The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1897-05-29

whether he would be kept there for
ever and ever, waiting till some use
less nobody chose to die. The worst
of it all was, he could tell nobody his
troubles: he had to pretend to look
uncoucerned and interested, and lis
ten to all old Mr.. Barclays stories
about Maroons and buccaneers as if
he really enjoyed them.
At last, after Cecil had been two
full months at Spanish Town, he
heard one morning with grim salts
faction that yellow fever had broken
out at Port Antonio. Now, yellow few
er, as he knew full we'll, attacks only
white men, or men of white blood;
and Cecil felt sure that before long
there would be somebody white dead
in Spanish Town. Not that he was
really wicked or malevolent or even
unfeeling at heart; but his wild de-
sire to discover John Cams treasure
had now overridden every better in
stinct of his nature, and had enslaved
him, body and soul, till he could
think of nothing in any light save
that of its bearing on his one mad
imagination. So he waited little
longer, still more eagerly than be-
! fore, till yellow fever should come to
Spanish Town.
Sure enough the fever did come in
good time and the very first person
who sickened with it was Cecil Nit
ford. That was contingency he
had never dreamt of, and, for the time
being, it drove John Cams treasure
almost out of his fevered memory.
Yet not entirely, even SO, for in his
delirium he raved of John Cam and
his doubloons till good old Mr.. Bar
clay, nursing at his bedside like
woman, as a tender-hearted mu-
latto always will nurse any
casual young white man, shook his
head to himself and muttered
gloomilY that poor Mr.. Milford
had overworked his brain sadly
in his minute historical investiga-
tions.
For ten days Cecil Milford lowered
fitfully between life and death, and
for ten days good old Mr.. Barclay
waited on him, morning, noon, and
night, as devotedly as any mother
could wait upon her first born. At
the end of that time he began to
mend slowly; and as soon as the crisis
was over he forgot forthwith all about
his illness, and thought once more of
nothing on earth save only John
CAMS treasure. Was anybody else
i'll of the fever in Spanish Town? Yes,
two, but not dangerously. CeciPs
face fell at that saving clause, and in
his heart he almost ventured to wish
it had been otherwise. He was no
murderer, even in thought: but John
Cams treasure! John CAMS treas
ure! John Cams treasure! What
would not a man venture to do or
pray, in order that he might become
the possessor of John Cams treas
ure
AS Cecil began to mend, curious
thing happened at Leigh Caymanas,
contrary to almost all the previous
medical experience of the whole Is
land. Mr.. Barclay, though full mu
latto of half black blood, suddenly
sickened with the yellow fever. He
had worn himself out with nursing
Cecil, and the virus seemed to have
got into his blood in way that it
would never have done under other
circumstances. And when the doctor
came to see him, he declared at once
that the symptoms were very serious.
Cecil hated and loathed himself for
the thought; and yet, in horrid, in
definite way he gloated over the
possibility of his kind and hos
pitable friends dying. Mr.. Bar
clay had tended him so care
fully that he almost loved him; and
yet, with John CAMS treasure before
his very eyes, in a dim, uncertain
awful fashion, he almost looked for
ward to his dying. But where would
he be buried? that was the question.
Not surely, among the poor black
people in the pauper corner. A man
of his hosts distinction and position
would certainly deserve place among
the most exalted white graves-near
the body of Governor Modyford, and
not far from the tomb of John Cam
himself.
Day after day Mr.. Barclay sank
slowly but surely, and Cecil weak and
hardly convalescent himself, sat
watching by his bedside, and nursing
him as tenderly as the good brown
man had nursed Cecil himself in his
turn week earlier The young clerk
was no hard-hearted wretch who
could see kind entertainer die with
Ont q oin01o noaeinor ponn. he faIf f..