'Two,' said Herrick.
'Well, it is a dreadful sickness,' said Attwater.
Ad you any deaths?' asked Huish, ere on the island?'
'Twenty-nine,' said Attwater. 'Twenty-nine deaths and thirty-one cases, out of thirty-three souls upon the island.—That's a strange way to calculate, Mr. Hay, is it not? Souls! I never say it but it startles me.'
'Oh, so that's why everything's deserted?' said Huish.
'That is why, Mr. Whish,' said Attwater; 'that is why the house is empty and the graveyard full.'
'Twenty-nine out of thirty-three!' exclaimed Herrick, 'Why, when it came to burying—or did you bother burying?'
'Scarcely,' said Attwater; 'or there was one day at least when we gave up. There were five of the dead that morning, and thirteen of the dying, and no one able to go about except the sexton and myself. We held a council of war, took the . . . empty bottles . . . into the lagoon, and buried them.' He looked over his shoulder, back at the bright water. 'Well, so you'll come to dinner, then? Shall we say half-past six. So good of you!'
