PRIVATE LAWSON.
[Illustration: Chapter XX drop-cap K]
Kitty was praised by Mollie that night for her endurance during the
trying day. Kitty replied with what affection she could, and Mollie
said she would come and see her that evening if possible; and tired,
excited, but on the whole happier than she had been the day before, the
little girl went back to her rooms at the hotel. She slept well, and
early the next day returned to the hospital.
The first person she saw there was Gavon Keith. He smiled when he saw
her. He was seated on a stool near one of the entrances; his leg was
stretched out, and Mollie was bathing it with Condy and water.
"So you are wounded!" said Kitty, white as a sheet. "Is it dangerous?"
"Dangerous," said the young man, smiling, "when I can sit up! My dear
Kit, what are you made of? It is a mere scratch,--isn't it, Nurse
Mollie?"
"Nothing more," she answered; "but you ought to keep the leg up until
to-morrow at any rate."
"I cannot do that; we are safe to have another skirmish with the Boers
in the course of the day. They are getting desperate. I am glad they
are moving. Anything is better than the terrible quiet of the last few
weeks. If we can only induce them to come out of their shelter and
fight us in the open, I believe we could force them to retreat. There
is that in every mother's son of us which can't be beaten; that's my
belief."
Keith smiled as he spoke, and his dark eyes looked away from Kitty
across the long ward. Every mother's son of the men looked back at
him. Were they not giving up their very lives? On every face was that
indomitable look which the British soldier will wear in his time of
need--the look which says to the foe, "Come on; I am waiting for you.
I am ready; I am not going to cave in. Come on; do your worst." And
Keith, whose spirit was boiling within him, forgot Kitty at that
supreme moment. But though he forgot Kitty, he did not forget the
soothing, very soothing touch of Mollie's light fingers as she bathed
the ugly scratch on his leg. She bathed and bathed, and Keith lay back
contented. He was very tired and very dusty; and it was delicious to
have his wound attended to, and by her. As to Kitty, she was, of
course, his betrothed wife; but--he could not help it--she was not in
touch with him at that moment.
As to Kitty herself, the curious mingling of emotions which filled her
little frame made her almost incapable of speech. Mollie certainly
made the very sweetest nurse. She was never untidy; she never looked
flushed, or hurried, or discomposed. Her face was as calm when she was
breathing comfort to the last moments of a dying soldier as it was at
this instant when she was making a brave young officer more
comfortable. Nothing ever seemed to disturb Mollie's calm. Kitty sat
and watched her. Just at that instant Major Strause strolled through
the ward; he was going into the enteric ward. He had leisure, and
meant to spend a good morning helping brave Mollie in her work. As he
passed through, his eyes lighted on the little group. First at Keith
he looked, then with a lingering gaze of awakening passion at Mollie,
then with an expression of great meaning at Kitty. Kitty could not
bear to feel that there was an understanding between herself and the
major. She turned away, but nevertheless his glance had done its
poisoned work.
"I wish," she said, trembling a little--"I wish, Mollie--"
"Yes?" said Mollie, looking up. She had just changed the Condy and
water for a fresh supply, and the warm, comforting application was
causing Keith delicious ease.
"I wish you would let me do that. I could, you know. It seems as if
it was my--right."
She said the last words in a whisper. Mollie looked up, startled at
her tone. Keith also glanced at her. He seemed to awake to the true
position. He shook himself and sat up.
"I forgot things, Kitty," he said. "Yes, of course you shall bathe my
leg if you like."
Mollie rose immediately.
"Here is a fresh jug of water," she said; "and you must throw that
Condy and water away in a few minutes, and apply a little more.--Then
you had better have a cold compress over the wound, Captain Keith;
otherwise some of the red dust may get in, and it may get really
inflamed."
"All right," said Keith. "I leave myself in your hands.--Now then,
Kitty, bathe away."
Mollie looked at her sister in some wonder. Kitty had put a white
linen apron over her dainty dress. She stooped down, looking at Mollie
as if she wished her to go. Mollie read the expression on Kitty's face
aright. She turned aside and went to attend to a young soldier who was
lying in great discomfort in a bed opposite.
Kitty began to bathe. Her white fingers were loaded with rings; she
had a gold chain bracelet on her wrist. The bracelet dipped into the
lotion, the rings became wet, the little fingers were slightly stained.
Keith watched her with a growing sense of amusement. What a baby she
was! How pretty! how ignorant! How dared she play with matters of
life and death? Nevertheless it interested him that she should do so.
"What has brought you back to the hospital again, Kit?" he said. "Are
you better?"
"Oh, much better," she answered.
"And you seriously mean to help the nurses?"
"Yes, seriously. Isn't the lotion rather cold?"
"No; it does very nicely. Please don't dab the sponge quite so hard
against my leg. Ah! that is better. You would make quite a good nurse
if you practised, Kitty."
"I mean to try," answered Kitty, encouraged and cheered by his words of
praise.
"But you ought not to wear rings or bracelets."
"Don't you like me to wear my rings?" she said, her lips quivering as
she raised a perfectly childish face to his.
"Anything you fancy, little girl."
"I am sure this is too cold now," she said.
He did not reply. She threw the used-up lotion away, and made a fresh
one. She was very ignorant, and he was as much so. Instead of two or
three drops, she put in a liberal supply of Condy. The water also was
hot--too hot for the inflamed leg. She filled the sponge, and put it
on. Keith, in spite of himself, uttered a cry. Then he bit his lip
and turned very white.
"I don't think, somehow, that is quite right," he said, and he had
scarcely uttered the words before he fainted away. Kitty's lotion had
burned his wound badly.
Mollie heard his cry, and rushed towards him. She applied restoratives
quickly, and spoke to Kitty in a voice rendered sharp with annoyance.
"You did not make the lotion right," she said. "How much Condy did you
put in?"
Kitty lifted the bottle.
"Oh, how it discolours my hand!" she said. "It is horrid stuff; why do
you use it?"
"It is the right thing to use. Go away, please Kitty; I will see to
this."
"No, I won't go away," answered Kitty.
She stood sullenly by. Keith opened his eyes. He could not suppress a
groan of pain. Mollie had made a fresh lotion; she applied it, cool
and tender and refreshing, to the inflamed leg.
"After all, Kitty's measures were a little stringent," she said; "but
perhaps they will do you good in the long run, only you must bear an
hour or so of pain. Now, I will get an orderly to help me, and we will
put you on one of the empty beds, and by the afternoon your leg ought
to be much better."
"I can help, can't I?" said Kitty.
"I think not; you are not strong enough,"
"O don't, Kit," remarked Keith, with a laugh; "your ministrations are
just a trifle too violent."
She frowned with annoyance. Her jealous heart was becoming very sore.
Keith was considerably hurt by the powerful lotion, and he lay for some
time indifferent to Kitty's presence. Once she went up to him and
asked if she might do something.
"You do something!" he replied. "No, thank you; send your sister to
me."
"It is true," thought Kitty to herself. "He hates me, and he loves
her. Why should he turn me away just because I made a tiny mistake?"
She choked down a sob in her throat, and went to fetch Mollie. Mollie
returned instantly. Keith smiled when he saw her.
"Your very presence gives me strength," he said; and Kitty, silly,
foolish Kitty, heard the words.
Her mind was made up now; surely she had seen for herself.
"But I won't give him up," she thought. "Mollie shall not have him.
She aims at being so high, and yet she does the very lowest, meanest
things. She tries to take my Gavon from me, but she shan't have him."
Kitty went across the ward. Lawson called out to her.
"Have you anything special to do, miss?"
"Yes, I have a great deal to do," said Kitty, in a cross voice. "But
do you want anything?" she added.
"I thought maybe, miss, I might dictate a letter to my young woman, so
be as you'd write it for me. I don't mind saying out my mind afore
you, miss."
Kitty hesitated.
"I will write it for you after dinner," she said.
"I may not be so well then, miss. I ain't been the thing to-day, My
mind keeps wandering, and I shouldn't be surprised if I had a touch of
enteric. I feel like it, somehow."
"Oh, you are getting on very well," said Kitty. "You are just
nervous.--Isn't Lawson just nervous, Sister Eugenia?"
Sister Eugenia came up to Lawson's bed and looked at him.
"You don't seem quite comfortable," she said. "What do you complain
of? Ankle very painful?"
"Yes, rather," said the poor fellow.
"I am afraid, Lawson, you must submit to amputation," said Sister
Eugenia. "It is sharp and short, and puts things right."
"Couldn't stand it; it would kill me. I couldn't go back home with
only a stump instead of a leg. I couldn't do it, and I won't."
"Well, we'll see what the doctor says," replied Sister Eugenia.
"If I were you," she said in a low voice to Kitty, "I would do what he
asks. I don't at all like his look. He has been suffering a lot of
pain, poor fellow, and he is very bad now."
Kitty hesitated; her heart was on fire with her own imaginary wrongs.
Why should she worry about a man like Lawson? True, he was a nice
fellow--very nice--and she sympathized with him about his girl. But
that girl was happier than she, for Lawson loved her well, and saw no
blemish in her. For him she was surrounded by a halo; he looked at her
through blue glasses, and her coarse and common nature was refined and
rendered beautiful. She was his dream, and he had no room in his heart
for any other woman. If only Keith might be as true, thought the girl.
"May I dictate a bit of a letter to you, miss?" said Lawson again.
"After dinner. I'll come back after dinner," replied Kitty.
She went away, and returned to her own room. She dined with some of
the officers and nurses at the hotel. All during dinner the talk was
of the short rations which must in future be the portion of the
beleaguered city. The strongest pity was expressed for the horses,
which were not half fed. There was to be a consultation that very day
as to whether the cavalry horses were to be destroyed or not. Kitty
was too full of herself really to sympathize with the woes of
Ladysmith; but she heard the conversation, and it depressed her more
than ever. After dinner she yawned feebly, went slowly up to her own
room, and stood looking out of the window.
"Oh, it is all so miserable," she thought. "I suppose I must do what
Major Strause wants," and just as the thought came to her she saw his
broad figure crossing the street.
He entered the hotel, and the next instant was tapping at her door.
Kitty said, "Come in," and he entered.
"Well?" he said, the moment he saw her face. "I haven't a minute to
stay. Was I right, or was I wrong?"
"You were right," said Kitty. "And I," she added, "am nearly mad."
"No wonder, poor little girl. You will adopt my suggestion?"
"I certainly will. I mean to talk to Mollie to-night."
"By-the-way, I believe you are wanted at the hospital; your sister told
me to ask you to go back as soon as possible. A private of the name of
Lawson is very bad. The doctors are with him. He wants you to do
something. Sister Mollie offered to do it, but he seems to have taken
a fancy to you."
"Oh, I will go presently," said Kitty. "It is nothing much."
"Nothing much! but the poor chap is in danger."
"It really isn't much," said Kitty. "He only wants me to write a
letter to the girl he is engaged to. But I will go; any time to-day
will do, I suppose."
"I would be quick if I were you. I didn't like the account I got of
him. I can't stay now. Any time you want me you have only to send for
me; my hut is just round the corner. Good-bye for the present."
The major went away, and Kitty sank on to a sofa. Should she go to see
Lawson? She was tired, and the afternoon was hot. She dreaded walking
down the street, fearing one of Long Tom's kisses. In the hotel she
felt comparatively safe; in the Town Hall she was quite certain she was
safe, but the way to the Town Hall was a way of danger. She did not
wish to die now. When she was Keith's wife nothing else would matter;
but until she was his wife she would not leave him, if only to show him
that she was determined to claim her rights. She forgot about Lawson:
she sank on the sofa, rested her head against a pillow, and dropped off
asleep.
When she awoke it was past five o'clock. She started up with an
uneasy, guilty sense that she had neglected something. Suddenly she
remembered Lawson. She would go to him now. She would write his
letter now if he wanted it. She felt much better for her sleep--much
calmer; she would not be frightened now to go down the street. Long
Tom would not kiss her this time. Taking her broad linen apron with
her, she quickly reached her destination. Mollie was standing by the
door. Kitty ran up to her.
"I am sorry I am a little late," she said, "but I can do what Lawson
wants now."
"Why didn't you come when you were asked?" replied Mollie.
"I didn't know it was important."
"I would have sent for you, but I had no one to send. Major Strause
said he would tell you."
"He did, only--somehow I was drowsy, and I went to sleep. What is the
matter, Mollie? Why do you look at me with that strange expression? I
tell you I will do what Lawson wants now. His bed is number five.
Don't keep me."
She was pushing past Mollie, but Mollie held out a hand to detain her.
"You are too late," she said.
"Too late!" cried Kitty. "What do you mean?"
"He is past your help. Mortification set in in the wounded leg. The
foot and ankle were amputated not an hour ago, but he is sinking fast.
He won't see the night out."
"Oh," said Kitty--"oh! and he wanted the letter written! I'm sure it
can't be too late."
"Why didn't you come after dinner? Even then he might have said what
he wanted to say. He kept calling for you."
"Don't keep me," said Kitty. "I don't--I won't--believe it is too
late."
She pushed her sister aside, and went to bed number five. They had put
a screen round the bed; but Kitty pushed the screen open and went in.
Sister Eugenia was standing by the bedside. She turned when she saw
Kitty, and the dislike she felt for her shone in her calm blue eyes.
"If you were coming, why didn't you come before?" she said. "You can
do no good now. You had better go away."
"I won't go away," answered Kitty; "and you have no right to speak to
me in those tones."
Then her eyes fell upon Private Lawson, and she became silent. Her
face turned the colour of chalk. Her lips trembled. Lawson was
breathing rapidly in a shallow way. Kitty went to him; she bent down
over him.
"Lawson," she said, "Lawson, I have come at last. I have come to write
the letter."
He did not hear her. He breathed on rapidly, and the pallor on his
face was terrible to see.
"I have come, Lawson," said Kitty, in a louder tone, "and I will write
the letter to the girl you love faithfully."
Then he did open his eyes. Something in her words had arrested him.
He looked full up at the white face of the girl. He looked straight
into her eyes, so full of self-reproach.
"The girl I love faithfully," he murmured.
"Yes, I'll write a letter for you to the girl you love."
"Ay, will you?" he asked. "She's a beauty. There ain't no one like
her. And she'll--take in laundry work, and she--won't--mind
whether--I've got--one or--two--feet; no--she--won't. God bless--her."
"You want to write to her," said Kitty, bending over him. "Tell me
now, tell me what to say; I'll write it for you now."
"Ay, ay, you write. Tell--her--tell--her--"
But what Private Lawson had to tell his sweetheart was never known on
this side eternity!