Poor Charley, returning next day from London, depressed and discouraged
at not seeing his father, was dazed to find his sweet wife gone, and to
get her letter of explanation.
But after the first shock of surprise, and trouble, his warm heart
thrilled with joy and pride at her noble deed.
“Father cannot help but forgive us now if she should save his life,
dear girl, for when once he knows her how could he resist her grace and
beauty?” he said, over and over, to himself hopefully, for the yearning
for reunion with his kindred was strong within him.
“Rosalind is at the bottom of it all. If I could but break her
influence, all might be well again; but she is posing as injured
innocence and beauty, and hardening their hearts against me for her
sake,” he thought, with impatient resentment. Then he put it from him
to write a long letter to Berry--a real love letter, full of praise and
tenderness, which he went and slipped under the front door of the inn
that night.
She very soon found it, and smiled to herself as she appropriated the
sealed envelope addressed simply to “The Lady Nurse.”
Hurrying to her tidy little room, she read the loving contents and
kissed the letter over and over, hiding it next her heart, while she
returned to her duties by the sick man, who was very ill indeed, with
his eyes quite shut so that he could not see the vision of beauty and
tenderness that bent over him. But not so wholly unconscious that he
could not feel the balm of healing carried by the soft white hands that
touched him so gently. He knew, dimly, by her gentle ministrations and
the improved food, that the valet now had efficient aid. And that was
enough, in his feverish state, to soothe his mind.
Within twenty-four hours came the physician engaged by Charley. Though
he shook his head over the gravity of the case, he approved all that
Berenice had done, and desired her to continue at her post.
So the days came and went and the disease ran its course quickly, while
John Tousey also came down with a light case, so that the physician
recommended another nurse, an elderly woman, who took second place to
Berry in the conduct of the invalids.
Charley had taken the young physician frankly into his confidence,
telling him to safeguard his young wife’s health very carefully, and by
him he sent her daily letters of love and cheer, telling her how he
missed her, and of the pride he felt in her noble mission.
But, ah, how they missed each other, the loving pair; how slowly the
weeks of absence went, and how happy the day when Doctor Perry said to
the lonely husband:
“My patients are convalescing fast. The valet is going to sit up
to-day, and to-morrow the senator will be allowed to sit up for an hour
or two. He is quite out of danger, and I am going to tell your wife she
may leave him to-morrow and come home. I am not sure the patient will
like it, for he is devoted to her and impatient of the elderly woman,
but he will have to bear it.”
He was right, for when the senator was told next day that Miss Brown,
as they called her, was going to leave him, he protested vigorously;
said he could not spare her yet; he needed her to read and talk to him,
and was willing to pay any price to have her stay on even one week
longer. Why, his eyes had only got strong now to see how lovely and
charming she was, and he needed some one pleasant to look at since he
could not have his daughters, who were both on their bridal tours, and
to whom he had not allowed any message of his illness to be sent.
“But you have a son, sir?” interrogated Doctor Perry.
The invalid’s face gloomed over, and he answered curtly:
“I had a son, sir, but he died to me when he disgraced his family by
jilting the sweet young girl to whom he was betrothed, and wedding a
low-born, scheming actress.”
He did not hear a low, soft sigh outside the half-open door, for Doctor
Perry said, with apparent surprise:
“You astonish me, sir, for we English have been led to believe that in
your favored land of America you raise no barriers against marriage
with those of inferior birth or fortunes.”
The senator answered testily:
“We raise no barriers against true worth, Doctor Perry. I myself am a
self-made man, risen from poverty, and not ashamed of it. But you have
heard that circumstances alter cases? Well, let me explain. My son’s
offense had not been so unpardonable had he been free to choose the
girl he wed, but when he took the marriage vow he dishonored himself
and his family because he was already pledged to another, a girl whose
heart was almost broken by his falsity.”
“Yet rumor says that she is already consoled by a promise of your
hand, sir,” the young physician ventured.
Senator Bonair’s face already reddened by his illness, flushed deeper
as he exclaimed:
“You seem well posted on my affairs, sir.”
“I beg your pardon, but no offense was meant, my dear senator. Surely
you know that the affairs of so eminent a person as yourself are
public property. All I have spoken of to you I have read in the London
newspapers, but perhaps I should not have ventured to discuss them with
you.”
“You might choose pleasanter subjects,” the senator answered quickly.
“For instance, my pretty young nurse whom we were discussing just now,
and to whom Tousey says I really owe my life, coming to me as she did
when I was in the worst stages of my illness.”
“Tousey tells the truth. You could hardly have lived a day longer
without her kindly ministrations at the time she came to you. But the
time has come when, for the sake of her own health, she must forsake
you and go home to rest.”
“Ah, she is tired, broken-down--you mean that?”
“Somewhat that way, for Miss Brown herself has had a serious illness
this summer, and that explains why she was found in this rude village
where she remains to strengthen her health. I hardly believe it safe
for her to remain another week in attendance on you. But here she
comes,” as a light step crossed the threshold, “and I will let her
speak for herself.”
Berenice entered, graceful as a young princess in her snowy white gown
and becoming nurse’s cap, and she gave the doctor a roguish smile that
plainly said:
“I’ve been eavesdropping, but, of course, you knew that I was there.”
He smiled back at her and retired, leaving her alone with the patient,
who, in his dressing gown, lay back at ease in his reclining chair,
watching with admiring eyes every movement of his fair nurse.
Berry sat down close to him and looked, shyly, into his face, trying to
appear at ease, though her poor heart thumped wildly against her side,
and the fitful color came and went, like a flag of distress, in her
cheeks.
“Ah, you are getting on fast, sir!” she cried, with a slight tremor
in her musical voice. “Your eyes seem quite strong to-day, and that
blistering red skin is getting fairer. How fortunate, too, that you
will only be pitted very slightly, and if I could but have come to you
a little sooner you need not have carried a single scar.”
“You came in time to save my life, dear child, that was enough,”
replied the great man, so kindly that it emboldened Berenice to exclaim:
“Oh, how glad I was to serve you, sir! I can never make you realize
it. It is sweet to save a life so valuable to the world and to so many
friends who love you.”
He smiled at her gratefully.
“Among those latter friends, please let me have the pleasure of
counting you, henceforth, Miss Brown,” he answered. “In my gratitude
to you for all you have done for me in this terrible illness, I look
upon you almost as a daughter, and am eager to advance your interests
in any way most pleasing to you. Our good doctor has just told me that
you must leave me soon, to my great regret. But, as he puts it, on the
score of your health, I dare not protest against my ill fortune in
losing you, just as we begin to know each other well.”
“Your words make me very, very happy,” she sweetly said, “but do not
think that I intend to desert you altogether, for I shall remain in the
village a while longer, and I will come and see you every day, if you
will let me.”
“I shall be only too glad to have you come whenever you will, my dear
young lady, and I wish you to understand that I take a deep interest
in you and am anxious to reward you beyond your mere salary for all you
have done for me. Tell me frankly, Miss Brown, if there is any great
favor, financial or otherwise, I can do for you?”