He never spoke, but snatched her out of my arms into his own, took her in his room, and shut the door.
From that time our fears never slumbered.

For one whole week we waited, watching the children hour by hour, noting each change in each little face; then Muriel sickened.
It was I who had to tell her father, when as he came home in the evening I met him by the stream.

It seemed to him almost like the stroke of death.
"Oh, my God! not her! Any but her!" And by that I knew, what I had long guessed, that she was the dearest of all his children.
Edwin and Walter took the disease likewise, though lightly.

No one was in absolute danger except Muriel.

But for weeks we had what people call "sickness in the house;" that terrible overhanging shadow which mothers and fathers well know; under which one must live and move, never resting night nor day.