Part 23 (1/2)
”So the surgeon said who dressed my wounds last night, Mary, but I knew that he did not really think so.”
”But I am sure Dr. Swinburne does think so, Cuthbert. I am certain that he was not trying to deceive me.”
”Well, I hope that he is right,” Cuthbert replied, but with the indifference common to men in extreme weakness. ”I should certainly like to give the finis.h.i.+ng touches to those two pictures. There is nothing else to show for my life. Yes, I should like to finish them. You are looking bad yourself,” he added, suddenly, ”all this is too much for you.”
”I am only tired,” she said, ”and of course it has been trying work for the last twenty-four hours.”
”Well, you must go home and get some rest. If I had been going soon I should have liked you to have stopped with me till I went, but if, as you say, the doctor thinks I may last for a time it does not matter, and I would rather know that you were getting a rest than that you were wearing yourself out here. What o'clock is it now?”
”It is just two. Please don't worry about me. If I were to break down there are plenty to take my place, but I am not going to. Anyhow I shall wait to hear what Dr. Swinburne says when he next comes round, and then if the report is favorable I shall go home for the night and be here again the first thing in the morning. Are you in much pain, Cuthbert?”
”No, I am in no pain at all. I just feel numbed and a little drowsy, and my feet are cold.”
Mary went away, filled a tin bottle with hot water and placed it at his feet, and then covered them over with another rug.
”Now you must not talk any more, Cuthbert. Your hands are cold, let me put the rug over them. There, you look more comfortable. Now shut your eyes and try to get to sleep until the doctor comes round.”
Cuthbert closed his eyes at once. Mary went about the ward doing her work for the next two hours, returning at frequent intervals to the bedside, and seeing with satisfaction that he was sleeping quietly. At four o'clock the surgeon came in. She was occupied in serving out some soup to the patients and did not go round with him. She had finished her work when he returned to where she was standing near the entrance.
”I did not wake him,” he said, in answer to her look, ”but his pulse is stronger, and the action of his heart regular. There is certainly a good chance for him. My hopes that there is no vital injury are strengthened.
He will, I hope, sleep for hours, perhaps till morning. By that time I may be able to give a more decided opinion. Now, I think you had better be off at once. I can see you have recovered your nerve, but there will be a dozen fresh nurses here in a few minutes, and I shall clear you all out. Do you feel strong enough to walk home?”
”Oh, yes, Doctor, I may come in the first thing in the morning, mayn't I?”
”Yes, if you feel equal to it. It is possible,” he thought to himself, as he went to the next marquee, ”that the poor fellow only regards her as a cousin, but I am greatly mistaken if she has not very much warmer feelings towards him, though she did so stoutly declare that they were but old friends.”
Mary, putting on her bonnet and cloak, went out. As she did so, a man, in the uniform of the Franc-tireurs, and a young woman approached.
”Pardon, mademoiselle,” he said, lifting his cap as he came up to her, ”is it possible for friends to visit the wounded?”
Mary glanced at the speaker's companion and at once recognized her. It was the face of which she had seen so many drawings in Cuthbert's sketch-book.
”It is not possible to-day,” she said, ”except in extreme cases. There have been many applicants, but they have all been refused.”
”I fear this is an extreme case,” Rene, for it was he, urged. ”It is a comrade of mine, and the surgeon told me after examining him that he was. .h.i.t very seriously. This lady is his fiancee.”
”I know who you mean,” Mary said, after a moment's silence, ”but she could not see him even if she were his wife. He is asleep now and everything depends upon his sleep being unbroken.”
”If I could only see him I would not wake him,” the woman wailed, while Rene asked--
”Can you tell us if there are any hopes for him?”
”The surgeon says there are some hopes,” Mary said, coldly, ”but that everything depends upon his being kept perfectly quiet. However, I have no power in the matter. I am off duty now, and you had better apply to Mrs. Stanmore. She is in charge of the ward. It is the farthest of the three marquees.”
”What is that woman to him?” Minette exclaimed, pa.s.sionately, as Mary walked on. ”She loves him or she hates him. I saw her look at me as you spoke first, and her face changed. She knew me though I did not know her.”
”Oh, that is all fancy, Minette. How can she know Arnold? She is tired and worn out. Parbleu, they must have had terrible work there since the sortie began. It is getting dark, but it is easy to see how pale and worn out she looked. For my part I would rather go through that fight in the garden again than work for twenty-four hours in a hospital.”