VIRGIE BECOMES A NURSE.
Three cars of that night train had been literally dashed in pieces, two
more had been partially demolished, and only two baggage cars and the
engine remained uninjured.
Twenty passengers had been killed outright, several were so badly
injured that their death was only a question of time, and many were
crippled for life.
It was a shocking casualty, and even those who escaped unhurt were so
badly shaken up and so unnerved by the sight of the dead, the dying, and
the sufferings of the wounded, that they dropped exhausted and almost
helpless the moment the necessity for action was over, and all who could
be removed had been taken out of the wreck.
The disaster had been caused by a broken rail on a bridge that spanned a
small stream. The wrench and strain of the first car, as it was thrown
from the track, had snapped the iron arch, the whole structure had then
given away, and most of the train had been precipitated into the meadow
below, with the fearful results already described.
The sleeper, in which Virgie had been traveling, was the least shattered
of any, and most of the frightened passengers had escaped from it as
soon as possible after it touched the ground.
One man affirmed that he went back afterward to ascertain if any one
remained in the car, but there had been no response to his shout, he
could see nothing, for all the lights had been extinguished, there had
been no cries or groans, and believing that everybody had succeeded in
getting out, he went elsewhere to render assistance.
It was supposed, and rightly, that Virgie, with her maid and child, and
Lady Linton, must have been stunned by the shock of going over the
embankment, and did not recover consciousness until all others had left
the wreck, and thus, had it not been for the brave woman’s energy and
perseverance, they might have been left there to perish.
When she had recovered sufficiently to look after the comfort of her
small family, she found poor Mina suffering extremely, her arm having
been broken in two places, while she was otherwise badly bruised; and
little Virgie, although she had escaped without even a scratch, had
become almost frantic with terror on account of her mother’s swoon.
There was a small village not far from the scene of the disaster, and to
this the sufferers were borne, the kind-hearted people cheerfully
throwing open their homes to them and offering whatever they had to make
them comfortable, and their services also as nurses. Medical and
surgical assistance was immediately summoned, and the whole place
immediately became a veritable hospital.
Mina’s needs were among the first to be attended to, and she bore the
operation of having the broken bones set with much fortitude and
patience.
After that was over she became comparatively comfortable, although
Virgie hovered about her all day, ministering to her as tenderly as if
she had been a sister, sparing neither her own strength nor expense to
alleviate her sufferings.
But toward evening, when she had fallen into a heavy sleep, produced by
an anodyne, and little Virgie, wearied out with excitement and the
trying scenes that she had witnessed during the day, had begged to be
put to bed, Virgie bethought herself of other sufferers and went out to
ascertain if she could be of assistance elsewhere.
Her first inquiry was for Lady Linton, who, she found, had been carried
to a neighboring cottage and was reported as very seriously injured.
She made her way thither, and was told that, although there were no
bones broken, it was feared the lady had suffered some internal injury
which might prove fatal.
She had been unconscious most of the day, but now she was lying in a
heavy sleep that almost amounted to stupor.
Virgie asked the weary woman who told her this, if she could be of any
assistance, and she replied that if she could come in and sit awhile
with the sick lady it would give her a chance to get her husband’s
supper and put her house in order; she had neglected everything to
attend to the sufferer.
Virgie willingly complied, and passing quietly into the sick-room, she
sat down by the bed and looked upon her husband’s sister, her heart
filled with the strangest emotions.
She saw that she slightly resembled Sir William, although she was a good
many years older and not nearly so attractive. This, however, might be
owing somewhat to her injuries, for there were several bruises about her
head and face; she looked haggard and worn; her hair was in disorder and
thin and quite gray; one hand had been badly cut and lay bandaged upon a
pillow beside her, and truly she was a pitiable object in her present
condition.
For long years Virgie had entertained hard and bitter feelings toward
this woman. She did not, of course, know the extent of the wrong of
which she had been guilty, but she had never forgotten Lady Linton’s
arrogance, nor the scorn which she had expressed regarding her to Mrs.
Farnum; still, as she now lay there before her, so helpless and
miserable, she could feel only compassion and regret for her. Something
of the divine nature always animates the heart and begets a certain
tenderness for those whom we benefit, particularly if some signal
sacrifice has been made to secure it.
She sat there beside the unconscious woman for an hour or more, changing
the wet cloths on her bruised head and gently fanning her, for the room
was far from airy or comfortable, although it was the best in the house.
Then the physician came in, and Virgie questioned him regarding Lady
Linton’s condition.
He could not tell just yet how serious her injuries were, he told her.
They might not prove to be anything alarming, but her nervous system had
undoubtedly suffered a severe shock which might prove to be worse than
any hurt.
“Do you know her?” he asked, in conclusion, while his keen eyes searched
Virgie’s beautiful face curiously. He had heard something of the heroism
which she had shown that morning in saving the woman’s life.
“I know who she is,” she replied. “Her name is Lady Linton.”
“Hum! English, then,” interrupted the doctor, with a quick glance at the
figure on the bed. “Any friends in this country?”
“She mentioned that she was on her way to Chicago to meet her son and
daughter, and some other friends, but I do not know their address.”
“Where is her home?”
“With her brother, Sir William Heath, in Hampshire County, England.”
Virgie flushed scarlet as she spoke this name which she had not uttered
before in years.
“She ought to have some friends here to care for her, but he is so far
away it would be useless to send for him, at least until we know more
about her condition. Was she traveling entirely alone?”
“I judge so. She spoke of no one being with her when she was found.”
“You found her; you saved her. I heard about it,” said the doctor, his
face glowing.
“I went for assistance,” Virgie returned, quietly.
“You did much more than that, madam. Did you escape unhurt?”
“Entirely, and my little daughter also, for which I cannot be too
grateful. My maid, however, has a broken arm, besides several bruises;
but she is very comfortable, and requires but little attention, so if I
can make myself useful by caring for any others who are suffering, I
shall be more than glad to do so.”
The physician thought a moment, and then asked:
“Have you ever had any experience in a sick-room?”
“Yes. My father was an invalid many months before his death.”
“Then you might do good service here, if you are willing to devote
yourself to this case under my direction. There’s only one woman in the
house. She cannot, of course, give her whole time to nursing, and this
lady will need close watching and a great deal of attention during the
next two or three days. Indeed she really needs someone who can be
depended upon.”
Virgie flushed again.
It was very strange, she thought, that she, of all persons, should be
commissioned to care for Lady Linton at such a critical time.
But she did not hesitate; it was her duty to do what she could for her,
without regard to her own personal feelings in the matter; her enemy was
like the Levite who had been left wounded by the wayside, and it now
fell to her to act the good Samaritan’s part.
“Very well,” she answered, quietly, “then you may consider that I am at
your service.”
The doctor looked relieved, and after giving her minute instructions for
the night, he went his way to other patients, confident that he could
not leave the sufferer in better hands.
As soon as the woman of the house was at liberty again, Virgie went back
to see if Mina was comfortable, and to arrange for someone to wait upon
her if she should need it during the night, and then she returned to her
charge.
But there was very little change in Lady Linton’s condition during the
next two days. She slept most of the time, only rousing to take the
nourishment that was almost forced upon her, and then sinking into that
death-like stupor again.
But the third day she awoke and began to manifest some interest in her
condition and surroundings, and seemed to remember all that had
occurred.
Then, after a thorough examination, it was ascertained that her injuries
was not nearly so serious as had at first been feared. There was a
severe contusion on one side, where the broken timbers of the car had
pinned her down to the floor; she had several ugly scratches and flesh
wounds, besides bruises on the head, and one ankle was badly sprained.
The stupor, as the physician thought, had been caused more by the shock
to the whole nervous system than by her injuries, and he now said that
if no new symptoms developed she would improve rapidly.
And it proved even so. At the end of a week she was able to be bolstered
up in bed, and began to appear more like herself and to realize that she
had another lease of life.
She had conceived a great liking for Virgie, although she had not been
told, neither had she recognized the fact that she had saved her from
death at the time of the accident. She treated her with the greatest
deference—an unusual thing for the haughty woman under any
circumstances—and expressed a great deal of gratitude for the attention
she so freely bestowed upon her.
Once she had begged to be told her name, and Virgie had told her to call
her “nurse.” She shrank from telling her who she was lest she should
recognize her.
“But you are not a nurse, you are a lady,” she persisted, “and you are
so kind to me I want to know you.”
Virgie could not fail to feel a thrill of triumph at these words, she,
who had been “that girl” and who had been held up to such scorn and
contempt in those cruel letters so long ago.
“I am simply your nurse for the present,” she replied, with averted
face; “perhaps some other time before I leave you I will tell you my
name,” and her ladyship had to be content with that.
But Virgie did not remain quite so much with her after that, she did not
need such constant care, and she left her more with the woman of the
house. She went in several times every day, and was careful to see that
she had every attention, but there was a quiet dignity and reserve about
her which Lady Linton admired.
“Who is this beautiful woman who has been so kind to me—to whom I owe so
much?” she asked the doctor one day.
“Truly she is a beautiful woman, and you do owe her a great deal. You
owe her your life twice over,” he answered, impressively.
“How so?” was the surprised query.
“In the first place she saved you from that burning wreck almost at the
risk of her own life; in the second place she is the only one in the
town who could be found to give you proper care; everybody else was
engaged with the other sufferers, and during those days and nights when
you lay in that heavy stupor, she never left you; she fed you, she
ministered most faithfully to your every need, and brought you safely
out of it.”
“Was it she who came to me when I lay pinned down in my berth?” asked
Lady Linton, gravely.
“Yes, madam.”
“Who is she?”
“I am obliged to confess that I do not know her name,” the doctor
admitted, smiling. “I doubt if she knows mine either. We have not
stopped to exchange cards in this business; it has been of too serious a
nature to admit of much ceremony. I call her ‘madam,’ and she has,
naturally, addressed me as ‘doctor.’”
“She seems a thorough lady,” said his patient, thoughtfully.
She had, as Sir William once told her she would, changed her ideas
somewhat regarding American people since coming to this country.
“You are right, madam,” replied the physician, emphatically. “It has
never been my privilege to meet a more cultured lady nor a truer woman.
I shall certainly ask her to favor me with her name and address before
she leaves.”
“Is she going away?” demanded Lady Linton, quickly.
“Yes; in a day or two, I believe; her maid is doing nicely now and able
to travel. But, bless me, I must not sit chattering here when there are
more than forty patients waiting for me.”
And the brisk little doctor trotted off, leaving Lady Linton looking
very thoughtful, and wondering who her mysterious but beautiful nurse
might be.