "Are you in earnest, Therese? It is not yet too late for the steamer. For the last time, will you not give up the idea of going with me?"
"No, I am determined. If you can risk your life, why should I love mine too much to do the same thing?"
"It is very different. You are a woman, and have no knowledge of the work you are under-
