The last week in April had arrived and in a few days came Celeste’s
wedding. Hernando was returning from town after a call at his uncle’s
where his cousin Mary Genung was convalescing from typhoid fever.
Eletheer De Vere had been with her and bravely nursed her through.
Everything seemed strangely quiet, only the sound of the crushers
breaking the stillness, and he strolled along so deeply absorbed in
thought that he did not hear a light footstep behind him, and almost
started when his arm was clasped by slim white fingers and a merry
voice said playfully: “There, you naughty boy, I’m completely out of
breath trying to catch up with you.”
It was Celeste, and she raised her glowing face to his with an
expression of mock severity.
“I certainly did not hear you, Celeste,” he replied honestly.
Her hands were full of trailing arbutus which filled the air with its
delicious fragrance.
“Then I will forgive you,” she said, pinning a cluster of deep pink
blossoms on his coat.
“What are these beautiful flowers?” he said, smelling of them.
“For shame!” she exclaimed, “not to be acquainted with trailing
arbutus. The woods are full of it. Whittier calls it the Mayflower,
and says, ‘It was the first flower to greet the Pilgrims after their
fearful winter,’” and with a happy smile she repeated:
“‘Yet God be praised,’ the Pilgrim said,
Who saw the blossoms peer
Above the brown leaves, dry and dead,
‘Behold our Mayflower here.’
“O sacred flowers of faith and hope,
As sweetly now as then,
Ye bloom on many a birchen slope,
In many a pine-dark glen.”
“I think I have heard Mary speak of them,” said Hernando, “but I never
saw them before.”
“How is Mary getting on?”
“She was down stairs to-day for the first time.”
“Eletheer really intends to be a nurse,” Celeste said, “but it must
make one become morbid to see so much suffering.”
“It will never have that effect upon Eletheer,” Hernando said gravely.
“Eletheer is eccentric. She always selected her associates from among
such queer people. Mary Genung is the only nice girl she cares
anything about.” Here Celeste laughed and continued calmly, “Let me
name a few of her friends: Father Perry, Uncle Mike, the Dugans, every
one of the miners, Pat McGinn, Doctor Brinton and Mary Genung.”
Hernando could not resist laughing. “Am I not among them?” he said,
sobering instantly.
“You,” and her laugh was infectious. “She seems to have adopted you.
Some one made a remark about you which she interpreted as disparaging,
and he must have felt uneasy under her sarcasm.”
“She is very loyal to those she cares for.”
“And those whom she dislikes know it.”
Elisha had seen them coming from the piazza and met them at the gate.
How tenderly he drew Celeste’s arm within his own and what a world of
devotion was pictured in his honest face. Hernando watched them go.
Once Celeste looked back. He was smelling the arbutus she had given him.
Supper had been cleared when they arrived, but Margaret never forgot
the “chillen” and Celeste, followed by Elisha and Hernando, went
immediately to the kitchen.
Jack’s health was really in such a condition as to excite apprehension,
and an inherited weakness of the lungs predisposed him to pulmonary
troubles. He had been preparing to enter college, but close application
to study had completely broken him down, and he was obliged to give
up the aim of his life, but took the disappointment philosophically
and when the doctor suggested roughing it on the plains of Texas,
arrangements were immediately made to follow his advice. It was now
Tuesday, and Thursday was the day appointed for Celeste’s marriage.
Jack intended going with them on their wedding journey as far as
Vicksburg, then continuing on alone to Texas. All his preparations were
completed and he anticipated the trip with much pleasure. Elisha seemed
like a brother already--indeed all the family received the announcement
of his wish to make Celeste his wife as a foregone conclusion. The
wedding was to be a simple one, no one outside of the family being
invited, and immediately afterward they were to leave for the South.
Jack’s nature was buoyant. Like Celeste, he viewed life from its sunny
side. Admired, sought after, it is not to be wondered at that his
nobler traits lay dormant. Mrs. De Vere idolized her only boy and in
her estimation he possessed not one fault. Hers were the eyes that
detected the change in Jack, and in his capacious trunk was packed
every comfort for her boy. No one knew of the tears she shed in secret
and Jack only suspected it. He found Eletheer folding heaps of fleecy
garments designed for Celeste’s adornment. They were mysteries to him
and seeing she was in a hurry, he put on his hat and went out.
The last article stowed away, Eletheer closed the trunk and went down
into the dining-room, and being tired and wishing to be alone, she
closed the door and threw herself into a large easy-chair before the
fire. The night air was chill yet and the fire shed a grateful warmth.
She had been seated some minutes before she became aware that she was
not the only occupant in the room, and turning her eyes toward the deep
eastern window, she saw Hernando seated among the cushions.
“Pardon me,” she exclaimed with a start, “perhaps I intrude.”
“From the manner in which the door closed, you will be the one intruded
upon if I remain.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Hernando. Your presence is never unwelcome. I am
actually blue and do not wish to infect others.”
“You would tell me that my stomach is out of order.”
“Which is undoubtedly true of mine. But in all seriousness, Hernando,
that attack of diphtheria you had last winter has left bad effects.
Your entire countenance is somehow changed and your voice has never
been the same since. For the last three days you have seemed half
asleep. Reuben is really becoming concerned about your condition.”
“Reuben is a noble fellow but somewhat of an alarmist, I fear,” replied
Hernando.
“I understand the meaning of the word ‘alarmist’ to be ‘one who
needlessly excites alarm’, which certainly does not apply to Reuben,
and when he says ‘somethin’ is goin’ to happen,’ it invariably does
happen.”
“What is his latest prediction?” Hernando asked with a light laugh.
Eletheer could not help smiling in return as she replied: “Nothing in
words, but his actions indicate that some calamity is impending over
this family.”
“What was it you quoted to me the other day, ‘Nothing can happen
to any man that is not a human accident, nor to an ox which is not
according to the nature of an ox, nor to a vine which is not according
to the nature of a vine, nor to a stone which is not proper to a
stone.’ If then, there happen to each thing both what is usual and
natural, why shouldst thou complain, for the common nature brings
nothing which may not be borne by thee.”
Eletheer looked very sober and he continued, “Far be it from me to
disparage Reuben, but like all of the colored race he is superstitious.
You must not remain so much indoors. Mary’s illness and the preparation
for this wedding have made you morbid,” he said, shivering slightly.
“Are you cold?” she asked in some surprise, at the same time poking
the fire vigorously. The blaze which followed illuminated the room,
revealing Hernando in a vain effort to repress a chill.
“I fear you are ill, Hernando.”
Reuben here entered with an armful of wood. His observing eye
recognized at a glance the indications of suffering which Hernando
could not conceal, and hastily depositing his burden, he returned in
a few minutes with a glass which he handed to Hernando saying, “Heah,
my boy, drink dis hot toddy. Yo’ bettah keep out of dat mine. Dampness
haint good fo’ rheumatism.”
Hernando drank the mixture and with Reuben’s assistance went up to his
room. Striking a light, the faithful negro opened the bed and turned to
aid his charge in disrobing. The latter’s face was positively livid.
“I reckon I gave yo’ a po’ful dose, Massa. Yo’ head is ready to pop,”
said Reuben apologetically.
“I do not understand it, Reuben. Of late, stimulants, even in
infinitesimal doses, always affect me in this way.”
“I’d bettah put yo’ feet in good hot watah, it will draw de blood from
yo’ head.”
Hernando barely retained an upright position during this operation.
He felt literally “dead for sleep.” Reuben kept his own opinion to
himself, mentally determining that the next hot toddy should be less
hastily measured, and he hurried his patient into bed. In less than
five minutes Hernando snored loudly, and Reuben thought best to leave
him alone; so, after tidying the room, he softly closed the door,
chiding himself severely for his supposed carelessness, and returned to
finish the chores.
Eletheer still waited in the dining-room and after being told that
Hernando would probably be all right in the morning, she retired. Not
so with the faithful Reuben. After attending to the thousand and one
little tasks which he conscientiously and systematically performed, his
pallet was spread by Hernando’s door that he might be ready in case of
need. Several times during the night he stealthily crept to Hernando’s
bedside only to find him in that same heavy sleep.
“Dat sleep means somefin,” he soliloquized uneasily; and earlier than
usual the kitchen fire was kindled and his part of the daily routine
begun.
Hernando had not stirred, but he breathed more easily and was bathed in
perspiration. His left arm hung over the edge of the bed and as Reuben
with tender solicitude raised it and was about to replace it under the
cover, the sleeve fell back revealing several small, dry, red spots
which, unlike the adjacent skin, were perfectly dry. Reuben stared.
This struck him as unusual. Here the sleeper moved his head slightly to
the left and just below the right ear were some more of these spots.
These also were perfectly dry. He recollected having heard Hernando
mention being troubled with “blood-boils.”
“I reckon de hot toddy stirred his blood up, po’ boy. He needs a good
clarin’ out,” Reuben mentally said, but he felt uneasy and as soon
as Mr. De Vere was heard stirring, the former knocked at his door
expressing a wish that Dr. Brinton be summoned.
“By all means,” Mr. De Vere said. “Do you think his case serious? What
kind of a night did your charge pass?”
“He done slep’ all night, Massa John, and is sleepin’ hard now. The
po’ful strong toddy might do that, but I ’clare, Massa, I jes’ feel
he’s dreffel sick.”
“What do you think is the matter?”
“I jes’ dun know.”
“Then we will have a physician settle the question,” replied Mr. De
Vere, stepping to the telephone.
“Dr. Brinton is not well,” the answer came. “Is the call imperative?”
One glance at Reuben’s face and Mr. De Vere answered, “I am sorry to
learn that the doctor is sick, but fear we must have medical advice at
once. Will he kindly send some one?”
After a long pause, Dr. Brinton himself answered. Hernando’s symptoms
under Reuben’s dictation were given, and through the ’phone, Dr.
Brinton’s laugh followed by a fit of coughing could be distinctly
heard. Then he said his assistant would be up immediately after
breakfast.
“Now Reuben, my good man, don’t worry any more about it. You know
he has malaria--at least he occasionally suffers from febrile
attacks--and now undoubtedly has taken cold. Your hot toddy will fix
him, and if it does not, the doctor will do all necessary,” and he
dismissed the subject.
Massa John’s will was law for Reuben, and though he could not rid
his mind of a feeling of indefinable dread, after another peep into
Hernando’s room he went to assist Margaret in the kitchen.
Nine o’clock brought, not Dr. Brinton’s assistant, but Dr. Herschel,
a celebrated dermatologist who was stopping in town for the purpose
of investigating the climatic conditions at Shushan and the medicinal
properties of mineral springs there. He alighted deliberately and
turned to survey the prospect. Little rivulets of melting snow danced
musically down the mountain side, the fresh woody smell from dried
leaves was wafted to his nostrils, unconsciously his head was thrown
back to better fill the lungs with this exhilarating air, and he bared
his head as if in deference to the Giver of such blessings.
Eletheer was watching from an upper window and her heart fluttered as
she thought of meeting this great man face to face. “Just like good Dr.
Brinton,” she said to herself. “None but the best for our family--but
Hernando is worthy of it. I do wonder what is the matter with him
anyway. Reuben seems so worried. Dr. Herschel takes his time. Probably
as his name is made, he does not need to inconvenience himself for the
sake of others.”
He raised his eyes to the window before which she sat and seeing her,
bowed slightly and advanced slowly toward the house.
“So this is the great scientist,” she said aloud, disappointment
pictured in every lineament of her face--and indeed any casual observer
would never give him a second thought. Reuben, always a well-bred
servant, could barely restrain his impatience, and without waiting for
the doctor to ring, he opened the door and unceremoniously ushered him
into the library where Mr. De Vere was absorbed in the morning papers.
“De doctah, Massa,” Reuben announced, immediately ascending to
Hernando’s room.
“Ah, good morning, Doctor,” said Mr. De Vere extending his hand.
“Glorious weather this. Pray be seated.” He drew a great easy-chair
before the western window which overlooked the city and pointing to
the blue hills among which lay Shushan, remarked: “Like Hernando, you
too are striving for the betterment of suffering humanity, only on
different lines.”
Dr. Herschel’s glance followed his. His eyes were deep set, but their
color was lost in the brilliancy of the mind which saw through them
more than this world of material facts and threw the light of its
genius into unexplored regions. Without removing his glance, he said
in a low, even-toned voice, “I believe you surveyed out that tract of
land.”
“Yes, and found it an unsavory job,” Mr. De Vere laughed.
Dr. Herschel’s countenance wore no answering smile as he replied:
“True, the stench is almost overpowering, but the waters from
‘Stinking Spring,’ particularly, I believe to possess undoubted
curative properties.”
“I sincerely trust they may, but to me that spot is the most obnoxious
on the globe and the poor unfortunate who laved in that water would be
a martyr indeed.”
“All of us are more or less,” replied the doctor abruptly, “but time is
passing, shall I see the patient now?”
Reuben’s quick ear caught the question and almost instantly his black
form appeared in the doorway, and without more ceremony Dr. Herschel
was escorted to Hernando’s room. On the way upstairs he touched Reuben
on the shoulder with, “Have you excluded all but yourself?”
“Yes, sah.”
“Why?”
By this time, they had entered the room and closed the door.
“Kase, Massa, it mout be ketchin’.”
“Have you ever before seen a case like this?”
“Not exac’ly, sah.”
“How long has he slept like this?”
Reuben gave a very correct account of Hernando’s condition since the
evening previous--not even omitting the toddy, nor to deplore his own
supposed carelessness. Not a single symptom was forgotten.
The physical examination over, during which Hernando remained limp, the
doctor again turned to Reuben, “Has he ever spent any time out of the
United States?”
Reuben did not know, but felt sure that Mr. De Vere would.
“That is all then, my good fellow. Let your patient sleep. This is
an infectious disease, so be very careful to cleanse your hands with
this”--handing him a prescription. “Use every precaution which an
intelligent nurse should.” He then sought Mr. De Vere who anxiously
awaited his verdict.
“Well?” the latter questioned.
Following him into the library, Dr. Herschel expressed a wish that Mr.
Andrew Genung be sent for.
“We telephoned him early this morning and I am surprised that he is
not here now,” said Mr. De Vere.
Even as he spoke, that gentleman’s portly figure appeared at the
door and after a short greeting, he dropped into a chair, panting
for breath, but managed to gasp, “Well, Doctor, we are fortunate in
obtaining your service. Is our boy’s condition precarious?”
“First get your breath,” replied the doctor, “and then my diagnosis
will be materially strengthened if you are able to correctly answer a
few questions.”
Like all who came within this magnetic man’s influence, the two men
before him, in dread expectancy, instinctively felt themselves in the
presence of one who has conquered his most dangerous enemy, himself,
and as a logical sequence, his trained intelligence would be rightly
directed. Neither of them, though, appreciated the gentle tact by which
their minds were being prepared for the shock awaiting them. After a
short pause, Dr. Herschel asked--“Has your nephew ever passed any time
out of the United States?”
“No,” replied Mr. Genung in some surprise.
“Has he ever married?”
“No.”
“He was born and reared in Nevada, I believe. Where educated?”
“San Francisco.”
“And probably, like too many young men of that age, Chinatown had its
attractions.”
Mr. Genung’s face became purple with indignation, but his questioner
did not flinch, only a look of divine pity came into his face as the
question was repeated.
“Pardon me, Dr. Herschel,” Mr. Genung replied, rising and preparing
to leave, “I fail to see the application of that question to my dear
nephew’s present condition.”
“Very well,” came the deliberate reply, “you are not legally obliged to
answer, neither is your nephew; but as the latter’s medical adviser and
would-be friend, I have a moral right to be enlightened on everything
pertaining to his good. True, the question asked, though a leading
one, is not necessary, for his symptoms are sufficient to expel all
doubt; but when a physician diagnoses a case as one heretofore unknown
in these parts, he naturally likes to substantiate his opinion by all
available evidence.”
With Mr. Genung, family matters were as strictly kept as the Ten
Commandments, but the doctor’s last remark disturbed him more than he
cared to admit. Twirling his hat nervously, he said--“Supposing it had.
What if, for one brief year, his habits had not been such as a parent
commends--a young man must ‘sow his wild oats’--how could the knowledge
of that fact affect your diagnosis?”
“Make it absolutely certain. I have traced similar cases to Chinatown.
It is a far too productive soil for the sowing of wild oats. One
sometimes reaps where he has not sown. The disease is leprosy; but,
contrary to the universally accepted belief, a cure has been found.”
Dead silence, broken only by a sound of labored breathing, followed
this announcement.
“Yes,” he continued, “‘Old Ninety-Nine’s’ cave contained a rarer
treasure than money and jewels in the form of a proven cure for this
justly dreaded malady.”
There is no sight more pathetic than a proud man humbled. Mr. Genung,
with all his boastful pride of race and family, told that one in whose
veins his own blood flowed was an outcast, unclean from this loathsome
disease, a leper, while close upon this, conscience whispered, “What
of the poor victim?” felt a compassion for his wayward brother’s only
child suffuse his whole being. Tears coursed down his rugged cheeks and
utterly broken in spirit, he looked appealingly at Dr. Herschel while
his whole frame shook as with ague.
Mr. De Vere sprang to his assistance and Dr. Herschel administered a
restorative, bidding him lie down for a few minutes, and his order was
obeyed with child-like confidence.
“Now,” resumed the doctor, when the excitement had somewhat
subsided, “my plan is this: to at once remove our young friend to
Shushan--accommodations there are meager, but this is easily and
quickly remedied, and I, myself, will remain with him until he is fully
under the application of my treatment.”
“All alone in that detestable wilderness!” Mr. De Vere exclaimed.
“No, my dear sir, very soon he will be joined by another man (also a
patient), and they can mutually assist each other.”
“God be merciful!” Mr. Genung moaned.
“Their home,” the doctor continued, “shall be light, airy and
attractive, the library complete. I assure you that nothing necessary
for their comfort will be omitted. Barren and forbidding as that spot
seems, it contains much that is interesting, and best of all, that for
which the brightest minds of all ages have sought--A CURE FOR LEPROSY!”
“How long do you think this stupor will last, Doctor?” asked Mr. De
Vere.
“I cannot say, but asleep or awake, we must make arrangements for
his removal this night. You understand that his isolation is to be
complete?”
“Not even communication by telephone?”
“Even that. Were it known that Hernando has leprosy, complications
might arise. Fearful as the disease is, it is not contagious, but it
would be a difficult matter to convince the laity that contagion and
infection are not synonymous. Am I to depend on your co-operation?”
“Oh, yes,” came the answer in unison.
“_Reuben_ will collect together his effects”--with an accent on the
name, which both understood--“and prepare him for the trip at about ten
o’clock to-night; I, with a trusty man, will be here with a conveyance
for Shushan.”
A heavy sigh from Mr. Genung.
“And now,” said the doctor cheerfully, “devotion is commendable only
when rightly demonstrated. Let me know if he awakes. Good-morning,” and
he was off.
Even his enemies would have pitied Andrew Genung as he sat there
staring vacantly at first one and then another. Hernando’s coming and
subsequent aid in discovering “Old Ninety-Nine’s” mine he had viewed
in the light of a manifestation of God’s pleasure to smile on this
valley, and that He had chosen one of the good old name “Genung” to be
the means, had made his heart swell with pious pride. Now he could only
pray; “Heavenly Father, have mercy on my poor boy. Forgive him, for he
knew not what he did!”
Mr. De Vere went upstairs to deliver Dr. Herschel’s verdict to Reuben.
His hand was on the knob of Hernando’s door; but, like a spirit, Reuben
appeared on the threshold and gently but firmly motioned him back
with,--“Yo’ can’t come in hyah, Massa, Massa John!”
“Reuben!” Mr. De Vere’s tone was one of dignity.
“Dr. Herschel assures us that this disease is not contagious, nor as
broadly infectious as has been believed.”
“Drefful sorry to displease yo’, Massa; but odahs am odahs.”
Mr. De Vere stepped back abashed, not at the gentle rebuke implied
in those words, but before this perfect example of the dignity of
service, unswerving fidelity to conviction, unselfish devotion to
those held dear.
“Far be it from me to tempt you, Reuben,” Mr. De Vere said humbly. “You
understand that Hernando has leprosy, and that, awake or asleep, you
are to have him ready to be moved to Shushan by ten o’clock to-night.”
Not a muscle in that black face moved; and fearing he had not
understood, Mr. De Vere repeated--“Leprosy.”
“Yes, Massa, I s’pected it when the doctah was hyah.”
A slight noise in Hernando’s room attracted Reuben’s attention and he
quickly entered it, locking the door behind him.
Eletheer came out of the library where Mr. De Vere had been closeted
with his family for nearly an hour. No outsider will ever know how the
awful truth was told there, but the girl Eletheer came out of that
room a woman. She wandered aimlessly downstairs. Not a cloud dimmed
the intense blue of the heavens, and all nature seemed quivering with
new life. The sunny valley lifted a smiling face but Eletheer saw
only--Shushan.
[Illustration: Into this den of venomous serpents only the hardy dared
penetrate]
This extensive tract of land extended from the Rochester line to
the “Low Right.” Portions of it were capable of being converted
into average, tillable land but the greater part was rough, hilly
and barren. This latter condition especially applied to the eastern
portion, which opposed the Shawangunk Mountains: bare, rocky walls
rising in successive steps, brokenly dizzy cliffs over which the
northeasters swept unobstructed, fit abode for the shades of departed
warriors as they had been the scene of many an Indian ambush. True,
there were some shady haunts of gigantic pine, hemlock and chestnut,
but into this den of venomous serpents only the hardy dared penetrate,
and these never more than once.
In the heart of this amphitheater boiled a spring so offensive as to
have earned the name “Stinking Spring.” The rocks from which it issued
were blackened, denuded of all vegetation, and every living plant
within reach of the fumes withered and died, but here was a paradise
for reptiles which attained prodigious size and thronged in numbers
incredible.
Old settlers claimed that some sort of connection existed between
Shushan and “Old Ninety-Nine’s” cave, as, when the mysterious “light”
appeared on the mountains, an answering flash rose above Shushan, but
no one attempted an explanation.
Locally, this spot was regarded with dread, wiseacres declaring it
haunted, and Dr. Herschel’s purchase of the same excited much adverse
criticism, but he was left in undisputed possession.
Here, for years to come, was Hernando to dwell; and, disfigured beyond
recognition by the “Curse of a God of purity,” he would find his
“Waterloo.” The utter futility of human resistance to natural laws had
received another scientific verification; but oh, how disproportioned
was the punishment to the offense!
Completely wrapped in thought, Eletheer did not see Dr. Herschel
who just then appeared around a bend in the path, and she started
hysterically at his greeting.
He had been up at the mine and was making a short cut through the
barnyard to the road where, unnoticed by Eletheer, his horse was still
tied. His practiced eye detected at a glance the traces of tears
which she defiantly repressed and, pointing to a rustic bench, he
said,--“Come, let us sit in the sunlight and see if you are in earnest
about becoming a trained nurse, which Dr. Brinton tells me you have
decided to do.”
“Yes,” she replied simply, “my grandmother thought I had a real talent
for nursing.”
Dr. Herschel looked at her fixedly. This was not the first girl whom
he had seen possessed of a “real talent” for nursing, whose heart
“yearned for the sweet joys of ministering to the afflicted”; but in
his experience the majority of these ardent maidens had been quickly
disillusioned. Possibly the girl beside him was different. True, she
knew nothing of the world and all its distractions, but she did not
seem sentimentally inclined. Her behavior during the recent unhappy
occasion was eminently praiseworthy in one of her temperament and years.
“Then too,” she added, “Reuben says I’ll make a good nurse and he is a
natural nurse.”
“H’m!” Dr. Herschel had seen “natural nurses” before; but at the
mention of that black man’s name his expression visibly softened; no
fair-minded critic could question his ability.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Seventeen.”
“Plenty of time in which to consider so serious a question. First get
a good education, and then if you still wish to enter upon that life I
will assist you in doing so. From time immemorial nursing has been the
field of usefulness peculiarly adapted to women. History’s pages are
dotted with the names of heroines in camp, field and plague-stricken
districts, in short, wherever the sick and wounded have needed care
nurses have lived a life of such unselfish devotion as to have earned
the gratitude of millions. We bow our head in reverence to their
memory; but we are approaching a practical age in which science and
mechanics will be the ruling forces. The time is not far distant
when nursing will be a recognized profession, in line with the other
educational branches, and expert training an unquestioned necessity.
The trained nurse of the future must be an open-eyed, earnest woman
with a working hypothesis of a life. She will be keenly alive to the
fact that people of culture and refinement into whose homes she may be
sent, require an approach, at least, to the same qualities in the one
who ministers to their needs. Relations between nurse and patient are
peculiarly close and sacred”;--involuntarily Dr. Herschel looked upward
toward Hernando’s window--“she will be the recipient of confidences,
often enforced, which no true nurse can violate. In short, her
influence in any household is almost unlimited for good--or bad. Any
nurse who chooses this life with either no conception of the magnitude
of the work or from some ulterior motive, must ultimately suffer
defeat. You see, Miss Eletheer,” he continued, “that is largely a
question of business, with a business woman’s responsibilities. A nurse
must be just, loyal and self-sacrificing from an impersonal standpoint,
believe in herself, and have perfect control over her emotions. She
must ‘take things as they are.’”
Dr. Herschel was a peculiarly gifted man aside from his professional
attainments. A natural critic of human nature, wide experience had
developed this trait into a seemingly occult power. He had also that
tenderness, that charity of the strong for the weak, which constitutes
the true man.
“Now here is our young friend’s case. Very likely, to you his
punishment seems disproportionate to the offense, and your doubt
is a natural one; but finite minds cannot comprehend the Infinite,
nor in instances like the present one, see justice. Nature does not
specialize,--sin is sin. Sin and punishment spring from the same
root. This is true of all the minor events of life; worrying over
irremediable ills drains one’s nerve force, and seriously impairs
one’s ability for effective work. Up there,” pointing toward Hernando’s
room, “is a pattern well worth the consideration of thinking minds. Are
Reuben’s energies wasted in bewailing the disaster that has overtaken
his charge? No, he is a good business man, using what materials he has
to the best advantage.”
“What a cold, hard view of so sacred a calling, and one which takes
hold on the basic principles of society,” Eletheer said warmly.
“Nevertheless a correct one. Relative conditions are necessarily
complex and, to do good work, the woman must be absorbed in the nurse,
and dignify her patient into a case. This means work, hard work, many
times drudgery in a trade--I might say, profession--in a world of
increasing tendency towards scientific skill, a practical age where all
genuine ability will be compensated by an equivalent in dollars and
cents.”
Eletheer had opened her lips to speak; but at that instant a black
hand raised Hernando’s window, and when it again closed a white flag
fluttered there.
Without a change of expression Dr. Herschel arose. He held out his hand
to the shrinking girl before him, and in his firm grasp Eletheer gained
her first insight into the philosophy of necessity.