ominous. "Yer kicked her! An' she yelled--" For the first time the full
significance of it struck her. "_She yelled_?" she questioned, whirling
to Rose-Marie; "yer don't mean as she made a _sound_?"
Rose-Marie nodded dumbly. It was Jim's voice that went on with the story.
"She ain't dead," he told Ella, piteously. "She ain't dead. An'--I
promise yer true--I'll never do such a thing again. I promise yer true!"
Ella took a step toward him. Her face was suddenly lined, and old. "If
she dies," she told him, "_if she dies_..." she hesitated, and
then--"Much yer promises mean," she shrilled, "much yer promises--"
Rose-Marie had been watching Jim's face. Almost without meaning to she
interrupted Ella's flow of speech.
"I think that he means what he says," she told Ella slowly. "I think that
he means ... what he says."
For she had seen the birth of something--_that might have been soul_--in
Jim's haggard eyes.
The child in Ella's arms stirred, weakly, and was still again. But the
movement, slight as it was, made the girl forget her brother. Her dark
head bent above the fair one.
"Honey," she whispered, "yer goin' ter get well fer Ella--ain't yer? Yer
goin' ter get well--"
The door swung open with a startling suddenness, and Rose-Marie sprang
forward, her hands outstretched. Framed in the battered wood stood
Bennie--the tears streaking his face--and behind him was the Young
Doctor. So tall he seemed, so capable, so strong, standing there, that
Rose-Marie felt as if her troubles had been lifted, magically, from her
shoulders. All at once she ceased to be afraid--ceased to question the
ways of the Almighty. All at once she felt that Lily would get
better--that the Volskys would be saved to a better life. And all at
once she knew something else. And the consciousness of it looked from
her wide eyes.
"You!" she breathed. "_You_!"
And, though she had sent for him, herself, she felt a glad sort of
surprise surging through her heart.
The Young Doctor's glance, in her direction, was eloquent. But as his
eyes saw the child in Ella's arms his expression became impersonal,
again, concentrated, and alert. With one stride he reached Ella's side,
and took the tiny figure from her arms.
"What's the matter here?" he questioned sharply.
Rose-Marie was not conscious of the words that she used as she described
Lily's accident. She glossed over Jim's part in it as lightly as
possible; she told, as quickly as she could, the history of the child.
And as she told it, the doctor's lean capable hands were passing, with
practiced skill, over the little relaxed body. When she told of the
child's deaf and dumb condition she was conscious of his absolute
attention--though he did not for a moment stop his work--when she spoke
of the scream she saw his start of surprise. But his only words were in
the nature of commands. "Bring water"--he ordered, "clean water, in a
basin. A _clean_ basin. Bring a sponge"--he corrected himself--"a clean
rag will do--only it must be _clean_"--this to Mrs. Volsky, "you
_understand?_ Where," his eyes were on Ella's face, "can we lay the
child? Is there a _clean_ bed, anywhere?"
Ella was shaking with nervousness as she opened the door of the inner
room that she and Lily shared. Mrs. Volsky, carrying the basin of water,
was sobbing. Jim, standing in the center of the room, was like a
statue--only his haunted eyes were alive. The Young Doctor, glancing from
face to face, spoke suddenly to Rose-Marie.
"I hate to ask you," he said simply, "but you seem to be the only one who
hasn't gone to pieces. Will you come in here with me?"
Rose-Marie nodded, and she spoke, very softly. "Then you think that I'll
be able--to help?" she questioned.
The Young Doctor was remembering--or forgetting--many things.
"I know that you will!" he said, and he spoke as softly as she had done.
"I know that you will!"
They went, together, with Lily, into the inner room. And as the Young
Doctor closed the door, Rose-Marie knew a very real throb of triumph. For
he had admitted that her help was to be desired--that she could really do
something!
But, the moment that the door closed, she forgot her feeling of victory,
for, of a sudden, she saw Dr. Blanchard in a new light. She saw him lay
the little figure upon the bed--she saw him pull off his coat. And then,
while she held the basin of water, she saw him get to work. And as she
watched him her last feeling of doubt was swept away.
"He may say that he's not interested in people," she told herself
joyously, "but he is. He may think that he doesn't care for religion--but
he does. There's love of people in every move of his hands! There's
something religious in the very way his fingers touch Lily!"
Yes, she was seeing the Young Doctor in a new light. As she watched him
she knew that he had quite forgotten her presence--had quite forgotten
the little quarrels that had all but ruined their chance at friendship.
She knew that his mind was only on the child who lay so still under his
hands--she knew that all the intensity of his nature was concentrated
upon Lily. As she watched him, deftly obeying His simple directions, she
gloried in his skill--in his surety.
And then, at last, Lily opened her eyes. She might have been waking from
a deep slumber as she opened them--she might have been dreaming a
pleasant dream as she smiled faintly. Rose-Marie had a sudden feeling--a
feeling that she had experienced before--that the child was seeing
visions, with her great sightless eyes, that other, normal folk could not
see. All at once a great dread clutched at her soul.
"She's not dying--?" she whispered, gaspingly. "Her smile is so
very--wonderful. She's not dying?"
The Young Doctor turned swiftly from the bed. All at once he looked like
a knight to Rose-Marie--an armourless, modern knight who fought an
endless fight against the dragons of disease and pain.
"Bless your heart, no!" he answered. "She isn't dying! We'll bring her
around in a few minutes. And now"--a great tenderness shone out of his
eyes, "tell me all about it. You were very sketchy," his gesture
indicated the other room, "out there! How did the child really get
hurt--and how did you come to be here? How--Why, Rose-Marie....
_Sweetheart_!"
For Rose-Marie had fainted very quietly--and for the first time in all of
her strong young life.
XIX
AND THE HAPPY ENDING
They were sitting together at the luncheon table--the Superintendent,
Rose-Marie, and the Young Doctor. The noontime sunshine slanted across
the table--dancing on the silver, touching softly Rose-Marie's curls,
finding an answering sparkle in the Young Doctor's smile. And
silence--the warm silence of happiness--lay over them all.
It was the Young Doctor who spoke first.
"Just about a month ago, it was," he said reflectively, "that I saw Lily
for the first time. And now"--he paused teasingly--"and now--"
Rose-Marie laid down the bit of roll that she was buttering. Her face was
glowing with eagerness.
"They've come to some decision," she whispered, in a question that was
little more than a breath of sound, "the doctors at the hospital have
come to some decision?"
The Superintendent was leaning forward and her kind soul shone out of her
tired eyes. "Tell us at once, Billy Blanchard!" she ordered, "_At once_!"
Quite after the maddening fashion of men the Young Doctor did not
answer--not until he had consumed, and appreciatively, the bit of roll
that he had been buttering. And then--"The other doctors agree with my
diagnosis," he told them simply. "It's an extraordinary case, they say;
but a not incurable one. The shock--when Jim kicked her--was a blessing
in disguise. Not, of course, that I'd prescribe kicks for crippled
children! But"--the term that he used was long and technical--"but such
things have happened. Not often, of course. The doctors agree with me
that, if her voice comes back--as I believe it will--there may be a very
real hope for her hearing. And her eyes "--his voice was suddenly
tender--"well--thousands of slum kiddies are blind--and thousands of them
have been cured. If Lily is, some day, a normal child--if she can some
day speak and see, and hear, it will be--"
The Superintendent's voice was soft--
"It is already a miracle!" she said simply. "It is already a miracle.
Look at Jim--working for a small salary, _and liking it_! Look at
Bennie--he was the head of his class in school, this month, he told me.
And Ella--"
The Young Doctor interrupted.
"Ella and her mother went to church with us last Sunday," he said.
"Rose-Marie and I were starting out, together, and they asked if they
might go along. I tell you"--his eyes were looking deep, _deep_, into the
eyes of Rose-Marie and he spoke directly to her, "I tell you, dear--I've
learned a great many lessons in the last few weeks. Jim isn't the only
one--or Bennie. Lily isn't the only nearly incurable case that has found
new strength...."
Rose-Marie was blushing. The Superintendent, watching the waves of colour
sweep over her face, spoke suddenly--reminiscently.
"Child," she said--and laughter, tremulous laughter, was in her voice,
"your face is ever so _pink_! I believe," she was quoting, "'that you
have a best beau'!"
The Young Doctor was laughing, too. Strangely enough his laughter had
just the suggestion of a tremor in it.
"I'll say that she has!" he replied, and his words, though slangy, were
very tender. "I'll say that she has!" And then--"Are _we_ going back to
the little town, Rose-Marie," he questioned. "Are _we_ going back to the
little town to be married?"
The blush had died from Rose-Marie's face, leaving it just faintly
flushed. The eyes that she raised to the Young Doctor's eyes were like
warm stars.
"No," she told him, "we're not! I've thought it all out. We're going to
be married here--here in the Settlement House. I'll write for my aunts to
come on--and for my old pastor! I couldn't be married without my
aunts.... And my pastor; he christened me, and he welcomed me into the
church, and"--all at once she started up from the table, "I'm going
up-stairs to write, now," she managed. "I want to tell them that we're
going to start our home here"--her voice broke, "here, on our own
Island...." Like a flash she was out of the door.
The Young Doctor was on his feet. Luncheon was quite forgotten.
"I think," he said softly, and his face was like a light, "I think that
I'll go with her--and help her with the letter!" The door closed,
sharply, upon his hurrying back.
* * * * *
The Superintendent, left alone at the table, rang for the maid. Her voice
was carefully calm as she ordered the evening meal. But her eyes were
just a bit misty as she looked into the maid's dull face.
"Mrs. Volsky," she said suddenly, "love must have its way! And love is--"
The maid looked at her blankly. Obviously she did not understand. But,
seeing her neat apron, her clean hands, her carefully combed hair, one
could forgive her vague expression.
"What say?" she questioned.
The Superintendent laughed wearily, "Anyway," she remarked, "Ella likes
her work, doesn't she? And Jim? And Bennie is going to be a great man,
some day--isn't he? And Lily may be made well--quite well! You should be
a glad woman, Mrs. Volsky!"
Pride flamed up, suddenly, in the maid's face--blotting out the dullness.
"God," she said simply and--marvel of marvels--her usually toneless
voice was athrob with love--"God is good!" She went out, with a tray
full of dishes.
Her chin in the palm of her hand, the Superintendent stared off into
space. If she was thinking of a little blond child--lying in a hospital
bed--if she was thinking of a man with sleek hair, trying to make a new
start--if she was thinking of a girl with dark, flashing eyes, and a
small, grubby-fingered boy, her expression did not mirror her thought.
Only once she spoke, as she was folding her napkin. And then--
"They're both very young," she murmured, a shade wistfully. Perhaps she
was remembering the springtime of her own youth.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Island of Faith, by Margaret E. Sangster