THE MYSTIFIED DOCTOR.
"Colonel," said Dr. Gresham to Col. Robinson, the commander of the post,
"I am perfectly mystified by Miss Leroy."
"What is the matter with her?" asked Col. Robinson. "Is she not faithful
to her duties and obedient to your directions?"
"Faithful is not the word to express her tireless energy and devotion to
her work," responded Dr. Gresham. "She must have been a born nurse to
put such enthusiasm into her work."
"Why, Doctor, what is the matter with you? You talk like a lover."
A faint flush rose to the cheek of Dr. Gresham as he smiled, and said,
"Oh! come now, Colonel, can't a man praise a woman without being in love
with her?"
"Of course he can," said Col. Robinson; "but I know where such
admiration is apt to lead. I've been there myself. But, Doctor, had you
not better defer your love-making till you're out of the woods?"
"I assure you, Colonel, I am not thinking of love or courtship. That is
the business of the drawing-room, and not of the camp. But she did
mystify me last night."
"How so?" asked Col. Robinson.
"When Tom was dying," responded the doctor, "I saw that beautiful and
refined young lady bend over and kiss him. When she found that he was
dead, she just cried as if her heart was breaking. Well, that was a new
thing to me. I can eat with colored people, walk, talk, and fight with
them, but kissing them is something I don't hanker after."
"And yet you saw Miss Leroy do it?"
"Yes; and that puzzles me. She is one of the most refined and lady-like
women I ever saw. I hear she is a refugee, but she does not look like
the other refugees who have come to our camp. Her accent is slightly
Southern, but her manner is Northern. She is self-respecting without
being supercilious; quiet, without being dull. Her voice is low and
sweet, yet at times there are tones of such passionate tenderness in it
that you would think some great sorrow has darkened and overshadowed her
life. Without being the least gloomy, her face at times is pervaded by
an air of inexpressible sadness. I sometimes watch her when she is not
aware that I am looking at her, and it seems as if a whole volume was
depicted on her countenance. When she smiles, there is a longing in her
eyes which is never satisfied. I cannot understand how a Southern lady,
whose education and manners stamp her as a woman of fine culture and
good breeding, could consent to occupy the position she so faithfully
holds. It is a mystery I cannot solve. Can you?"
"I think I can," answered Col. Robinson.
"Will you tell me?" queried the doctor.
"Yes, on one condition."
"What is it?"
"Everlasting silence."
"I promise," said the doctor. "The secret between us shall be as deep as
the sea."
"She has not requested secrecy, but at present, for her sake, I do not
wish the secret revealed. Miss Leroy was a slave."
"Oh, no," said Dr. Gresham, starting to his feet, "it can't be so! A
woman as white as she a slave?"
"Yes, it is so," continued the Colonel. "In these States the child
follows the condition of its mother. This beautiful and accomplished
girl was held by one of the worst Rebels in town. Tom told me of it and
I issued orders for her release."
"Well, well! Is that so?" said Dr. Gresham, thoughtfully stroking his
beard. "Wonders will never cease. Why, I was just beginning to think
seriously of her."
"What's to hinder your continuing to think?" asked Col. Robinson.
"What you tell me changes the whole complexion of affairs," replied the
doctor.
"If that be so I am glad I told you before you got head over heels in
love."
"Yes," said Dr. Gresham, absently.
Dr. Gresham was a member of a wealthy and aristocratic family, proud of
its lineage, which it could trace through generations of good blood to
its ancestral isle. He had become deeply interested in Iola before he
had heard her story, but after it had been revealed to him he tried to
banish her from his mind; but his constant observation of her only
increased his interest and admiration. The deep pathos of her story, the
tenderness of her ministrations, bestowed alike on black and white, and
the sad loneliness of her condition, awakened within him a desire to
defend and protect her all through her future life. The fierce clashing
of war had not taken all the romance out of his nature. In Iola he saw
realized his ideal of the woman whom he was willing to marry. A woman,
tender, strong, and courageous, and rescued only by the strong arm of
his Government from a fate worse than death. She was young in years, but
old in sorrow; one whom a sad destiny had changed from a light-hearted
girl to a heroic woman. As he observed her, he detected an undertone of
sorrow in her most cheerful words, and observed a quick flushing and
sudden paling of her cheek, as if she were living over scenes that were
thrilling her soul with indignation or chilling her heart with horror.
As nurse and physician, Iola and Dr. Gresham were constantly thrown
together. His friends sent him magazines and books, which he gladly
shared with her. The hospital was a sad place. Mangled forms, stricken
down in the flush of their prime and energy; pale young corpses,
sacrificed on the altar of slavery, constantly drained on her
sympathies. Dr. Gresham was glad to have some reading matter which might
divert her mind from the memories of her mournful past, and also furnish
them both with interesting themes of conversation in their moments of
relaxation from the harrowing scenes through which they were constantly
passing. Without any effort or consciousness on her part, his friendship
ripened into love. To him her presence was a pleasure, her absence a
privation; and her loneliness drew deeply upon his sympathy. He would
have merited his own self-contempt if, by word or deed, he had done
anything to take advantage of her situation. All the manhood and
chivalry of his nature rose in her behalf, and, after carefully
revolving the matter, he resolved to win her for his bride, bury her
secret in his Northern home, and hide from his aristocratic relations
all knowledge of her mournful past. One day he said to Iola:--
"This hospital life is telling on you. Your strength is failing, and
although you possess a wonderful amount of physical endurance, you must
not forget that saints have bodies and dwell in tabernacles of clay,
just the same as we common mortals."
"Compliments aside," she said, smiling; "what are you driving at,
Doctor?"
"I mean," he replied, "that you are running down, and if you do not quit
and take some rest you will be our patient instead of our nurse. You'd
better take a furlough, go North, and return after the first frost."
"Doctor, if that is your only remedy," replied Iola, "I am afraid that I
am destined to die at my post. I have no special friends in the North,
and no home but this in the South. I am homeless and alone."
There was something so sad, almost despairing in her tones, in the
drooping of her head, and the quivering of her lip, that they stirred
Dr. Gresham's heart with sudden pity, and, drawing nearer to her, he
said, "Miss Leroy, you need not be all alone. Let me claim the privilege
of making your life bright and happy. Iola, I have loved you ever since
I have seen your devotion to our poor, sick boys. How faithfully you, a
young and gracious girl, have stood at your post and performed your
duties. And now I ask, will you not permit me to clasp hands with you
for life? I do not ask for a hasty reply. Give yourself time to think
over what I have proposed."