THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOWS
Outwardly Nance was very calm as she closed the door and swiftly put on
her snow-shoes. But her heart was heating rapidly, and she was filled
with grave apprehensions.
"What is it?" she asked as she moved along over the snow by Dick's side.
"Don't hide anything from me. I want to know all."
"There is but little to tell, Nance," the young man replied. "It seems
that the Indian Taku was awakened last night by the whining of one of
his dogs outside the cabin door. When he had let the animal in he found
that it was one of the two your father had taken with him. The poor
creature was almost exhausted. It was carrying its harness and dragging
its traces. Taku surmised that something was wrong and he at once
started forth in the direction from which the dog had come. The storm
had ceased, and the moon was full when he set out, so it was easy for
him to follow the dog's tracks. They led away from Quaska, up the river,
and then off to the left through that long wooded valley. He had passed
only a short distance out of the woods on the upper side into a desolate
region, when he found a miner, Tim Ralston, with a broken leg, lying on
a sled. By his side was your father, unconscious, and to all appearance
dead. With much difficulty Taku brought both men into the woods, made a
small fire, and started off in post-haste for help. As luck would have
it, he overtook Tom, who had been storm-stayed up the creek, and
together they brought the two helpless men to the hospital. That, in
brief, is the story."
As Dick ended, Nance stopped, laid her hand lightly upon his arm, and
looked searchingly into his face.
"Will he live?" she gasped.
"I can't say. He has been terribly exposed. I am afraid it will go hard
with him."
"And he did it for Tim!" Nance murmured. "He gave his life to save
another."
Her thoughts flashed to the newspaper clipping, and her heart rebuked
her for her harsh judgment but a short time before. Now she understood
the motive of her father's unceasing efforts on behalf of the miners,
especially this last and greatest sacrifice of all. She did not,
however, reveal her knowledge to Dick, but hastened on, anxious to reach
Martin's side as soon as possible. Arriving at length at the hospital
door, she and Dick laid aside their snow-shoes, and quietly entered. All
was still within as they passed through the main ward into Nurse
Marion's room.
Here Martin was lying upon the one cot the room contained, and by his
side sat the nurse. She did not hear the steps at the door, for her
thoughts were upon the unconscious man before her. In her eyes was an
expression which had not been seen there since the days when he so often
visited her in her old home years before. She was thinking of that time
now, and she was picturing Martin as she then knew him. At first it was
hard for her to believe that this bronzed and bearded man was the same
as she had known then and cherished in her memory ever since. She
studied his face and saw there something of the terrible struggle
through which he had passed. She imagined his agony of mind after his
fall, and what it must have meant for him to live away in the
wilderness, cut off from all the benefits of civilised life. No sense of
anger or reproach came to her mind now as she sat there, but only a pity
and a love, such as she had never known, possessed her heart.
Nance paused but for an instant at the door, and then with a cry hurried
forward, and knelt by the side of the bed. She seized Martin's right
hand in hers, and pressed it to her lips.
"Daddy! daddy!" she cried. "I am here. Speak to me. It is Nance."
But no sign of recognition came from the unconscious form upon the cot.
As Nance continued to press the outstretched hand, Nurse Marion rose and
walked over to the window, and looked out upon the world of snow beyond.
Tumultuous thoughts surged suddenly through her mind as she saw Nance
kneeling by the bed and listened to her wailing cry. What right had this
girl to supplant her? Had she been all sufficient to Martin, and had he
forgotten Beryl, to whom he had given his heart and hand? For the first
time in years a revulsion of feeling swept upon her. She had been a fool
to believe that Martin had remembered her. He cared only for Nance, and
his first love had grown cold. Years of separation had done it, and what
vain fancy had led her to imagine that he still cared for her? She saw
it now as never before. She must get away from the place. But where
should she go, with the rivers frozen and the land snow-locked on every
side?
Those few moments had wrought a marvellous transformation in Nurse
Marion's face. It was calm--terribly calm--when at last she went back to
Martin's side. She was the professional nurse now, ready to do her duty
to the utmost, but no more. She had other patients in the hospital to
care for, and she busied herself with them during most of the day. She
had little to say to the watchers by Martin's side, and they, occupied
with their deep anxiety, did not notice her unusual silence. Then, when
all her other tasks were done, she sat with Nance and Dick through the
long hours of the night. She had to be doing something, so she brought
her needle-work, and though her fingers were busy, and at times her head
drooped, she hardly realised what she was doing.
Since he had been brought into the hospital Martin had not shown the
least sign of consciousness. He had lain as one in a deep sleep. But as
the night wore away, and the dawn of a new day was breaking he began to
move, and then to toss restlessly upon the cot. At last he opened his
eyes and stared vacantly around the room.
"Tim! Tim!" he called. "Are you cold? Here's my jacket. It'll keep you
warm."
His eyes next roved to the watchers near by until they rested upon the
nurse's face. He did not seem at all surprised to see her there.
"Beryl."
At that word the needle-work dropped from the nurse's hand, her face
went white as death, though she uttered not a sound.
"Are the hymns all ready, Beryl?" Martin continued. "It's almost church
time, and I can't wait any longer."
"He thinks you are Beryl," Nance whispered. But the nurse made no reply.
She sat erect, rigid, with staring eyes fixed full upon the man before
her.
A troubled expression now came into Martin's eyes, and his fingers moved
over the blanket as if in search of something. "I can't find them," he
murmured. "The bread--the wine--some one has hidden them. Ah, ah, here
they are," and his fingers closed eagerly upon some imaginary objects.
Then a semblance of a smile flickered about the corners of his mouth,
and his voice was low and reverent as his lips moved--"Take--and
eat--this--in remembrance--that Christ--died--for thee--and feed--on
Him----"
His voice trailed off into silence, and for a while he lay very still.
"Ah, ah!" he cried, starting suddenly up, while a fierce light glowed in
his eyes, "I defy you! The Church is nothing to me, and I will live
without it! Get out of my house, you impostor," he roared, looking now
at Dick. "You come here to steal Nance from me! But you won't get her!
No, by heavens! she shall never be yours! The Church! The Church! I
don't care for the Church! It has cast me out. I will live without it!
Get out, I say. Don't torture me! For God's sake, go!"
To say that the missionary was surprised at the remarks of this raving
man is putting it too mildly. He was astounded. What could be the
meaning of it all? he asked himself. Why did he refer to the hymns,
repeat those words of the Communion Service, and speak so fiercely about
the Church? Was it possible that this man had once been a clergyman? The
idea came to him now with a startling intensity. In an instant there
flashed into his mind Martin's peculiar actions ever since he had known
him, his strange behaviour and fitful moods. Was this the reason, then,
why this educated man had lived for long years in the wilderness? Had he
been deposed by the Church in which he had once been a clergyman? Dick
knew now that such must have been the case, and a feeling such as he had
never before experienced came upon him. He sank into the chair he had
recently vacated, and buried his face in his hands. He had at times
heard of men who had left the Ministry through some misdemeanour, but
never until now did he understand what it really meant. As he listened
to Martin's ravings he comprehended something of the agony of mind which
had been his through his long wilderness life.
And thus the three sat, watched, and waited, as the unconscious man
tossed upon the cot. There was little that they could do except think.
The missionary understood a little now of the past history of the man
before him, while Nance knew more. But neither realised that Nurse
Marion, sitting near with hands tightly clasped upon her lap, knew all,
and yet remained silent.