AT SARATOGA
There were no more letters from Mrs. Guy Thornton until the next
Christmas time, when another box went to little Daisy, and was
acknowledged as before. Then another year glided by, with a third box to
Daisy, and then one summer afternoon in August there came to Saratoga a
gay party from New York, and the clerk at Congress Hall registered, with
other names, that of Miss McDonald. Indeed, it seemed to be her party,
or at least she was its center, and the one to whom the others deferred
as to their head. Daisy was in perfect health that summer, and in
unusually good spirits, and when in the evening, yielding to the
entreaties of her friends, she entered the ball-room, clad in flowing,
gauzy robes of blue and white, with costly jewels on her neck and arms,
she took all hearts by storm, and was acknowledged at once as the star
and belle of the evening. She did not dance--she rarely did that
now--but after a short promenade through the room she took a seat near
the door, and was watching the gay dancers when she felt her arm softly
touched, and, turning, saw her maid standing by her with an anxious,
frightened look upon her face.
"Come, please, come quick," she said in a whisper, and, following her
out, Miss McDonald asked what was the matter.
"This--you must go away at once. I'll pack your things. I promised not
to tell, but I must. I can't see your pretty face all spoiled and ugly."
"What do you mean?" the lady asked, and after a little she made out from
the girl's statement that in strolling on the back piazza she had
stumbled upon her first cousin, of whose whereabouts she had known
nothing for a long time.
The girl, Mary, had, it seemed, come to Saratoga a week or ten days
before, with her master's family, consisting of his wife and two
children. As the hotel was crowded they were assigned rooms for the
night in a distant part of the house, with a promise of something much
better on the morrow. In the morning, however, the lady, who had not
been well for some days, was too sick to leave her bed, and the doctor
who was called in to see her, pronounced the disease--here Sarah stopped
and gasped for breath and looked behind her and all ways, and finally
whispered a word which made even Miss McDonald start a little and wince
with fear.
"He do call it the very-o-lord," Sarah said, "but Mary says it's the
very old devil himself. She knows, she has had it, and you can't put
down a pin where the cratur didn't have his claws. They told the
landlord, who was fur puttin' 'em straight outdoors, but the doctor said
the lady must not be moved--it was sure death to do it. It was better to
keep quiet, and not make a panic. Nobody need to know it in the house,
and their rooms are so far from everybody that nobody would catch it. So
he let 'em stay, and the gentleman takes care of her, and Mary keeps the
children in the next room, and carries and brings the things, and keeps
away from everybody. Two of the servants know it, and they've had it,
and don't tell, and she said I mustn't, nor come that side of the house,
but I must tell you so that you can leave to-morrow. The lady is very
bad, and nobody takes care of her but Mr. Thornton. Mary takes things to
the door, and leaves them outside where he can get them."
"What did you call the gentleman?" Miss McDonald asked, her voice
faltering and her cheek blanching a little.
"Mr. Thornton, from Cuylerville, a place far in the country," was the
girl's reply, and then, without waiting to hear more, Miss McDonald
darted away, and, going to the office, turned the leaves of the register
to the date of ten or eleven days ago, and read with a beating heart and
quick coming breath:
"Guy Thornton, lady, two children, and servant. Nos. ---- and ----."
Yes, it was Guy; there could be no mistake, and in an instant her
resolution was taken. Calling to her maid, she sent for her shawl and
hat, and then bidding her follow, walked away in the moonlight. The
previous summer when at Saratoga she had received medical treatment from
Dr. Schwartz, whom she knew well and to whose office she directed her
steps. He seemed surprised to see her at that hour, but greeted her
cordially and asked when she came to town and what he could do for her.
"Tell me if this is still a safeguard," she said, baring her beautiful
white arm and showing a large round scar. "Will this insure me against
disease?"
The doctor's face flushed, and he looked uneasily at her as he took her
arm in his hand, and, examining the scar closely, said:
"The points are still distinct. I should say the vaccination was
thorough."
"But another will be safer. Have you fresh vaccine?" Daisy asked; and he
replied:
"Yes, some just from a young, healthy heifer. I never use the
adulterated stuff which has been humanized. How do I know what humors
may be lurking in the blood? Why, some of the fairest, sweetest babies
are full of scrofula!"
He was going on further with his discussion, when Daisy, who knew his
peculiarities, interrupted him:
"Never mind the lecture now. Vaccinate me quick and let me go."
It was soon done, the doctor saying as he put away his vial:
"You were safe without it, I think, and with it you may have no fears
whatever."
He looked at her curiously again as if asking what she knew or feared,
and, observing the look, Daisy said to him:
"Do you attend the lady at the hotel?"
He bowed affirmatively and glanced uneasily at Sarah, who was looking on
in surprise.
"Is she very sick?" was the next inquiry.
"Yes, very sick."
"And does no one care for her but her husband?"
"No one."
"Has she suffered for care--a woman's care, I mean?"
"Well, not exactly, and yet she might be more comfortable with a woman
about her. Women are naturally better nurses than men, and Mr. Thornton
is quite worn out, but it does not make much difference now; the lady--"
Daisy did not hear the last part of the sentence, and, bidding him
good-night, she went back to the hotel as swiftly as she had left it,
while the doctor stood watching the flutter of her white dress,
wondering how she found it out, and if she would "tell and raise thunder
generally."
"Of course not. I know her better than that," he said to himself. "Poor
woman [referring then to Julia], nothing, I fear, can help her now."
Meanwhile Daisy reached the hotel, and without going to her own room,
bade Sarah tell her the way to No. ----.
"What! Oh, Miss McDonald! You surely are not--" Sarah gasped, clutching
at the dress, which her mistress took from her grasp, saying:
"Yes, I am going to see that lady. I know her, or of her, and I'm not
afraid. Must we let her die alone?"
"But your face--your beautiful face," Sarah said, and then Daisy did
hesitate a moment, and, glancing into a hall mirror, wondered how the
face she saw there, and which she knew was beautiful, would look scarred
and disfigured as she had seen faces in New York.
There was a momentary conflict, and then, with an inward prayer that
Heaven would protect her, she passed on down the narrow hall and knocked
softly at No. ----, while Sarah stood wringing her hands in genuine
distress, and feeling as if her young mistress had gone to certain ruin.