Part 3 (1/2)

When Lemuel Dalton rode into his yard fresh from his encounter with Harry Dalton, Aunt Catherine and Morlene were in a wagon ready to be driven to the city, where it was their purpose to dwell.

Lemuel Dalton noticed the look of inquiry which his battered appearance evoked from Morlene's expressive eyes, and, as if to prevent her from thinking that he had been worsted and that her prophecy was already coming true, said in a haughty tone: ”I do not know how much interest a knowledge of the fact may be to you, yet, I inform you that I have just shot down that impudent Negro, Harry Dalton.”

Morlene was of a deeply sympathetic mould, and, upon receiving this information, tears came into her eyes. Alighting from the wagon, she said: ”Go! Go! Aunt Catherine, from this accursed place. I will come to the city soon. It may be that Harry is not killed. If I can save his life I can ward off that much of the terrible debt that this man is piling up against himself.” Gathering her skirts about her, weeping as she ran, she arrived at Stephen Dalton's house and a.s.sumed charge of the nursing of Harry.

Harry's wound was an exceedingly dangerous one, but the doctor's skill, supplemented by Morlene's zealous care, eventually brought him to a stage of convalescence. But Morlene's tenderness of heart had brought her into a situation where unforeseen complications arose to sorely disturb her peace of mind.

So, soon as Harry became conscious of Morlene's presence in his home as his nurse, he began to look upon his being shot as an especially kind act on the part of providence. From early childhood he had been an ardent admirer of Morlene, but her stay at the Dalton house under the guardians.h.i.+p of Maurice Dalton, had caused him to feel that there was an impa.s.sable gulf between them. He had never been able to summon sufficient courage to go up to the ”big house” with the intention of paying his respects to Morlene. He now entertained not one spark of ill will toward Lemuel Dalton for shooting him, since it was the means of drawing Morlene to his side. The scrupulous care and great tenderness exercised by her in the nursing of Harry, were construed by him to be indications of a strong attachment, and his hopes of a favorable outcome of his suit grew greater from day to day, until he at last regarded his acceptance as an a.s.sured fact.

One day, after he was able to sit up, he beckoned for Morlene to come to his side, intending to make a declaration of love. Morlene came and looked into Harry's face tenderly, awaiting his request, which she presumed would be upon some matter in line with her duties as a nurse. When Harry looked up into her face, so tenderly beautiful, his heart failed him. ”Too beautiful for a fellow like me,” he thought. ”I have changed my mind, Miss Dalton,” said Harry, abandoning his purpose for the time being.

Morlene looked at Harry out of those wondrous eyes of hers, playfully feigning reproach, shaking her forefinger at him the while, in no wise dreaming of the emotions at work in Harry's bosom.

The day at last came when Harry found himself possessing sufficient courage to make a declaration of love. It was indeed a rude awakening for Morlene when she realized in what manner she had been the object of Harry's thoughts, a contingency upon which she had in no wise calculated. When her emotion of surprise had sufficiently abated to permit it, she told Harry in a very pleasant manner that he was sick and should wait until he was well before giving attention to so grave a question as marriage.

Harry had discerned how his proposal had surprised Morlene, and he now knew that she had not given him one thought as a possible husband. He saw clearly that Morlene's many acts of kindness to him were based purely on sympathy, not love. This so discouraged Harry that it was not many days before he began to grow worse. His decline was so persistent, refusing to yield to any treatment, that the doctor was sorely puzzled as to the cause of the relapse and the treatment necessary to effect a change.

Harry's illness now reached such a stage that all began to despair of his life. Beulah kept constant watch at his bedside, noting his every expression. She noticed how Harry's eyes followed wherever Morlene moved about in the room; how that he was restless when she was out of sight and contented when she was near. And in all this devotion exhibited by Harry she intuitively felt the presence of hopelessness. She framed the theory in her mind that the mysterious cause of Harry's decline was none other than an unrequited love for Morlene.

The doctor came, felt Harry's pulse, shook his head, and left the room.

Beulah also went out and revealed to him her thoughts.

”By Jove!” said he, ”Why did I not think of that myself? The girl is as beautiful as a sylph. She can save him, I am sure. That boy's relapse can be explained on no other hypothesis. See what you can do with the girl. It is the only hope left.” So saying, the doctor went his way.

Beulah now re-entered the house and asked Morlene to take a walk with her.

Arm in arm the two girls went down the little pathway leading from the house. Coming opposite to a grove of trees they turned toward it, entered, and sat down upon a fallen log.

”Morlene, are you in love with any one?” asked Beulah.

”No, my dear. Why do you ask?” replied Morlene.

”I have a request to make of you, which I can the more freely do since you say that you are not in love.”

Morlene's face took on a puzzled expression.

”What possible relation does my not being in love bear to any request that you might make?” inquired Morlene.

”The doctor has told me that the only hope of saving Harry's life lies in your consenting to marry him. He is dying of love for you,” said Beulah.

Morlene stood up affrighted.

Beulah continued: ”Harry looks at you so sad-like. A word from you, Morlene, will save him.”

Morlene sat down and raised a hand to her forehead. ”Beulah,” said she, ”I fear that there is something in what you say. I now recall that his decline in health began about the time when I refused to consider a proposal of marriage which he made. But Beulah, I do not _love_ Harry. I think well of him, but I do not love him.”

”You could learn to love him,” said Beulah.

”No, I am quite sure, Beulah, that I could never love a man on Harry's order. Something within tells me that somewhere in the world there is an ideal man that awaits my coming. He shall awaken all the slumbering fires of my soul and my life shall entwine itself about his. Beulah, I believe all this with my whole heart.”