“Oh, if I were rich,” he sighed, as with a conviction that he was about the most abused person in the world, he went into the room where Bessie lay, white, and worn, and motionless almost as the dead, for though the fever had left her she was very weak, and could only whisper her welcome, while the great tears rolled down her cheeks.

Neil was awfully afraid of her.  There might still be infection in her breath and infection in the room.  He fancied he smelled it, and involuntarily put his hands to his mouth and nose, as he drew near the bed.  Bessie saw the motion, and interpreted it aright.

“Oh, Neil,” she said, with a sob, “you are not afraid of me?”

“No, certainly not; only this fever is a confounded thing when it takes hold of a great hulking fellow like myself, and just now I am very tired,” he said; then, heartily ashamed of himself as he saw the look of distress on Bessie’s face, he bent and kissed her forehead, and told her how sorry he was to find her so sick, and that he would not leave her till she was strong again.

But all the time he talked he fidgeted in his chair, and kept looking at the door as if anxious to escape into the fresher air.

“Do you think there is any danger?” he said to Flossie, whom he encountered in the adjoining room.

Flossie knew he was afraid, and there was mischief in the merry Irish lassie’s heart, as she replied: 

“Danger, oh, no, if she is kept quiet and carefully nursed, the doctor says she will soon get well enough to be moved.”

“Yes, I know that, of course,” Neil stammered.  “I mean, is there any danger of my taking it from her—­from the room—­from the air, you know?

“Are you afraid of it?” Flossie asked him, very demurely, and he replied: 

“N—­no; yes—­I believe I am.  Does that make any difference?”

“I should say it did, very decidedly,” Flossie answered, with great earnestness and evident concern.  “Mr. Jerrold was not one bit afraid, and he was in there all the time;” this, with a saucy twinkle in her black eyes, as she saw the flush in Neil’s face and guessed its cause.  “You did not kiss her, of course?” she continued, with the utmost gravity.

“Yes, I did,” he answered promptly.  “Do you think—­do you think—­”

“Yes I do,” she said, decidedly, adding to herself:  “I think you are a fool!” To him she continued:  “I’ll tell you what to do.  Grandma is afraid, like you, so I know all the preventives.  Let me burn a match or two under your nose so that the fumes will saturate your face; that will counteract any bad effects from the kiss, and to prevent contagion hereafter, get a good sized leek.  You can find one at any grocer’s:  put it in a bit of cloth, with a piece of camphor-gum, and wear it over the pit of your stomach.  You may even brave the small-pox with that about your person.”

“But won’t it smell awfully?” Neil asked, with a shudder, as he thought of wearing about his person an obnoxious leek, whose odor he abominated.