NEW DAWN
Twenty minutes later, anxious fingers tapped at Filhiol’s door.
“Come!” bade the doctor. Laura entered.
“Forgive me,” she begged. “I—I couldn’t stay away. Dr. Marsh has got
the wound closed. He says that, in itself, isn’t fatal. But—”
She could not finish. From the hallway, through the open door,
penetrated the smell of ether.
“The captain’s been just splendid!” said she. “And Ezra’s got his nerve
back. I’ve helped as much as I could. Hal’s in the berth again.”
“What’s his condition?”
“Dr. Marsh says the heart action is very weak and slow.”
“Respiration?” And Filhiol peered over his glasses at her as he sat
there before his washstand, on which he had spread a newspaper, now
covered with various little piles of powder.
“Hardly ten to the minute. For God’s sake, doctor, do something!
Haven’t you got the formula yet?”
“Not yet, Laura. It’s a very delicate compound, and I have no means
here for making proper analyses, or even for weighing out minute
quantities. I don’t suppose a man ever tried to work under such fearful
handicaps.”
“I know,” she answered. “But—oh, there must be _some_ way you can get
it!”
Their eyes met and silence came. On the porch roof, below the doctor’s
window, the rain was ruffling all its drums. The window, rattled in its
sash, seemed in the grip of some jinnee that sought to force entrance.
Filhiol glanced down at his little powders and said:
“Here’s what I’m up against, Laura. I’m positively sure one of these
two nearest me is correct. But I can’t tell which.”
“Why not test them?”
“One or the other is fearfully poisonous. My old brain doesn’t work as
well as it used to, and after fifty years—But, yes, one of these two
here,” and he pointed at the little conical heaps nearest him with the
point of the knife wherewith he had been mixing them, “one of these two
must be the correct formula. The other—well, it’s deadly. I don’t know
which is which.”
“If you knew definitely which one was poisonous,” asked she, “would
that make you certain of the other?”
“Yes,” he answered, not at all understanding. “But without the means of
making qualitative analyses, or the time for them, how can I find out?”
She had come close, and now stood at his left side. Before he could
advance a hand to stop her, she had caught up, between thumb and
finger, a little of the powder nearest her and had put it into her
mouth.
“Holy Lord, girl!” shouted the old man, springing up. His chair clashed
to the floor. “How do you know which—”
“I’ll know in a few moments, won’t I?” she asked. “And then you’ll be
able to give the right one to Hal?”
The old doctor could only stare at her. Then he groaned, and began to
cry. The tears that had not flowed in years were flowing now. For the
first time in all that long and lonesome life, without the love of
woman to soften it, he had realized what manner of thing a woman’s love
can be.
She remained there, smiling a little, untroubled, calm. The doctor
blinked away his tears, ashamed.
“Laura,” said he, “I didn’t think there was anything like that in the
world. I didn’t think there was any woman anywhere like you. It’s too
wonderful for any words. So I won’t talk about it. But tell me, now,
what sensations do you get?” His face grew anxious with a very great
fear. He came close to her, took her hand, closely watched her. “Do you
feel anything yet?”
“There’s a kind of stinging sensation on my tongue,” she answered, with
complete quietude, as though the scales of life and death for her had
not an even balance. “And—well, my mouth feels a little numb and cold.
Is that the poison?”
“Do you experience any dizziness?” His voice was hardly audible. By the
lamp-light his pale face and widened eyes looked very strange. “Does
your heart begin to accelerate? Here, let me see!”
He took her wrist, carefully observing the pulse.
“No, doctor,” she answered, “I don’t feel anything except just what
I’ve already told you.”
“Thank the good God for that!” he exclaimed, letting her hand fall.
“You’re all right. You got the harmless powder. Laura, you’re—you’re
too wonderful for me even to try to express it. You’re—”
“We’re wasting time here!” she exclaimed. “Every second’s precious. You
know which powder to use, now. Come along!”
“Yes, you’re right. I’ll come at once.” He turned, took up the knife,
and with its blade scraped on to a bit of paper the powder that the
girl had tested. This he wrapped up carefully and tucked into his
waistcoat-pocket.
“Dow-nstairs, Laura!” said he. “If we can pull him through, it’s you
that have saved him—it’s _you_!”
* * * * *
The thud of the old doctor’s feet seemed to echo in the captain’s heart
like thunders of doom. He got up from beside the berth and faced the
door, like a man who waits the summons to walk forth at dawn and face
the firing-squad. Dr. Marsh, still seated by the berth, frowned and
shook his head. Evidently he had no faith in this old man, relic of a
school past and gone, who claimed to know strange secrets of the Orient.
“This boy is dying,” thought Marsh. “I don’t believe in all this talk
about _curaré_. He’s dying of hemorrhage and shock. His pulse and
respiration are practically _nil_—his skin is dusky with suffocation
already. Even if the old chap has a remedy, he’s too late. Hal’s
gone—and it will kill the captain, too. What a curse seems to have
hung to this family! Wiped out, all wiped out!”
In the doorway appeared Laura and old Filhiol. The girl’s face was
burning with excitement. The doctor’s eyes shone strangely.
“Still alive, is he?” demanded Filhiol.
“Yes,” answered Marsh. “But you’ve got no time for more than one
experiment.”
“Got it, Filhiol?” choked the captain. His hands twitched with appeal.
“Tell me you’ve—got it!”
“Water! The hypodermic needle!” directed Filhiol, his voice a whiplash.
He mixed the powder in a quarter-glass of water, and drew the solution
up into the glass barrel of the syringe. Ezra, unable to bear any
further strain, sank down in a chair, buried his face in both hands and
remained there, motionless. Dr. Marsh, frankly skeptical, watched in
silence. The girl, her arm about the captain, was whispering something
to him. Through the room sounded a hollow roaring, blent of surf and
tempest and wind-buffetings of the great chimney.
Filhiol handed the hypodermic to Marsh.
“Administer this,” he commanded. “Your hands have been sterilized, and
mine haven’t. We mustn’t even waste the time for me to scrub up, and
I’m taking no chances at all with any non-surgical conditions.”
Marsh nodded. The old man was undoubtedly a little cracked, but it
could do no harm to humor him. Marsh quickly prepared an area of Hal’s
arm, rubbing it with alcohol. He tossed away the pledget of cotton,
pinched up the bloodless skin, and jabbed the needle home.
“All of it?” asked he, as he pushed down the ring.
“All!” answered Filhiol. “It’s a thundering dosage, but this is no time
for half measures!”
The ring came wholly down. Marsh withdrew the needle, took more cotton
and again rubbed the puncture. Then he felt Hal’s pulse, and very
grimly shook his head.
“Laura,” said he, “I think you’d better go. Your father, when he left,
told me to tell you he wanted you to go home.”
“I’m not afraid to see Hal die, if he’s got to die, any more than
I’m afraid to have him live. He’s mine, either way.” Her eyes were
wonderful. “I’m going to stay!”
“Well, as you wish.” Dr. Marsh turned back to his observation of the
patient.
Filhiol stood beside him. Wan and haggard he was, with deep lines of
exhaustion in his face. The old captain, seated now at the head of the
berth, was leaning close, listening to each slow gasp. Now and again
he passed a hand over his forehead, but always the sweat dampened it
once more.
“Any change?” he whispered hoarsely.
“Not yet,” Marsh answered.
“It couldn’t take effect so soon, anyhow,” cut in Filhiol. “It’ll be
ten minutes before it’s noticeable.”
Marsh curled a lip of scorn. What did this superannuated relic know?
What, save folly, could be expected of him?
The seconds dragged to minutes, and still Marsh kept his hold on the
boy’s wrist. A gust of wind puffed ashes out upon the hearth. Somewhere
at the back of the house a loose blind slammed. The tumult of the surf
shuddered the air.
“Oh, God! Can’t you tell yet?” whispered the captain. “Can’t you tell?”
“_Shhh!_” cautioned Filhiol. “Remember, you’re captain of this clipper.
You’ve got to hold your nerve!”
The clock on the mantel gave a little preliminary click, then began
striking. One by one it tolled out twelve musical notes, startlingly
loud in that tense silence.
Marsh shifted his feet, pursed his lips and leaned a little forward. He
drew out his watch.
“Humph!” he grunted.
“Better?” gulped Alpheus Briggs. “Better—or worse?”
“I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Marsh.
“What _is_ it?”
“Dr. Filhiol, you’ve done it!”
“Is he—dead?” breathed Laura.
“Two more beats per minute already!” Marsh answered. “And greater
amplitude. Captain Briggs, if nothing happens now, your boy will live!”
The old man tried to speak, but the words died on his white lips. His
eyes closed, his head dropped forward as he sat there, and his arms
fell limp. In his excess of joy, Captain Alpheus Briggs had fainted.
* * * * *
By early dawn the tempest, blowing itself clean away with all its wrack
of cloud and rain, left a pure-washed sky of rose and blue over-arching
the wild-tossing sea. The sun burned its way in gold and crimson up
into a morning sprayed with spindrift from the surf-charges against the
granite coast. All along the north shore that wave army charged; and
the bell-buoy, wildly clanging, seemed to revel in furious exultation
over the departed storm.
The early rays flashed out billions of jewels from drops of water
trembling on the captain’s lawn. Through the eastward-looking
portholes of the cabin, long spears of sunlight penetrated, paling the
flames on the hearth. Those flames had been fed with wood surpassing
strange—with all the captain’s barbarous collection of bows and
arrows, blowpipes, spears and clubs, even to the brutal “Penang lawyer”
itself.
Before the fire, in a big chair, Ezra slept in absolute exhaustion.
Dr. Marsh was gone. By the berth Filhiol was still on guard with Laura
and the captain. All three were spent with the terrible vigil, but
happiness brooded over them, and none thought of rest or sleep.
In the berth, now with open eyes, lay Hal, his face white as the
pillow. With the conquering of the paralysis, some slight power of
motion had returned to him; but the extreme exhaustion of that heavy
loss of blood still gripped him. His eyes, though, moved from face to
face of the three watchers, and his blue lips were smiling.
A different look lay in those eyes than any that had ever been there,
even in the boy’s moments of greatest good humor. No longer was there
visible that latent expression of arrogance, of power, cruelty and
pride that at any moment had been wont to leap like a trapped beast
tearing its cage asunder. Hal’s look was now not merely weakness; it
took hold on gentleness and on humanity; it was the look of one who,
having always gloried in the right of might, had found it swiftly turn
to the bursting bubble of illusion.
This Hal now lying bandaged and inert in the old captain’s berth was
no longer the Hal of yesterday. That personality had died; another
had replaced it. Something had departed from the boy’s face, never to
return again. One would almost have said the eyes were those of madness
that had become suddenly sane—eyes from which a curse had all at once
been lifted, leaving them rational and calm.
Hal’s eyes drifted from the old doctor’s face to the captain’s, rested
a moment on Laura, and then wandered to the fireplace. Surprise came,
at sight of the bare bricks. The captain understood.
“They’re gone, Hal,” said he. “Burned up—they were all part and parcel
of the old life; and now that _that’s_ gone they can’t have any place
here. I know you’ll understand.”
Hal made an effort. His lips formed the words soundlessly: “I
understand.”
“He’ll do now,” said Filhiol. “I’m pretty far gone. I’ve got to get
a little rest or you’ll have two sick men on your hands. If you need
anything, call me, though. And don’t let him talk! That punctured lung
of his has got to rest!”
He got up heavily, patted Hal’s hand that lay outside the spread, and
hobbled toward the door.
The captain followed him, laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Doctor,” said he in a low tone, “if you knew what you’ve done for
me—if you could only understand—”
“None of that, sir!” interrupted the old man sternly. “A professional
duty, sir, nothing more!”
“A million times more than that! You’ve opened up a new heaven and a
new earth. You’ve given Hal back to me! I can see the change. It’s
real! The old book’s closed. The new one’s opened. You’ve saved a thing
infinitely more than life to me. You’ve saved my boy!”
Filhiol nodded.
“And you, too,” he murmured. “Yes, facts are facts. Still, it was
all in the line of duty. We’re neither of us too old to stand up to
duty, captain. I hope we’ll never be. Hal’s cured. There can’t be any
manner of doubt about _that_. The curse of unbridled strength is lifted
from him. He’s another man now. The powers of darkness have defeated
themselves. And the new dawn is breaking.”
He paused a moment, looking intently into the old captain’s face, then
turned again toward the door.
“I’m very tired now,” said he. “There’s nothing more I can do. Let me
go, captain.”
Alpheus Briggs clasped his hand in silence. For a long minute the hands
of the two old men gripped each other with eloquent force. Then Filhiol
hobbled through the door and disappeared.
The captain turned back to Laura. There were tears in his eyes as he
said:
“If there were more like Filhiol, what a different world this would be!”
“It _is_ a different world to-day, anyhow, from what it was yesterday,”
smiled Laura. She bent over Hal and smoothed back the heavy black hair
from his white forehead. “A different world for all of us, Hal!”
His hand moved slightly, but could not go to hers. She took it,
clasped it against her full, warm breast, and raised it to her mouth
and kissed it. She felt a slight, almost imperceptible pressure of his
fingers. Her smile grew deep with meaning, for in that instant visions
of the future were revealed.
The sunlight, strengthening, moved slowly across the wall whence now
the kris had been torn down. A ray touched the old captain’s white
hair, englorifying it. He laid his hand on Laura’s hand and Hal’s; and
in his eyes were tears, but now glad tears that washed away all bitter
memories.
From without, through a half-opened window that let sweet June drift
in, echoed sounds of life. Voices of village children sounded along
the hedge. Cartwheels rattled. The anvil, early at work, sent up its
musical _clank-clank-clank_ to Snug Haven.
From an elm near the broad porch, the sudden melody of a robin,
greeting the new day after the night of storm, echoed in hearts now
infinitely glad.
THE END
“STORM COUNTRY” BOOKS BY GRACE MILLER WHITE
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
#JUDY OF ROGUES’ HARBOR#
Judy’s untutored ideas of God, her love of wild things, her faith in
life are quite as inspiring as those of Tess. Her faith and sincerity
catch at your heart strings. This book has all of the mystery and tense
action of the other Storm Country books.
#TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY#
It was as Tess, beautiful, wild, impetuous, that Mary Pickford made
her reputation as a motion picture actress. How love acts upon a
temperament such as hers—a temperament that makes a woman an angel or
an outcast, according to the character of the man she loves—is the
theme of the story.
#THE SECRET OF THE STORM COUNTRY#
The sequel to “Tess of the Storm Country,” with the same wild
background, with its half-gypsy life of the squatters—tempestuous,
passionate, brooding. Tess learns the “secret” of her birth and finds
happiness and love through her boundless faith in life.
#FROM THE VALLEY OF THE MISSING#
A haunting story with its scene laid near the country familiar to
readers of “Tess of the Storm Country.”
#ROSE O’ PARADISE#
“Jinny” Singleton, wild, lovely, lonely, but with a passionate yearning
for music, grows up in the house of Lafe Grandoken, a crippled cobbler
of the Storm Country. Her romance is full of power and glory and
tenderness.
_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_
JACK LONDON’S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
#JOHN BARLEYCORN.# Illustrated by H. T. Dunn.
This remarkable book is a record of the author’s own amazing
experiences. This big, brawny world rover, who has been acquainted
with alcohol from boyhood, comes out boldly against John Barleycorn.
It is a string of exciting adventures, yet it forcefully conveys an
unforgettable idea and makes a typical Jack London book.
#THE VALLEY OF THE MOON.# Frontispiece by George Harper.
The story opens in the city slums where Billy Roberts, teamster and
ex-prize fighter, and Saxon Brown, laundry worker, meet and love and
marry. They tramp from one end of California to the other, and in the
Valley of the Moon find the farm paradise that is to be their salvation.
#BURNING DAYLIGHT.# Four illustrations.
The story of an adventurer who went to Alaska and laid the foundations
of his fortune before the gold hunters arrived. Bringing his fortunes
to the States he is cheated out of it by a crowd of money kings, and
recovers it only at the muzzle of his gun. He then starts out as a
merciless exploiter on his own account. Finally he takes to drinking
and becomes a picture of degeneration. About this time he falls in love
with his stenographer and wins her heart but not her hand and then—but
read the story!
#A SON OF THE SUN.# Illustrated by A. O. Fischer and C. W. Ashley.
David Grief was once a light-haired, blue-eyed youth who came from
England to the South Seas in search of adventure. Tanned like a native
and as lithe as a tiger, he became a real son of the sun. The life
appealed to him and he remained and became very wealthy.
#THE CALL OF THE WILD.# Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin and
Charles Livingston Bull. Decorations by Charles E. Hooper.
A book of dog adventures as exciting as any man’s exploits could be.
Here is excitement to stir the blood and here is picturesque color to
transport the reader to primitive scenes.
#THE SEA WOLF.# Illustrated by W. J. Aylward.
Told by a man whom Fate suddenly swings from his fastidious life into
the power of the brutal captain of a sealing schooner. A novel of
adventure warmed by a beautiful love episode that every reader will
hail with delight.
#WHITE FANG.# Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull.
“White Fang” is part dog, part wolf and all brute, living in the frozen
north; he gradually comes under the spell of man’s companionship, and
surrenders all at the last in a fight with a bull dog. Thereafter he is
man’s loving slave.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
FOOTNOTE:
[1] This chant, freely translated, bespeaks the horror of the Malay at
any admixture with a foreigner, thus: “Let the sparrow mate with but
the sparrow only, and the parrot with the parrot only. While a flower
is pleasing to man, he wears it. When it fades, man throws it away.”
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
Obvious errors were corrected.