"OUR HERO."

A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.

By AGNES GIBERNE, Author of "Sun, Moon and Stars," "The Girl at the Dower House," etc.

CHAPTER V.

A MILITARY NURSE.

Colonel Baron might not confess the fact in so many words, but before he had been three days in Paris, he was sorely regretting his own action in taking Roy across the Channel.

Had he admitted that it really was his wife's persistency, overbearing his better judgment, which had settled the matter, he might have been tempted to blame her. But even to himself he did not admit this. Rather than confess that he had been managed by a woman, he preferred to look upon the mistake as entirely his own. Moreover, he was too devoted a husband to condemn openly any fault in his wife. She was, of course, a woman, and as such he would have counted it infra dig. on his part to have been controlled by her; but she was also in his eyes the fairest and most charming woman that ever had lived; and the one thing on earth before which the Colonel's courage failed was the sight of tears in his Harriette's large grey eyes.

That they should return home, as at first proposed, by the end of a fortnight, unless they were willing to leave the boy behind, was impossible; and neither of them would for a moment contemplate that idea. No matter how well Roy might get on, he would be a prisoner beyond the fortnight. Small-pox is a disease which "gangs its ain gait," and makes haste for no man's convenience. Even after actual recovery, there would still be need for quarantine.

Had Roy remained at home, he would probably have sickened at the same date, if, as was supposed, he had taken the infection from one of his schoolfellows. But then he would have been safe in England, and his parents could any day have returned to him. Now he seemed likely to keep them abroad, at a time when war-clouds hovered unpleasantly near.

When Roy first fell ill, the doctor who was hastily called in at once pronounced him to be sickening for that fell disease, which held the world in a thraldom of terror. Not without good reason. It was reckoned that in those days nearly half a million of people died in Europe every year of small-pox; about forty-five millions being swept away in a century; while tens of thousands were rendered hideous for life, and large numbers were hopelessly blinded. We, who know small-pox mainly in the very modified form which sometimes occurs in vaccinated people, can scarcely even imagine what the ravages of the disease were in those years of its fullest and most unchecked sway.

Mrs. Baron was a fond and tender mother; yet when first that dread word left the doctor's lips, even she fled in horror from the sick room, agonised, not only at the thought of losing her child, but of parting also with her own attractive looks. From infancy she had been used to admiration; and she knew only too well to what a mere mockery of the human face many a lovelier countenance than hers was reduced. Though a most winning woman, she was hardly of a strong nature; and even her mother-love failed for the moment under that fearful test. The Colonel, kind but helpless, was left alone by his boy's bedside.

Soon, ashamed of herself, Mrs. Baron rallied and would have returned; but at the door she was met by the Colonel, who sternly prohibited re-entrance. She bowed to his decision, trembling, as she did not always bow when her wishes were crossed.

The people of the hotel, no whit less dismayed, insisted on Roy's instant removal. The question was, where could he go?

Then it was that Denham Ivor came to the rescue. He had had small-pox; he had nursed a friend through it; he was, therefore, not only safe but also experienced. He would undertake the boy himself, allowing no other to enter the room. Neither Mrs. Baron nor Colonel Baron might again approach Roy, until all danger of infection was over. His steady manner and cheerful face brought comfort to everybody.

He consulted with the hotel people, and heard of a certain Monsieur and Madame de Bertrand, members of the lesser noblesse of past days, who lived in a street near, and who might be willing to take in him and Roy. Three years earlier they had both been inoculated, and had had the complaint. Their servant, too, was safe; and, since they had lost heavily in Revolution times, and were badly off, they might be glad thus to make a little money.

Colonel Baron hastened to the house, ready to offer anything, and he was met kindly, matters being speedily arranged. Roy was then conveyed thither, wrapped in blankets, already much too ill to care what might be done with him. Colonel and Mrs. Baron remained at the hotel, to endure a long agony of suspense. The Colonel was, indeed, almost overcome with terror, not only for Roy, but also for his wife, lest she should already have caught the infection.

As days passed this dread was proved to be groundless, and Roy was found to have the complaint on the whole mildly, though thoroughly. It was not a case of the awful "confluent" small-pox, of which fully half the number attacked generally died, but of the simple "discrete" kind. Though he had much of the eruption on his body, few pustules appeared on his face. There was a good deal of fever, and at times he wandered, calling for "Molly," and complaining that she was cross and would not answer him. More often he was dull and stupefied, saying little.

No one who had seen Denham Ivor only on parade or in society, would have singled him out as likely to be an especially good nurse; but Roy soon learnt this side of the man. A modern hospital nurse would doubtless have found a great deal to complain of in his methods, and not a little to arouse her laughter. Many of his arrangements were highly