Nurse Elisia

Neil looked in the direction taken by her eyes, and saw that the young lieutenant was striding rapidly toward them, coming by the short cut across the park, and now, seeing that he was observed, he waved his hand.

“Go in, Isabel,” said Neil quietly.

“Neil!”

“I wish it, my dear. After what has passed, you have no right to see him now.”

She gave him a tearful look, and went in with her head bent down to hide her face from anyone who might be at the windows.

The next minute the young sailor hurried up.

“You have sent her in, Neil,” he said reproachfully.

“Yes; why have you come back so soon? Anything wrong?”

“Yes,” said the young man hoarsely.

“Your father? I’ll come on.”

“No, no. Read that.”

He thrust a telegram into Neil’s hand, which read: “To join your ship at once. Imperative!”

“Yes; and I cannot go with matters like this,” cried Beck.

“But you must. Your position as an officer is at stake.”

“I can’t help it. Neil Elthorne, put yourself in my place. How can I go and leave Isabel at such a time?”

“What good could you do if you stayed?”

“It would help her. She would know I was near. I can’t go and leave her knowing what I do about that fellow Burwood.”

Neil looked at him fixedly for a few moments. “Don’t play the boy,” he said at last sternly.

“No; I am going to play the man,” cried Beck. “Isabel and I have been girl and boy together, and our affection has gradually strengthened till I know that she loves me as well as I love her.”

“Yes, perhaps so, my lad, but you heard her father’s decision, and you can do no more.”

“Yes; I heard his decision,” said the young sailor sturdily, “and I am not going to stand by and see her given up to that man! Why, Neil, it would kill her.”

“Look here, Tom, my good fellow, you must be sensible. It would be no kindness to my sister to let her feel that she had ruined your prospects.”

“It would not ruin my prospects,” said Beck sturdily. “I’m a good sailor, and if I lose my ship I can always get employment in the merchant service.”

“Of course you could, but neither Isabel nor I are going to let you degrade yourself. My father is dangerously ill, and nothing such as you fear can advance a step for months to come, so join your ship like a man, and show that you have faith in the girl you believe to love you.”

“If I only could think – ” began Beck.

“Look here, Tom. I think you have some faith in me.”

“In you? My dear Neil,” cried the young sailor warmly, “if ever fellow looked upon another man as a brother, I do upon you. Why, you know that.”

“Yes, I know that,” said Neil, taking his arm and walking up and down the drive with him, “and I am going always to behave like a brother to you. Go and join your ship.”

“But Isabel?”

“Leave me to act for you over that matter as a brother would. For both your sakes I will do what is best.”

“But Burwood?”

“I don’t like Burwood, and I do like you,” said Neil, smiling. “Come, will not that satisfy you?”

“Almost. You will fight for me, then, Neil?”

“I don’t think that there will be any occasion to fight for you. I think time is on your side. Lieutenant Beck’s chance was very small with my father; but suppose one Captain Beck, a young officer who had distinguished himself by his seamanship in Her Majesty’s service, came and renewed his proposal for my sister’s hand, surely he would have a better chance of success.”

“Neil, old fellow,” cried Beck, facing round and grasping the young surgeon’s hand, “I don’t wonder that you are getting to be a big fellow at your hospital.”

“Nonsense! Who says I am?”

“Oh, I’ve heard. I wish I were as clever as you are. I came here feeling so bad that life didn’t seem worth living, and in a few minutes you’ve shown things to me in such a different light that – ”

“You think it is worth living and sharing with someone else,” cried Neil.

“My dear old fellow,” cried the sailor, with tears in his eyes.

“And you will go off like a man and join your ship?”

“Yes,” cried Beck, grasping his friend’s hand, and speaking firmly, “like a man.”

“And you go at once?”

“Directly. Now take me in, and let me say good-bye to her.”

“No,” said Neil firmly.

“What? After my promise?”

“After your promise. I have a duty to my helpless father, Tom, my lad, and I should be playing a very dishonourable part if I took advantage of his position, knowing what I do of his wishes, to arrange a meeting between you and my sister. That was a love-sick boy speaking, not the Queen’s officer – the man whose honour is beyond reproach.”

“I suppose you are right,” said Beck, after a pause. “You know I am.”

“Let me see her for a moment, though.”

“No.”

“I know you are right – just to say ‘good-bye’ before you – just to touch her hand.”

“No, my lad. Say good-bye to me, and I’ll tell her you love her truly, and that you have gone off to your duty like a man – an officer and a gentleman. That you have exacted no promise from her, and that you have taken the advice of her brother – a man who loves you both and will help you to the end. There, I must go back to my father’s room. Good-bye.”

“O Neil,” groaned the young sailor; “this is all so hard and business-like. Everything goes easily for you. You don’t know what love is.”

A spasm contracted Neil’s features for a few moments, but he smiled sadly directly after.

“Perhaps not,” he said. “Who knows? There, business-like or not, you know I am doing my duty and you have to do yours. Come, sailor, I shall begin to quote Shakespeare to you. ‘Aboard, for shame; the wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, and you are staid for.’”

“But it is so hard, Neil.”

“Life’s duties are hard, man; but we men must do them at any cost. Come, good-bye, and old Shakespeare again – the end of the old man’s speech: ‘To thine own self be true’ – and you will be true to the girl you wish to make your wife. Good-bye.”

Neil held out his hand, but it remained untouched for the full space of a minute before it was seized and crushed heavily between two nervous sets of fingers, while the young man’s eyes gazed fixedly in his. Then it was dashed aside. Beck swung himself round and dashed off across the park as hard as he could go, without trusting himself to look back.

Chapter Eight.

Conflicting Emotions

“Poor fellow!” said Neil to himself; “and the dad prefers that hunting, racing baronet to him for a son-in-law! Why it would break little Bel’s heart.”

He stood watching till Beck passed in among the trees, expecting to the last to see him turn and wave his hand.

“No; gone,” he said. “Well, I must fight their battle – when the time comes – but it is quite another battle now.”

As he thought this he heard the clattering of hoofs, and hastened his steps so as to get indoors before his brother rode out of the stable yard with the Lydon sisters, and a guilty feeling sent the blood into his pale cheeks. But he did not check his steps; he rather hastened them.

“They don’t want to see me again,” he muttered; and then, “Oh, what a miserable, contemptible coward I am; preaching to that young fellow about his duty, and here I am, the next minute, deceiving myself and utterly wanting in strength to do mine. I ought to go out and say good-bye to Saxa, and I will.”

He stopped and turned to go, but a hand was laid upon his arm, and, as he faced round, it was to see a little white appealing face turned up to his, and as he passed his arm round his sister’s waist the horses’ hoofs crushed the gravel by the door, passed on, and the sound grew more faint.

“Neil, dear; Tom has gone. Is his father very ill?”

These words brought the young surgeon back to the troubles of others in place of his own.

“No, dear; he is no worse. It was not that,” he said hastily.

“What was it, then? Oh, Neil, dear, you hurt me. You are keeping something back.”

“I am not going to keep anything back, little sis,” he said tenderly. “Come in here.”

He led her into the drawing room and closed the door, while she clung to him, searching his eyes with her own wistful gaze, as her lips trembled.

“Now, dear, pray tell me. Why did Tom come?”

“He had bad news, dear.”

“About his ship?” cried the girl wildly.

“Yes.”

“O Neil! It was about going back to sea!”

Neil nodded, and drew her more closely to him, but she resisted. His embrace seemed to stifle her; she could hardly breathe.

“You are cruel to me,” she panted. “But I know,” she cried half hysterically; “he has to go soon.”

“He has to do his duty as a Queen’s officer, Isabel, dear, and you must be firm.”

“Yes, yes, dear, of course,” she cried, struggling hard the while to master her emotion. “I will, indeed, try – to be calm – and patient. But tell me; he has had a message about rejoining his ship?”

“Yes, dear.”

“And he is to go soon?”

Neil was silent.

“Neil, pray speak,” she sobbed.

“Yes, my child. He brought a telegram.”

“A despatch,” she said, correcting him.

“No, dear – a telegram.”

“Then – then – it means – something sudden – for them to telegraph. I can bear it, now, dear. How soon is he to go?”

“Isabel, my child, will you trust in me to help you to do what is best?” said Neil tenderly.

“Yes, Neil, dear; of course, I want to do what is right, and you will help me.”

“I will, dear, with all my strength. You know that Tom has his duty to do, like the rest of us, and you have yours to our poor father.”

“Yes, Neil, of course, and you know I try.”

“My darling, yes,” he cried, as he kissed the pale cheeks wet now with tears.

“Then tell me. I must know. When is Tom to go?”

“Isabel, your father forbade all engagement with him, and I have talked to Tom Beck as I thought was best for both of you. Come, you must act like a brave little woman and help me. We have both got our duty to do now at a very sad time. You will help me and try to be firm?”

“Yes – yes,” she whispered hoarsely, “but – but – Neil – tell me – when is he to go?”

“Isabel, dear, it was his duty as an officer and as an honourable man.”

“Yes,” she whispered in a strangely low tone. “Tom would do his duty always, I know – now – you are keeping something back. I can see it,” she cried, growing more excited and struggling in his arms. “I know now – and without bidding me good-bye. Neil, you have sent him away; he is gone!”

Neil bent his head sadly, and she literally snatched herself away.

“And you call yourself my brother!” she cried passionately. “You say you taught him his duty; and, after all he has said to me, to make him go without one word. Oh, it is cruel – it is cruel. What have I done that you should treat me so?”

“Isabel, dear, you promised me that you would be firm.”

“How can a woman be firm at a time like this? But I know; you could not be so cruel. He is coming back just to see me and say good-bye.”

“He has gone, Isabel.”

“Without a single word or look?”

She gazed at him as if dazed, and unable to believe his words. Then uttering a low, piteous cry, she sank helpless across his arms, her eyes closed, and for hours she lay for the most part unconscious, only awakening from time to time to burst into a passion of hysterical weeping as her senses returned.

“Duty is hard – very hard,” said Neil through his set teeth, as he divided his time between his father’s and his sister’s chambers, where Aunt Anne sat sobbing and bewailing their fate. Alison had returned at dusk, and partaken of the dinner alone, to go afterward to his little study, where he sat and scowled and smoked.

The carriage had been sent to the station in accordance with Sir Denton’s request, and then forgotten by all in the house, and the night was going on apace.

Neil had just left his sister’s room and gone back to his father’s to find him hot and feverish to an extent which rather troubled him, and once more made him long for the friendly counsel and advice of a colleague.

But his sound common sense gave him the help he needed, and after administering medicine he became satisfied with the result and sat by the bedside thinking of the stern duty he had to fulfill.

“I judge Saxa too hardly,” he said to himself. “I do not go the way to make her care for me, and it is no wonder that she should be piqued by my indifference. I’ll try and alter it, for all that other is a foolish dream, and due to my low nervous state. I’ll turn over a new leaf to-morrow, and see what can be done. It would help him in his recovery if he knew that his dearest wishes were bearing fruit; and if I satisfy him over that, he will yield to mine about poor little Isabel. She will not be so hard to-morrow when her sorrow is being softened down. For I did right, and I’ll do right about Saxa, poor girl! I was quite rude to her to-day. I’ll ride over to-morrow and fetch her to see him. He likes her as much as he does Isabel. There, I think I am getting things into train for the beginning of a new life, and – What is it?”

“The carriage back from the station, my dear,” whispered Aunt Anne. “The new nurse is in the hall. Will you come down and speak to her at once?”

“Yes, Aunt. Thank Heaven, she has come.”

He hurried out of the room and down the stairs to where, in the dim light, a tall cloaked figure stood by her humble-looking luggage. And as he went he had made up in his mind the words he would say to her about getting some refreshment at once and joining him in the sick chamber, where a bed had been made up in the dressing room for her use.

But Neil Elthorne did not speak the words he had meant to say, for, as the visitor turned at his step, he stopped short with the blood rushing to his brain, and a strange sensation of vertigo attacking him as he faltered out:

“Good Heavens! Nurse Elisia! Has he sent you?”

Chapter Nine.

Off to Hightoft

“There, you are better now.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, indeed you are. This has nothing to do with the operation, I assure you.”

“Then, pray, what is it?” This question very sharply, and the patient moved in her bed in a way that showed very little feebleness.

“Simply hysteria.”

“What! Sterricks?”

“Yes, a form of hysterics.”

“There!” cried the patient, with a triumphant tone in her voice. “I knew you didn’t know nothing about it. I never had sterricks in my life.”

“Because you have always been a woman in a vigorous state of health. Latterly you have been brought down rather low.”

“’Taint that,” said the woman sharply, “it’s what’s done to me here, and the shameful neglect. It’s horrid; I’m half killed, and then Mr Neil goes away and leaves me to that horrible old man, and as soon as Mr Neil’s gone, the other leaves me to die.”

“I am afraid you are a very foolish woman,” said the nurse quietly. “I can assure you that you are getting well fast.”

“Oh, yes, I know. And you are as bad as they are. It’s shameful!”

“You have been working yourself up to think you are being neglected, but your troubles are imaginary.”

“Oh, yes, I know,” cried the woman angrily.

“Pray try and be reasonable,” said the nurse, speaking in a voice full of patient resignation.

“Go on, pray, ma’am. You’ve all got me down here and are trampling on me. I’m unreasonable now, am I?”

“I am afraid you are a little,” said the nurse, smiling as she rearranged the bedclothes. “Mr Elthorne went away because he was worn out with attending the poor people here, and Sir Denton was telegraphed for to attend some unfortunate gentleman who had met with an accident.”

“Then he oughtn’t to have gone,” cried the woman loudly.

“Pray, hush,” said the nurse. “You are hurting yourself and upsetting the other patients.”

“And I say he’d no right to go. My life’s as much consequence as anybody else’s life, and it’s a shameful piece of neglect. Oh, if I do live to get away from this ’ateful place, I’ll let some of you know. I’m to be left to die because the doctors are too idle to come and see me. If I’d only known, you’d never caught me here.”

“Hush, hush! Pray be quiet, dear. You are making yourself hot and feverish.”

The nurse laid her cool white hand upon the patient’s brow, but she resented it and thrust it away. “Let me be. I don’t want holding down. It’s shameful. It’s cruel. Oh, why did I come to this dreadful place? As for that Sir Denton, or whatever his name is – ”

“What about him? Do you want me?” said the gentleman in question, who had come into the ward and up to the bed unnoticed. “How are you this morning? – Ah, better.”

“No, I’m not, I’m worse, and it’s shameful.”

“What is?” said the surgeon, smiling.

“For me to be neglected by the doctors and nurses as I am. It’s too bad, it is; and I might have died – no doctor, no nurse.”

“Ah, yes; it is very cruel,” said Sir Denton. “I have shamefully neglected my patients here, and as for the conduct of Nurse Elisia to you, it is almost criminal. You will have to go back home to your own people and be properly treated. Dreadful places, these hospitals are.”

Nurse Elisia looked up at the old surgeon with wondering eyes, as he took the woman’s own tone, but he smiled at her sadly.

“Come with me, I want to talk to you. Poor thing,” he said, as they walked away, “she is in the irritable, weary state of the convalescent. She is not answerable for what she says. Sorry I was obliged to go, but the case was urgent. Mr Elthorne’s father. A terrible accident. The spine injured, and paralysis of the lower part of the body.”

“Mr Elthorne’s father!” cried the nurse, turning pale. “How shocking!”

“Terrible. Mr Elthorne telegraphed for me. It was not necessary, for he was doing everything possible, and now it is a case of careful nursing to save the poor fellow’s life.”

“Nursing?”

“Yes. I have promised Mr Elthorne to send him down the most helpful, trustworthy nurse I knew, at once.”

“Sir Denton,” faltered the nurse, with a faint colour rising in her cheeks.

“It is an exceptional ease, my child, one which calls for all a nurse’s skill and tenderness with, perhaps, as much patience as I have seen you exercise toward that foolish woman. I am going to ask you to start at once for Hightoft, and take up this case.”

“Sir Denton!” she cried. “Oh! it is impossible.”

“Why?”

“My patients here.”

“Your place can be filled, just as it would be necessary to fill it if you were taken ill.”

“But I am not ill, Sir Denton, and I am needed here.”

“But you are needed there – at this gentleman’s house, where the services of a patient lady like yourself would be invaluable.”

“I could not go, Sir Denton; I beg you will not send me.”

“It is in a lovely part of the country. It is a charming place, and I can guarantee for you that the ladies will receive you as their equal – perhaps as their superior,” he added with a meaning smile, which made her look slightly resentful.

“Really, Sir Denton,” she began.

“Forgive me,” he said. “It was a slip. I have no wish to pry into your private life, Nurse Elisia. I am only thankful to have the help and co-operation of a refined woman in my sad cases here.”

“Thank you, Sir Denton, but you must excuse me from this.”

“I cannot,” he said firmly, “for I feel that it is your duty to go. I have no hesitation in saying that it is absolutely necessary for you to have a change, even if you do not have rest, but you will be able to combine both there.”

“Pray send someone else, Sir Denton.”

“I know nobody whom I could trust as I would you, Nurse Elisia,” he replied quietly, “and I am quite sure that there is no one in whom Mr Elthorne would have so much confidence.”

He noted the change in the nurse’s mobile countenance as he went on speaking in his quiet way, for she was evidently agitated and trying hard to conceal it.

“You see it would be so advantageous,” he continued. “After a few days you could set Mr Elthorne at liberty to come back here. Of course, as you know, the case is one which needs almost wholly a careful nurse’s skill. How soon will you be free to go?”

Like lightning the thoughts flashed through her brain of the position she would occupy. It was like throwing her constantly in Neil Elthorne’s society, and she shrank from the position almost with horror. For, of late there had been no disguising from herself the fact that the young surgeon had, in his quiet way, been more than courteous to her, and that his manner betokened a something, which on his side was fast ripening into admiration.

“It is impossible,” she thought. “It would be cruelty to him, for he is sincere and manly. No, I cannot go. It would be a crime. Sir Denton,” she said hastily, aloud. “You must excuse me from this duty. I cannot go.”

“No,” he said firmly, and he took her hand. “I cannot, I will not excuse you. Once more I tell you that you ought to go; it is your duty.”

“But why?” she cried, rather excitedly.

“Because you – evidently a lady of gentle birth – have set yourself the task of toiling for your suffering fellow-creatures. Here is one who may die if you do not go to his help.”

“But another would be as efficient.”

“I do not know one at the present moment whom I would trust as I would you; and in addition, the call comes at a time when it is imperative that you should have rest and change.”

“But,” she said, with a smile full of perplexity, “that would not be rest and change.”

“Can you not trust me to advise you for your good?” said Sir Denton gravely.

“Oh, yes, but – ”

“That ‘but’ again. Come, nurse, I think you believe that I take great interest in you.”

“Oh, yes, Sir Denton,” she said eagerly.

“Then trust me in this. Take my advice. More – oblige me by going. I am surgeon here, and you are nurse, but it has seemed to me, for some time past, that we have had a closer intimacy – that of friends. Come, you will oblige me?”

“It is your wish then, that I should go?”

“Indeed, yes. When will you be ready to start?”

“At once.”

“That is good. Then I will telegraph down, so that a carriage may be in waiting for you at the station. I am sure that Mr Elthorne will see that you have every comfort and attention. Good-morning. Thanks.”

Nurse Elisia stood by the door of the ward, watching the retiring figure of the old surgeon as he passed down the corridor.

“Is it not weak to have given way?” she said to herself. “Perhaps not in such a case as this. Mr Elthorne will see that I have every comfort and attention,” she said softly. “Mr Elthorne must be taught that I am the hospital nurse, sent down there for a special purpose. Mr Elthorne is weak, and given to follies such as I should not have suspected in so wise and able a man.”

She stood hesitating for a few moments looking toward where Maria Bell lay, evidently watching her attentively, and her first impulse was to cross to the woman and to tell her that she would be handed over now to the charge of another nurse; but, reconsidering the matter, she decided merely to tell the next nurse in authority that she must take full charge of the ward, and going down to the matron, she stated that she would be absent for a time. That evening she was being hurried down by a fast train, to reach the station within a few minutes of the appointed time, and she had scarcely stepped on to the platform when a man’s voice made her start with dread lest it should be Neil.

“The nurse for Hightoft?” said the voice; and as she turned she found that it was only a servant.

“Yes, I am the nurse,” she replied.

“Well, here’s a carriage for you. Any luggage?”

The man’s voice was sharp, and wanting in respect, the ordering of the carriage for a long night drive having found little favour with coachman and footman.

“That little black bag, that is all,” said the nurse quietly.

“Don’t mean to stay long, then,” said the man with a laugh, as he took the little travelling bag, and swung it up on to the foot-board, while the nurse stood patiently waiting, and without resenting the man’s insolence and indifference as he entered into a conversation with the coachman before turning and, stepping back, stared hard at the calm, refined face dimly seen by the feeble station lamps.

“Will you have the goodness to open the carriage door?”

“Eh? Open the door? Of course. Just going to,” said the footman cavalierly, as he snatched open the door and rattled down the steps.