Rensselaer Republican, Volume 22, Number 4, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 September 1889 — CHAPTER VII. [ARTICLE]

CHAPTER VII.

Nell returned io her duties in London with eager spirits, for she was sure at heart. She had refused her cousin Andrew. His very faithfulness reproachedher, and yet seemed to alienate her from him, for she had nothing, not even hope to give in return. “Nell, I shall never despair until I see you another's,” were his parting words. “And then?” she asked, as if involuntarily. wondering at such steadfastness. “And then I shall make the best 'of life, though life will have taken its best from me. I may fill same other woman’s needs; but none but you, Nell, could ever fill mine.” The conviction that Randall was not suited to his profession became each day stronger in his sister. She felt that he had undertaken a grave responsibility for which he was constitutionally unfitted. The same conviction had lately forced itself upon Randall, and he chafed at the chains that bound him to his post. Hitherto he had had no very intricate case, none to which his knowledge had-not been equal, supplemented by his sister’s advice, and actual assistance in some instances.

It was New Year’s Eve. The twins had had a busy day, for the snow was deepon theground.the town was fulland there was much sickness abroad. They had dined, and were sitting over a blazing fire comparing notes of their separate day’s work. “Thank goodness,” said Randall, “my cases are all plain sailing. Now, if another hitch comes"—meaning a case beyond his skill—“ I’ll throw up the sponge. I give you my word, Nell, I never take on a new patient but I feel like a murderer; and, I tell you what in all seriousness—if I don’t kill my patients, they’ll kill me! I’d never get through a consultation, only Ido the Burleigh nod, and always side with the biggest fellow. There are very few that like to say ‘ba’ when Sir Billy Genera, as the wags call him, says *bo’! Regularly established diseases, common fevers and epidemics, gout and all that sort of thing I’m not afraid of. One can’t cure these things —they run themselves out; all you have to do is to help them over the difficult passes. I don’t believe in physicking, that has had its day; but its the intricate cases I do fear, and those you seem born for. I often think mother’s right when she says you’re ‘no canny.’ ”

“It is because they interest me, ” she said simply, “and because I love my calling first and foremost. If I had any woman’s future to hope for, any great object outside my work, I should not be what l am. The enthusiasm of humanity brooks no rival; to that and absolute concentration I owe my power and success." “I think,” said Randall, hesitatingly, “I might do something in literature; but that demands concentration. Nell, 1 should like to shelve it all. But for the disappointment of my father, I would; Rethinks me far cleverer than you.”

“Dear father!” returned NelL “He’s not so far wrong; only he’s made the mistake of putting a round stick in a square hole. I believe you could make a mark in literature, you have a creative brain; science deals only with facts. Let us see, when our accounts are made up for the year, how we stand; and, if my score is enough, why take your name off the door—a few days’ wonder—that is all.” At that moment the door bell rang sharply; it was sudden call for Randall. A Colonel Gordon, whp had just arrived from India, had been taken ill at an hotel near at hand, immediate aid. With a heavy sigh, Randall obeyed the calL “Some intricate liver case, you may be sure, or chronic Indian fever, about which I know as much as of dentistry,” he said, as Nell helped him on with his comfortable ulster. It was neither; it was even more serious, because imminent. A wound, caused by a bullet which had defied extraction, had suddenly broken out, and erysipelas threatened. Nell awaited her brother's return in much anxiety; she always was anxious when a fresh patient came on his books. In an hour he returned, looking jaded and worn. “What have you done?” she asked, after he had named the symptoms and described the state of the patient. He told her. “Have you sent for a nurse?” she asked. “He said his sister, who is in the country, would be in town in a day or two, and his own servant, a soldier, would be up in the morning with his traps; so I gave him a sedative, and told him I’d look in again before twelve. There’s a good deal of fever; so there really was nothing more that

bduld Be done. A housemaid is to sit up with him.” “Did Colonel Gordon speak much to you, Randall?” “No, poor fellow; he scarcely opened his eyes. He only knew I was a doctor, and never asked my name. He is 4 fine man, but terribly wasted. I dare say his -sister will call in her own doctor; if she doesn’t, I shall suggest it. It will-be a long case, if indeed it doesn’t end badly.”

••Randall, I will go at twelve o'clock, instead of you. There will be no one up except the porter, and it would take very keen sight to tell us apart in a dim li£ht. Pll put on my ulster and a muffler.” Nell spoke as one who would not be gainsaid; but, if the truth-were told, Randall had no will to gainsay her; he was, in fact, relieved of a weight. Whet the hour came, the brother and sister set off together. Randall saw his sister safe into the hotel, remaining in the neighborhood on a watch for her re-appearance. The patient lay on a half-tester bed, in a large comfortable room, where was a cheerful fire, near which, in an arm chair, sat the attendant, halfasleep. A shaded lamp stood on a distant table, on which was arranged various cooling drinks. Before approaching the bed, Nell questioned the maid, who told her that her charge had slept for two hours, but since then had been restless, and calling for water or lemonade every few minutes.

“I don’t think he knows very well where he is,” said the girl; “he talks like a man in his sleep, and fancies he’s in a ship.” Nell desired the girl to fetch a can* dig, for which she had to leave the room. As the door closed a little noisily, the sick man moved and moaned. Nell approached the bed, gentlydrawing the curtain aside. The flickering light of the fire's uncertain blaze, and the dim reflection of the lamp revealed a man in the prime of life, but attenuated aqfiworn. One thin hand lay on the coverlet—the bedclothes had been pushed off the upper part of the body, as if in petulance of fever, and the broad chest showed shrunken and hollow—the face was averted. Nell quietly stooped over and laid her fingers on the pulse of the extended hand.

He gave a shiver, as if an electric thrill had passed through his body, and turned on his pillow, opening his eyes bright with fever light. Nell staggered back, clutching at a chair for support. “My love, my love!” she cried toher heart; but her lips were dumb. “Water, water!” the sick man moaned. With an almost superhuman effort, she retained her consciousness; the very shock roused her to action and to repression. She went to the table and mixed a cooling draught. As she did so her eyes fell on an envelope addressed, “Colonel Leslie Gordon, V. C.”—a hero’s name to the world. Well Nell Thanet knew it! She had read of its owner’s gallant deeds, and her heart had felt pride in her mother’s countryman.— Little had she guessed that the Lyon Leslie, who had to her played such a craven part, was the brave soldier of the world’s and her admiration. Then she remembered that he had spoken to her of a bachelor uncle named Gordon, from whom he had expectations. Everything was plain to her now; and very strange it seemed to her that she had not guessed her lover’s identity before. It was a steady hand that held the frothing draugth to the sick man’s lips, and a firm strong hand that lifted the hot head; but her eyes felt burning in her~head; theylookedunnatur&lly =

; “Oh, so soothing!” he whispered, looking gratefully into her face. She met his eyes daringly; again he shivered, then, unrecognizing, closed them in fitful slumber. When the girl returned, Nell examined the wound. It presented an ugly exterior; but she knew that the real mischief lay in the location of the bullet; the exact spot of which had, Randall had said, not been discovered. It would be a case of the utmost difficulty and far beyond her brother’s skill; but strange to say she felt no apprehension of her own. Standing over the prostrate form of the man who had so heartlessly blasted her young life, she vowed that to her hand, and hers alone, he should owe his.

No bitterness, no reproach entered her heart, only a great pitifulness, and a sorrow for him apart from herself. She was standing by a grave—though she knew it not, from which their could be no resurrection, the grave of her love: but the ashes were there— Sbtf, ah, over the sepulchre of the dead; how holy seems their memory! Then she told the girl that a change had taken plaoe in the condition of the patient, and that she must remain beside him for the night She then) left the hotel to make some arrangements, she said, and, after a few explanatory words to her brother—explanatory merely of'ihe patient’s state —she returned, and, dismissing the servant took up her place beside the sick man. The hours slipped by—she scarcely knew they passed—she took no note of time. The reality of the * stricken man, the strangely still room, her presence there, seemed all a dim dream, and what had for these dividing years been but as a dim dream a vivid reality—the little stream, with its fragile freight of the blue forget-me-nots—the quiet lake bearing on its bosom the one brave spray—the rapturous kiss, the spoken words, and the deep passionate gaze of eyes too well remembered. Swiftly, as in a panorama, that summer's day passed before her—it did not pain her now. Somehow her heart was at rest, the dull aching of the deep wound was over.

At every movement she bent over him, now easing his pillow, now laving his brow, then gently touching his lips with moisture, or answering his craving cry of “water” with cooling, draughts. Now and again he would open his eyes and look round, as if expecting some known face; but then she would stand in the shadow, or droop her head beside the shrouding curtain, and he would sigh and turn wearily away. And so the night passed. As the faint light of morning appeared, the fever had ceased, and the sick man had sunk into a refreshing slumber. Then Nell laid for one brief moment her lips on his brow; but it was ohly a kiss of peace—she felt she could pray then. By previous arrangement, Mrs. Mclan, the old nurse who had been the twins’ constant attendant, and indeed friend, since they had left their home together, took Nell’s place in the sick-room, leaving her free to return ,to her brother. It was needful for her purpose that she should tell her brother that his new patient was Lyon Leslie, of her girlish love. She did so in as few words as she could command. He said very little, but he threw his arms around her as if he would shield her from a coming sorrow, and held her to his breast in ar sympathising silence that tried her fortitude to the utmost. “Randall,” she whispered, “do not fear for me. There are no birds in last yearns nest;” but her voice Belied her words. In the course of the day Colonel Gordon’s servant arrived from South-

ampton with his master's luggage, and, under Randall’s superintendence, the former was moved into quiet rooms Within a few doors of his own house, and Mrs. Mclan was installed in chief charge. A letter was written to the Colonel’s sister stating his conditon and the means adopted for his care. The attendance in the day-hours was taken by Randall,, in the evening by Nell. In her shrouding ulster and wrapper and low felt hat, she attracted no observation; if she had, there would have been little fear of being discovered, so perfect was the likeness between the pair, a likeness intensified by similarity of dress.

Fortunately for the part Nell was playing. Colonel Gordon’s sister was indelicate health, and seldom visited her brother in the evening. A note was sent to her the last thing at night to keep her apprised of his condition. In this way Nell felt pretty secure from detection. Her directions, too, were always given to Mrs. Mclan, who generally managed to find somethinig for the soldier-servant to do—a message, or clothes to air—at the hour of Nell’s visit. And the sick man lay unheeding, slowly mending towards a partial recovery. There had been a consultation, at which Randall was present, ■end it was agreed that, unless the bullet was discovered and extracted, the patient must eventually succumb to the wasting weakness induced by the open wound; and it was settled that, when he had rallied sufficiently, he should be put under an anaesthetic and the probe applied. During these anxious days N ell sat late into the night, deep in earnest study. ‘ Her face grew thinner and her eyes unnaturally bright. Each evening, before her visit to the-sick room, she made Randall sit down and go with careful minuteness into . every symptom he had noted. These she wrote down.

Scarcely any words were exchanged between her and her old lover. He was generally Inclined to sleep if not actually asleep, at the late hour of her visit; but, if awake, he would ask her to arrange his pillows, as, somehow, he found she had a knack, “nurse” had not. He liked too the doctor’s mixing of the effervescing drink at night, and always insisted on her giving it to him herself. “You manage me better at night somehow, doctor,” he said one day; “you always soothe me, and your voice is softer than in the day. It puts me in mind of someone; but I can’t tell who. ” Nell was very guarded after that speech, and spoke little; and then in as deep a voice as she could command. And day by day the girl grew more fragile, and her sweet earnest face more spiritual. In these night visits she was in the habit of wearing a false mustache, closely resembling her brother’s, which was long and silky and covered the mouth. This precaution against detection was needful, but none the less distasteful to her feeling; there was at stake her brother’s reputation on one hand, and on the other the very life perhaps of the one man she had loved above ail the world. At last the day came when she said to Randall that she thought their patient was sufficiently strong to undergo the probing for the bullet “Nell,” he said, “can you take my place?” “Yes,” she answered; “I wish it I shall use the probe myself. Lady Masters” —Colonel Gordon’s sister—“wishes her own doctor to be present —he is an old man, I believe. ” “Yes,” said Randall, “seventy at least; I have only seen him once, and then in the dusk.

“Then it will only be necessary to call in Sir William Cheque; he knows the case.” “Perfectly. Lady Masters told me he spoke to her about her brother, and mentioned how skillful he thought my treatment had been; but all the same he didn’t know me when I met him at his own door yesterday. I took off my hat' to him, and he stared as if I had taken a liberty. You’ll be quite safe, I’m sure. He’s a great big. man, and men of less stature always look smaller than they really are to tall men.” “Nurse," said Colonel Gordon, on the morning arranged for the consultation. “what is the doctor’s name? I

sever hiard it He has only been •the doctor,’ to me.” “Randall, sir,” replied Mrs. Mclan, after a moment’s hesitation. •T like his night-visits best,” he. said. “Somehow the very sound of his foot soothes me. ” Colonel Gordon was stronger and altogether in a more favorable states—so said Sir William Cheque, than on the occasion of his—Sir William’s—previous visit. The fever had disappeared, and he was able to take a considerable quantity of nourishment; there were points in his favor he had hardly expected; but he expressed his decided opinion that the amendment would be Only temporary, unless tho bullet was traced and extracted, and of that he supposed there was little hope. “None that I can see.” said Doctor Parr, Lady Master’s doctor, who had seen the patient more than once; “and I doubt, if it were found, if he would stand the necessary operation.” These words had passed out of range of their subject’s hearing. Then Nell, standing well in the shade, made a short concise statement, which riveted Sir William’s attention. He was a liberal-minded man, and free from all professional jealousy. He saw the young man before him had thoroughly mastered the case, and his interest was roused to see how he would follow it out to the end he indicated. He was a man, though, of few wordsrsiThe contented himself with an approving nod, and then approach.ed the. bed. ;

“You have been in very skillful hands, Cblonel Gordon," he said. ’’You may owe your life to .my young friend here. lam happy to tell you he has every reason to suppose that he has traced the enemy. A little courage and we’ll get him out. We will give you an ansesthetic and you'll knownothing about it.” (to be continued.)