# "A Modern Hercules," The Tale of a Sculptress/Chapter 27

CHAPTER XXVII.
THE CURSE FALLS.
The vague fear which outlined itself in the mind of the club men, had taken shape, and New York was in the grip of the most dreadful epidemic that had ever scourged the Metropolis. The curse of Heaven seemed to have laid its heavy hand upon the people. Hundreds dropped, day by day, into the very jaws of death. War may have had its terrors, but it could not be compared to the ravages of this frightful visitation. It came in the night time, touched its victim, and ere dawn, he sinks into the tomb. Preachers, nurses, doctors, have fled before its grim approach. The preachers who fled, did not do so out of cowardly fear, but because God needed them, and they did not feel like disappointing Him by taking chances on death. The sick take care of the dying, and the dead rot, become putrid and stink before the undertaker's cart rolls around. The city looked a good deal like Paris did during the Reign of Terror. There were several persons whose lives were interwoven in this story, who stayed bravely at their respective posts of duty. Ouida Angelo, immediately upon the outbreak, had joined the Red Cross forces, and had done work of almost divine mercy and gentleness. Horatio Nugent, while full of pity for the human suffering which the epidemic had brought in its train, reveled in delight at the opportunity it gave him for noble and glorious work. Mr. Connors, stepping down from his proud ​place as a statesman, had done herculean work by the side of Olivia Winters, who had furnished the inspiration. Thus this great public misfortune had afforded hundreds the opportunity for nobility of conduct, whose lives before had been selfish and proud.
During the very maddest part of the ravages of the curse, Olivia Winters met Mr. Connors on one of her tours.
"I am so comforted to meet you here," she said, and the thought in her mind was, that she rejoiced to see him still alive. "I have just seen the last of Doane, the editor. His death was frightful. Dr. Simpson attended him. Doane, under the influence of the fever, had an idea that it was within the power of the doctor to save his life. Whining like a cur, he said: 'I must have my life, good doctor,' and then he shrieked, 'I cannot die—I must not die—I'll give you $50,000 cash, if you will but save my life.' Then, with a look of agony, he fell back upon his pillow, exhausted, panting like a thirsty dog. Through the day he incessantly kept up this cry; sometimes laughing in defiance, again sobbing. Then, when the doctor left, he muttered to himself: 'I'll fool this cunning Æsculapius. Just let me live; I'll not give him a cent.' Each mad, despairing outbreak tended only to exhaust his small remaining strength. When Dr. Simpson returned, he felt death near at hand. Doane evidently saw reflected in the doctor's eye, his own fatal condition, and with almost superhuman strength, he lifted himself upright in bed. 'Will I die, doctor?' came rattling from his parched throat. 'There is no hope,' said the physician. 'Then bring me pen and paper,' he said. His wish was complied with. 'I will write,' he said. 'It shall be the bitterest screed that ever wounded quaking souls. I'll ​sing a song of iron bitterness; a dying legacy to the sons of men. O! I cannot hold a pen within my grasp. I cannot see; all grows dark around me. So this is death.' There was a sickening gurgle in his throat as he fell back dead."
"Horrible! horrible!" said Connors, his heart full of fear and pity for this woman, so brave and strong.
"Heaven deliver me from such another experience," said Olivia. "I shall hear his wild laughter, the death rattle in his throat; shall behold his gleaming, glaring, glazed eye balls to my dying day."
"I may be considered uncharitable," said Connors, "but it is better that the world is rid of such a venomous spirit."
"That may be true, but you know, my dear Mr. Connors, that while he lay in that condition, one could not consider his character, only that he was a sufferer," said Olivia. "But did you ever see this great city in such a plight before?"
"Never," he replied. "I don't know what will become of us."
"One thing has happened, that almost makes me glad of our great calamity."
"In the name of Heaven," he said, "what can that be?"
"For the opportunity it has given Horatio Nugent to regain his good name."
"Indeed, you are right, and he has redeemed himself," he said. "How glad I am that you and I did not desert him in his hour of need."
"Just as a few years ago," said Olivia, "the world rang with the story of their shame, so now does it smile and bow over their heroic conduct."
​"Public opinion," said the statesman, "begins to disgust me more than ever. It is as fickle as the wind, and it is not what you are that governs, but that which you appear to be. I shall bow to it no longer."
"Yet, remember what befel our friends for their defiance of this thing you now despise," said Olivia.
"You spoke of Horatio Nugent a moment ago," he said. "Let me tell you about Ouida."
"Go on," she said, "but quickly, for I have much work before me."
"From time to time," said he, "I heard of the deeds of a sweet and saint-like creature, that quietly flitted to and fro among the desperate wretches of your sex, who had fallen into the lap of sin. I heard of shop girls who, tempted by the lust of man, and who were about to fall, snatched from the very jaws of ruin. I heard of extreme poverty being relieved in hundreds of cases. I heard of reading rooms being established for poor working girls. I heard of some mysterious angel going forth upon these varied missions of mercy and humanity. When I investigated, to find out who this was, lo! and behold! Ouida Angelo. And then my heart leaped for joy."
"Her redemption and absolution is complete," said Olivia. "She has gone through the valley of the shadow of death, almost, in the course of this fight with herself."
"And now," said Connors, tenderly, "is there any hope for me?"
Her heart leaped for joy, but she still brushed aside the hope that was as dear to her as to him. There was no false modesty about her, and her open countenance revealed the delight that quickened her soul.
"If," said she, "we live through this ordeal, I'll ​come myself, willingly, and bring the answer, woman though I am."
"Did you know that Paul Strogoff was stricken down today?" said Connors.
"Is it so?" she said, in utmost sadness. "Death loves a shining mark."
"Good-bye," said Connors. "God grant we soon may meet again, under happier and safer conditions."
They separated, each filled with mighty anxiety for the other, but each too truly great and noble to allow personal longing to interfere with the stern duty of the hour. But it was not many months before their unselfishness was rewarded with a happiness of pure and gentle nature.