A Sister of the Red Cross: A Tale of the South African War

But love will work wonders even in natures like Major Strause's, and he no longer thought of money in connection with a possible wife. He knew well that Sister Mollie had little or no private means. He was fond of saying to himself that, when he looked at her brave and noble face, he ceased to think of money. The more he thought of her, the more deeply did he love her. He dreamed of her at night; to be in her society by day was heaven to him.

This was the real secret of the change in the major. It was because of Mollie he had become unselfish, a useful nurse, an invaluable servant of the Queen. Mollie improved him not only as a nurse, but also as an officer. He would rather do anything than catch the scorn in her eyes. So he fought bravely, and led his men to the front in the sorties made against the Boers. His brother officers began to like him, and even Keith, who quickly recovered from his wound, wondered what had come to the major. He was an old enough man to keep his emotions to himself, and neither Mollie herself nor Keith – who listened for Mollie's slightest footfall, who lived on her smile, who was consoled by her touch – guessed for a single moment that Strause cared for her.

Both Keith and Strause just then were playing a difficult game: for Keith, while engaged to one girl, devotedly loved another; and Strause was endeavouring by every means in his power to hide that part of him which was unworthy from Sister Mollie's eyes. Both men, after a fashion, were succeeding. Mollie, in the stress and strain of her present life, had more or less forgotten the curious story Keith had told her with regard to Strause. She was destined to remember it all too vividly by-and-by, but just then she was glad of his help. She learned to lean upon him, and to consult him with regard to those cases of delirium and extreme danger which were brought into the little hospital day by day.

The other nurses all depended more or less on Mollie, and she took the lead in this time of great peril.

As to Keith, his task was even more difficult than that the major had assigned to himself; for if ever there was an exigeante and jealous girl on the face of God's earth, it was Kitty Hepworth. She expected the undivided attention of the man she was engaged to. He liked her, and was intensely sorry for her. He was touched by her devotion to himself, and he did all that man could to render her stay in the beleaguered town as happy as it could be. He did not know until afterwards how much he was indebted to Katherine Hunt for his measure of success. She was possessed of enormous tact. She had the wisdom of ten ordinary women. When she was not writing accounts of the siege for The Snowball, she was attending on the sick and wounded, visiting the inhabitants of the town, cheering up the frightened mothers, comforting the children, helping to give out the rations. There was nothing that this clever and unselfish girl could not put her hand to; there was nothing she did not do more or less well.

As to Keith, he rejoiced when he saw her entering the hotel. He could be affectionate to Kitty, who had very little to say, and listen to Katherine's brilliant conversation; and Kitty could not be jealous of Katherine, try hard as she might. After the first week she got a fresh return of the malarial fever, and was from that moment more or less exempt from giving her services to the sick men in the hospital. Thus she seldom saw Keith in her sister's presence, and in consequence her fears slumbered, and she tried to believe that she was the happiest girl on earth, and that no one could be more loved than she.

But with such dangerous elements at work it was scarcely to be expected that this time of peace and apparent security could be of long continuance. Strause was not the man to hold himself in check long, and Keith began to find the yoke which tied him to Kitty more galling every day. When all was still at night he often went across to the hospital; he felt safe to go there then. Kitty was asleep in her room in the hotel, Long Tom was not troubling anybody; but the sick and dying were wanting help and consolation, and, what was more important to Keith, although he did not dare to whisper it even to himself, Mollie was there. He might do some trifle for her; he might help her in an hour of need.

There came a night after one of the many battles when such a number of wounded had been brought to the hospital that every nurse in the town was requisitioned to look after them. The enteric cases were also getting more and more numerous; there was not a bed to spare. Keith resolved to sit up all night in order to give what help he could. He met Mollie at the door of the enteric ward.

"I am at your service for to-night," he said.

"Thank God," she answered. "We shall need all the help we can get."

"Which ward shall I go to – the surgical or enteric?"

She looked around her. They were standing just then at the entrance to the surgical ward: the doctors, two or three of whom were present, were busy attending to the suffering patients; an amputation was going on behind a screen in a distant corner; the groans of the dying reached the ears of the man and woman as they stood so close together, and yet so truly far from each other. Keith, even at that extreme moment, thought of the tie which bound him to Kitty; and Mollie, as she raised her eyes to look into his face, felt a great throb of her heart. How manly he was, how brave, how all that a woman could love and worship!

Just at this instant she raised her hand and laid it on his arm.

"Will you not go and rest for an hour?" she said; "you look terribly spent."

"And you?" he answered, "are you never tired out?"

"Oh, don't think of me; I am happy in my work."

"And I in mine," he replied. "It is for our country and our Queen. I can hold out; I won't leave you."

"Thank God!" she could not help saying; and as she said the words, Keith for one instant, carried out of himself, laid his hand on hers.

She coloured all over her face, looked full up at him, and her brown eyes filled with tears.

Strause, who for the last hour had been busy and invaluable in the enteric ward, came upon this scene. His deep-set, dark eyes grew suddenly bloodshot. He gave an evil glance full at Keith, looked at Mollie, who did not even see him, and went back again to his duties. But the sleeping devil was awakened; and the man, although he did not fail for one instant during the livelong night to do what was necessary, and no sufferer within reach missed his accustomed nourishment or his necessary medicine, was all the time plotting and planning how he could best foil his enemy, Captain Keith. Having injured Keith for his own purposes – having cast the blackest of imputations upon his character – he was naturally the young man's enemy. And now Keith had dared to look with unmistakable fervour into the clear brown eyes of Nurse Mollie! Strause trembled all over as he thought of it.

"He is a scoundrel. I need no longer feel remorse. He is engaged to one sister, but he loves the other," thought the major. "I will spoil his game for him. He shall never have my Mollie; she shall be engaged to me before twenty-four hours are over."

In the early dawn of the coming day, just before Long Tom began his murderous work, Mollie stood for a moment outside the hospital. She was feeling faint after a night of great anguish and terror. Many souls had gone up above the clear stars to meet their Maker during the hours which had passed away. Mollie thought of the anguish which would fill hearts at home for the gallant and the brave who had given up their lives for their country. One poor young fellow, in particular, had given her a last message to his mother.

"Cut off a bit of my hair," he had said, "and give it to me to kiss. Ah, thanks! that is all right. Tell her I was not a bit afraid, that I remembered the —prayer she used to teach me, and I feel somehow that – that it is all right, you know. Put the hair in a bit of paper and send it to her. Be sure you tell her it is all right. You know it is, don't you? Be sure you tell her."

And Mollie had promised, and the boy had closed his blue eyes and gone off to sleep like a baby. Now he was dead, and Mollie had the little lock of hair pinned inside the bosom of her dress. She was standing so when Strause came up and stood by her side. He gave her a look, saw that she was very faint and tired, and rushed into the little surgery, where restoratives, beef tea, bovril, etc., were to be found.

He mixed a cup of bovril, and brought it to her.

"Drink this," he said. "You are doing more than mortal woman can be expected to do. You must go and lie down for a few hours."

She drank the bovril and returned him the empty cup.

"Thank you. How good you are!" she said.

"Who would not be good to you?" he replied.

She did not answer; she was looking far away. He doubted if she heard him. The utter calm, the quietness of her attitude, impressed while it maddened him. His passion rose in a great tide. He suddenly took her hand.

"Don't you know?" he said – "don't you know?"

"Don't I know what, Major Strause? I don't understand," she said, and she gave him a bewildered glance.

"O Mollie!" he cried, "don't you know what I think of you? Don't you know that there is not in all this world a more magnificent woman than you? Mollie, I love you. Mollie, don't turn away. I worship you – I love you – I would die for you. I can't do more. Just give me a vestige of hope, and there is not a thing I would not do – not a thing. Say you love me back – say you love me back! Look at me. O my darling, my darling, how I love you!"

"Hush!" she said then; "you have no right to use such words. And now, who can think of such things? Major Strause, forget you ever said them."

"Forget," he said, "when my heart is on fire! I cannot see you without the maddest passion rising up in my heart. I have loved you from the first hour we met. Only give me hope, and I won't worry you until we are out of this horrid place."

She turned white, and leaned against the wall. His words were just the straw too much, and the next instant she burst into a flood of tears. When the strong and the brave give way, it is always a painful sight, and now Mollie's tears were as the final straw to Strause. He could not stand them. The next instant he swept his strong arms round her.

"You shall give me what I want," he said – "one kiss. Give it to me at once. You will drive me mad if you refuse."

These words acted as a cold douche: she recovered her self-control in a moment. Disengaging herself from his embrace, she backed away from him.

"I am sorry for you," she said. "You are mistaken. I could never by any possibility love you. Forget that you have spoken."

"You can never love me!" he said. "Do you mean to tell me that you – reject me?"

"We won't talk of it, Major Strause. But yes, it is only kind to put you out of your pain. I am sorry for you, very sorry, but I can never marry you."

"Has any one been maligning me?"

"No; and you have done splendidly since you came here. We have all admired you. You don't know what the nurses think of you, and how loud they are in your praise. Don't, don't spoil everything now, just for a personal feeling. Who can think of himself at moments like these. Be brave right on to the end, and let your conscience be your reward."

"That is all too high for me," he cried. "It may suit you, Sister Mollie, but I am not made of that stuff. I came to the wards because of you, and for nothing else. Do you think I wanted to give my strength nursing those fellows, and sitting in those beastly smelling wards, drinking in enteric poison and all the rest? No; I did what I did for you, Sister Mollie, and you are bound to give me something as my reward. You had no right to encourage me."

"I never did," replied the girl.

"Didn't you though? Yes, and what's more, I believe you would have had me but for – Oh, I know what's up: you care for that other chap."

"What do you mean?"

"You are in love with Keith, although he is engaged to your sister. Now listen."

"Hush!" replied Mollie. She was not white any longer; she was strong and rosy, and there was a proud light in her eyes and a firmness about her lips. "I won't listen to you," she said – "no, not another single word. I am utterly ashamed of you!"

There was a scorn in her tone which stung him. He held out his hand to detain her, but she re-entered the hospital. For the rest of that day he saw nothing of her. He did not attempt to go back to the hospital. He retired to his own tin hut, where he cursed and swore, and finally drank himself into a state of oblivion.

In the evening four companies marched across the open grass land towards Observatory Hill, and Major Strause was amongst them. They marched in fours towards the foot of the hill, and then began to climb up. Not a word was spoken, and the Boers did not give a sign till the men were within twenty feet of the top. Then the firing began. Our men fixed swords and charged to the top with splendid cheers. Major Strause was amongst the bravest of that gallant band, but all the time, while he fought and rushed forward and appeared to forget himself, he was thinking of Mollie Hepworth. What mattered his bodily sensations? There was a thirst which raged round his heart greater than any danger. He was determined to get Mollie. She must be his even if she did not love him.

"I shall frighten her into it," he said to himself. "I have a good case, and I will put it to her. She cares for Keith; any one can see it. What are women made of? A spiritless chap without funds – I have drained most of that wretched legacy – and yet there are two women madly in love with him! It can't only be his handsome phiz; a woman like Mollie Hepworth wants more than mere beauty. Keith, in my opinion, is not half a man. If he were, he would never sit down under the imputation I have fastened on him. Well, he has done for himself now. It will stick like a burr when the time comes, and come it will if I can't get Mollie without its help."

As Strause thought these thoughts he raised his eyes, and saw Keith with a company of his men a little way off. Keith was rushing forward – he and his men with their swords fixed. The Boers were firing heavily. Just by sheer dash and consummate bravery Keith and his men took the position, and the Boers were driven back.

"It is because he believes that she loves him," thought the major. "If a man were sure of that, it would give him such courage that there would be nothing he would not dare. All the same, he did it bravely; I am the last to deny that fact. He will get his V.C., and then he'll be more a hero than ever with those two women. Once I get her I'll leave him alone. There are two things which I can do – two strong levers which must be brought to bear upon the position. They are like great siege guns in their way, and they will carry the fort, the fort of a woman's heart – yes, if I am not greatly mistaken."

The major bided his time; and as though to aid him just then, there came an incident which certainly was in his favour. He had come unscratched out of the sortie, but he had caught a chill, and fever of a slight character supervened. He immediately suggested that he should be moved into hospital. There happened to be a vacant bed, and the major occupied it. Now Mollie would nurse him; she could not avoid him when he was ill and suffering. His eyes followed her as she walked about the ward. To his distress and dismay, however, she appointed Katherine Hunt to look after the angry major.

Katherine was now almost as often in the ward as one of the trained nurses. She had a head on her shoulders, and could do anything that a girl might be supposed capable of doing. When the major was brought in, she had gone to Mollie and told her.

"Your friend Major Strause is down with fever," she said: "I suppose you will take his case?"

Mollie coloured, and a wistful look came into her eyes.

"I think not," she answered.

"I will look after him if you wish," said Katherine eagerly.

"I should be so much obliged. I don't suppose he is very ill, and I cannot leave the surgical cases to-night."

Accordingly Katherine was the one who gave Major Strause his medicines, his cooling drinks and his other comforts. He bore with her for a time. There had been a moment when he would have given ten years of his life to have Katherine Hunt, the daughter of the millionaire, waiting on him. But his passion made him impervious to money just now, and he felt that if all the riches of the world were to be offered him with Katherine, and Mollie were to come to him penniless, he would choose her. But next best to Mollie was Katherine Hunt, and he determined, if possible, to make her his friend.

"Why does not Miss Kitty Hepworth do her share of the nursing?" he said towards morning, when Katherine had time to linger by his bedside for a moment.

"Because she is not strong enough. We have had to forbid her to come to the hospital," replied Katherine.

"She is a poor sort; don't you think so?" said the major.

"I certainly do not," replied Katherine, with some indignation.

He looked at her, and gave the ghost of a smile.

"I know why she doesn't come," he said.

"There is no mystery about it," replied Katherine. "She is anything but strong. We have to look after her."

"When is she going to marry Keith? Why don't you hurry on the wedding?"

"We don't have weddings in Ladysmith," was the girl's reply.

"I don't see why you should not; there are parsons here, and all the rest. It would be about the best thing possible for Miss Kitty. I'll let her know as much when I see her."

"I hope you won't do so much mischief, Major Strause. Kitty is content to be close to Gavon. No wedding could be contemplated for a moment."

"She's likely to lose him if she doesn't look out."

Katherine did not even ask him what he meant; she stood and fixed her eyes upon him. He shuffled under their clear gaze.

"Look here," he said, "I'd like to do you a good turn. You are very fond of Miss Kitty Hepworth, are you not?"

"Of course I am," replied Katherine.

"You would not like her heart to be broken?"

"Certainly not."

"And in the most insufferable way," he added. "But I won't explain myself now, Miss Hunt. You and I have been good friends at home."

"We have been acquaintances at home," replied Katherine. "I am afraid, Major Strause, I have no more time to give you just at present."

"Oh, don't go, for mercy's sake!" He stretched out his hand and tried to catch her dress. She moved away from him.

"You forget yourself," she said haughtily.

"I don't," he replied. "But stoop down. I am a desperate man. Why are you nursing me?"

"Why am I nursing you!"

"Yes, why?"

"Do you disapprove of my services?"

"No; you are first-rate – a grand girl! I did not know it was in you when I saw you in town. I thought you were just one that was well supplied with worldly pelf. I did not know you had what I see you have. Now, Miss Hunt, if you will do me a good turn – why, one good turn deserves another, and you will never regret it, never. I want to see Sister Mollie. I have something that I wish to say to her – something which will save a great deal of trouble. Will you send her to me? At this hour most of the patients are quiet: anyhow, you can stay in the surgical ward. All I want you to do is to send her, and just keep the other nurses a little away. Will you?"

"You are disturbing the patients, talking so much."

"But will you?"

"I will do nothing of the sort."

"I'll get up then myself and find her."

"Oh, don't talk nonsense, Major Strause. I believe you are delirious."

"Yes, I am. I am very bad indeed – very bad. You are a good nurse, but you don't understand all cases of illness. Send Sister Mollie to me."

His face was nearly purple, his eyes bloodshot. Katherine touched his arm – it burnt like a coal. She suddenly felt alarmed.

"All right. Do stay quiet," she said. "Don't wake the other poor fellows. Ah! there's that poor boy Hudson; he has only just dropped asleep. Oh, I will do anything rather than disturb the ward. Stay quiet, and I will bring her to you."

CHAPTER XVIII.

PEACE AFTER STORM

"You must go to him," said Katherine.

"To whom?" asked Mollie.

She was looking very white: she had gone through a night of intense anxiety and ceaseless work. The poor fellows around were dying fast. One man after another succumbed to his wounds and to the hardships of the last battle. Those who were still living were very ill indeed. Mollie felt as if all her world were hemmed in by the shadow of death. The mysteries of life and of death were close to her, and all the trivial things of daily existence seemed miles and miles away. She raised her big and beautiful eyes now, and fixed them on Katherine's face.

"Who wants me?" she repeated.

"Major Strause," was Katherine's reply.

"I had forgotten about him," said Mollie. She put up her hand to her forehead. "Must I see him?" she asked.

"He seems to be very ill. His temperature has gone up; he is in for a sharp attack of fever. Nothing will quiet him but your presence."

Mollie gave a sigh.

"I will go to him," she said. "Will you stay here until I return?"

Katherine nodded, and Mollie went slowly down the ward. One ward led into another. The dying men looked at her as she walked. She had a slow and dignified step; there was never any undue haste or hurry about her. It calmed the delirious men even to look at her. Her hand was always cool, too – her touch always firm. She entered the ward. Hudson was weak and very, very ill, but his face lit up when he saw the girl.

"Come here, you angel, come here," he said in a whisper, under his breath.

"Come here, come here," said Major Strause.

The face of the lad who was soon to see his Maker, and the face of the angry, worldly-minded major, were both visible to Mollie as she approached.

"Hush!" she said to Major Strause. She raised her finger warningly, and bent over Hudson.

"I am better," he said, with a smile.

"Yes, I think you are," she said. But as she spoke she swallowed something in her throat; for she had learned by this time to discern, and she saw on the white face, and on the worn brow which illness had made so prominent and thin, the unmistakable shadow. The great wings loomed above the dying man; soon he would be folded in their embrace, and all the sorrows of earth would pass away from him.

"I am sorry for the folks at home," he said in a whisper. "If I die they will grieve; but I shall not die – I am better."

"Yes," said Mollie. She spoke firmly, and he did not see in her face any of the knowledge which she dreaded.

"I don't want to die," he said; "I want to live. Last night I thought I'd like to die, for the pain did grind so; but now I want to live. There are my father and mother, and I have a young sister. Her name is Ethel. She is so pretty. You remind me of her. She is only sixteen, and she is very clever and very pretty; and she has a look of you – or, rather, you have a look of her. It will be all right. I'll get well, won't I, Nurse Mollie?"

"Drink this," said Mollie. She poured a restorative into a teaspoon.

He shook his head.

"I'll get well," he repeated. "But I cannot swallow; my throat is closed up. All the same, I am much better."

"Yes, dear," she said.

She knelt down by him and took his hand. She laid her finger on his pulse – it scarcely beat. There was a cold dew all over him.

"Oh, I am much, much better," he said, smiling, "and – where am I? Where's mother? Where are you, governor? I am back home. George, your son, has come back. We have had a grand victory – the Boers utterly routed. Hurrah for the British flag! Where am I? Oh, here in the sick ward at Ladysmith. Sister Mollie?"

"Yes, my dear lad."

"Sing to me."

"Oh, I can't," came to her lips. But she never uttered the words. "What shall I sing?" she asked.

"My mother's favourite hymn, 'Peace, perfect peace.' It is peace, you know – wonderful – all the pain gone – not a bit thirsty – sure to get well – going – home; invalided home, you know. Peace! Yes, sing it, won't you?"

Mollie sang the first verse, —

"Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin."