For this I am not to blame.  The fear is a part of my nature, instilled into it doubtless by the shock which my mother received before my birth when she learned that her husband had been attacked by this horrible sickness.  So great and vivid was my dread that I refused a very good appointment at a smallpox hospital, and, although I had several opportunities of attending these cases, I declined to undertake them, and on this account suffered somewhat in reputation among those who knew the facts.  Indeed, my natural abhorrence went even further, as, to this day, it is only with something of an effort that I can bring myself to inspect the vesicles caused by vaccination.  Whether this is because of their similarity to those of smallpox, or owing to the natural association which exists between them, I cannot tell.  That it is real enough, however, may be judged by the fact that, terrified as I was at smallpox, and convinced as I have always been of the prophylactic power of vaccination, I could never force myself—­until an occasion to be told of—­to submit to it.  In infancy, no doubt, I was vaccinated, for the operation has left a small and very faint cicatrix on my arm, but infantile vaccination, if unrepeated, is but a feeble protection in later life.

Unconsciously I pulled upon the bridle, and the tired mule stopped.  “Malignant smallpox!” I muttered, “and that fool is trying to treat it with cold water!"[*]

[*] Readers of Prescott may remember that when this terrible disease was first introduced by a negro slave of Navaez, and killed out millions of the population of Mexico, the unfortunate Aztecs tried to treat it with cold water.  Oddly enough, when, some years ago, the writer was travelling in a part of Mexico where smallpox was prevalent, it came to his notice that this system is still followed among the Indians, as they allege, with good results.

The old woman looked up and saw me.  “Si, Senor Inglese,” she said with a ghastly smile, “viruela, viruela!” and she went on gabbling something which I could not understand.

“She say,” broke in Antonio, “nearly quarter people dead and plenty sick.”

“For Heaven’s sake, let us get out of this,” I said to Emma, who, seated on the other mule, was staring horror-struck at the sight.

“Oh!” she said, “you are a doctor; can’t you help the poor things?”

“What! and leave you to shift for yourself?”

“Never mind me, Dr. Therne.  I can go on to the hacienda, or if you like I will stay too; I am not afraid, I was revaccinated last year.”

“Don’t be foolish,” I answered roughly.  “I could not dream of exposing you to such risks, also it is impossible for me to do any good here alone and without medicines.  Come on at once,” and seizing her mule by the bridle I led it along the road that ran through the town towards the hacienda on the height above.