"You are greatly troubled," said Caius.
"Oh yes," her voice was low, but it came like the sound of a cry. "I do
not know what to do. All these months I have begged and entreated the
people to keep away from those houses where there was illness. It was
their only hope. And now that they begin to understand that, I cannot
bring the healthy to nurse the sick, even if they were willing to come.
They will take no precautions as we do. It is not safe; I have tried
it."
She did not look at Caius, she was looking at the blue that hung over
the sea which lay beneath them, but the weariness of a long long effort
was in her tone.
"Could we not manage to bring them all to one house that would serve as
a hospital?"
"Now that you have come, perhaps we can," she said, "but at present----"
She looked helplessly at the door of the house they had left.
"At present I will nurse these children," Caius said. "I do not need to
see the others again until evening."
He tied his horse in a shed, and nursed the children until the moon was
bright. Then, when he had left them as well as might be for the night,
he set out to return on his former track by memory. The island was very
peaceful; on field or hill or shore he met no one, except here and there
a plodding fisherman, who gave him "Good-evening" without apparently
knowing or caring who he was.
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