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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