In the reception-room a man was waiting. He was thick-set, with dark
hair and eyes and an obstinate chin. He looked up with a doubtful flash
as Aunt Jane came in.
"How is she?" he demanded. He had sprung to his feet.
Aunt Jane descended into a creaking chair and folded her hands quietly.
"Sit down, Mr. Dalton," she said; "I'm going to tell you all about it."
The words seemed to promise limitless details.
He sat down, chafing a little and looking at her eagerly.
She smiled on him. "Hard work waiting, isn't it?" she said.
His face broke a little.
"Has she come out of it?"
Aunt Jane nodded. "Yes, she's got through." She rocked a little in the
big chair. "She's standing it pretty well, considering," she added after
a pause.
"Will she get well?" The question burst at her.
She looked up at him slowly--at the dark eyes and obstinate chin. "I
don't know," she said. She waited a minute. "I suppose you'd rather know
the truth," she asked.
"Yes--yes."
"I thought so." The muslin strings nodded. "When my husband died they
didn't let us know how sick he was. I've always thought we might have
saved him--between us--if we'd known. They wanted to spare my feelings."
She looked at him inquiringly.
"Yes." He waited a little less impatiently. The world was a big place.
Everybody died.... Would Edith die?... He looked at her imploringly.
She returned the look with one full of gentleness. "I don't see how
she's going to live," she said slowly. The face under its white cap took
on a trance-like look. The eyes were fixed on something unseen. She drew
a quick breath.... "But I guess she will," she said with a tremulous
laugh.
The man's lips parted.
She looked at him again. "If I were you, Mr. Dalton, I'd go home and
feel pretty big and strong and well, and I'd hope pretty hard."
He looked at her, bewildered.
She was on her feet. She ran her eye over his face and person. "I'd wear
the cleanest, freshest clothes I could get, and I'd look so 'twould do
her good just to set eyes on me."
He flushed under the two days' growth of beard and ran his hand
awkwardly across his chin. "But they won't let me see her?" he said.
"Well, I don't know," responded Aunt Jane. "It'll do her good--whether
she sees you or not," she added energetically.
He rose with a smile, holding out his hand. "I believe you're right," he
said. "It gives me something to do, anyway, and that's worth a good
deal."
"Yes, it's something to do," she responded, "and I don't suppose any of
us knows just what cures folks."
"Could I see her to-morrow, perhaps?" he asked, watching her face.
She shook her head emphatically. "Not till I think best," she replied
with decision.
His face fell.
"And not then," she said, "unless you're feeling pretty well and strong
and happy."
He gave a little abrupt laugh. "Oh, you've fixed that all right. I
shan't sigh--not once--in a dark room--with the lights out."
Aunt Jane smiled serenely. "That's good." At the door she paused a
moment. "I wouldn't reckon too much on seeing her," she said. "I shan't
let any one see her till she asks. She won't pay much attention for
three-four days yet."
A peculiar look crossed the man's dark face. "That's all right," he
said. "I can wait."
Outside the door he lifted his face a little to the fresh breeze. His
eyes stared absently at the drifting sky. "Now, how did she know Edith
wouldn't want to see me?" he said softly: "how did she find that out?"
V
Aunt Jane bent her head and listened to the heavy breathing. Then she
spoke softly to the nurse in charge, who listened obediently and went
away. It was not an unusual thing for Aunt Jane to assume control of a
case at any moment. Perhaps she was most likely to do this about three
or four o'clock in the morning when all the hospital was asleep and a
chill had crept into the air. The nurse in charge of a critical case
would look up to find Aunt Jane standing beside her, fresh from a cold
bath, with a smile on her big, restful face and a whispered command on
her lips that sent the tired nurse to bed with a clear conscience.
The patients that Aunt Jane assumed in this peremptory fashion always
recovered. Perhaps they would have recovered in any case. This is one of
the things that no one knows. It may be noted, however, in passing, that
the patients themselves as they came into the new day, holding fast to
Aunt Jane's hand, cherished a belief that had it not been for that
firm, plump hand, the new day would not have dawned for them.... They
had no strength and no will of their own. But through the cold and the
darkness, something held them; and when the spirit came creeping back
with the morning, the first thing that their eyes rested on was Aunt
Jane's face.
The woman's eyes opened suddenly. They looked for a moment, dull and
unseeing, into Aunt Jane's. Then they fell shut. Aunt Jane's fingers
noted the pulse and passed once or twice across the high, fretted brow.
Slowly a look of sleep passed over the face and the strained lines
relaxed. Aunt Jane, watching it, gave a nod of satisfaction. Out in the
orchard the robin sang his twilight song, slow and cool and liquid, with
long pauses between, and the dusk crept into the white room, touching
it.
Aunt Jane sat passive, waiting, the eyes under her white cap glowing
with a still, deep look. All the threads of life and death in the
hospital gathered up and centred in the quiet figure sitting there. Not
a pulse in the great building beat, or flickered and went out, that
Aunt Jane did not know it. But she sat waiting while the twilight
deepened, a look of restfulness in her big face. Now and then she
crooned to herself, half humming the lines of some hymn and falling
silent again, watching the sleeper's breath.
The night nurse paused outside the door, and a little rush of gaslight
flickered in. Aunt Jane rose and closed the door and shifted a screen
noiselessly to the foot of the bed. The long night had settled down for
its sleep. And Edith Dalton's soul was keeping watch with death. Slowly
it sank back into the grim hold ... only a spark left, with Aunt Jane
keeping guard over it.... So the night passed and the day, and another
night and another day ... and the third day dawned. Edith Dalton would
have said, as the spark glowed higher and blazed a little and lighted
her soul, and her eyes rested on Aunt Jane's face, that the figure
sitting there had not left her side for three days. Down through the
deepest waters, where death lulled her and heaven waited, she had felt a
touch on her soul, holding her, drawing her steadily back to life; and
now she opened her eyes and they rested on Aunt Jane's face and smiled a
little. Then the lids fluttered together again and sleep came to the
face, natural and sweet.
Aunt Jane's eyes grew dark beneath the white cap. She touched a bell and
gave the case over to the day nurse that came. "She will be all right
now," she said. She spoke in the low, even voice that was not a whisper
and not a tone. "Give her plenty of water. She has been very thirsty.
But there is no fever. Don't call me unless there is a change.... Then
send at once." She departed on her rounds.
No one would have guessed, as the fresh, stout figure moved in and out
among the wards, that she had not slept for two nights. There was a
tradition that Aunt Jane never slept and that she was never tired. Dr.
Carmon laughed at the tradition and said that Aunt Jane slept as much as
any one, more than most people, in fact, only she did it with her eyes
open--that it was only a superstition that made people think they must
shut their eyes to sleep. The Hindoos had a trick worth two of that.
Aunt Jane knew the trick, and she might tell other folks if she would,
and save the world a lot of trouble.
But Aunt Jane only shook her head, and smiled, and went her way. And
when the fight with death came, she went with each one down into that
other world, the world of sleep and faith and unconscious power, on the
border-land of death, where the soul is reborn, and waited there for
life. She had no theories about it, and no pride; and if she had now and
then a gentle, imperious scorn of theorists and bunglers, it was only
the touch of human nature that made the world love her.