The Doctor Part 39

Not my will!"

The strife was past. Quietly she went to the lavatory that stood in the corner of her office, bathed her eyes, smoothed away the signs of struggle from her face, and went forth serene to her duty and her cross.

In the hall she met Barney. With a quick, light step she was at his side, both hands stretched out. "Barney!" "Margaret!" was all they said.

For a moment or two Barney stood holding her hands, gazing without a word into the sweet face, so pale, so beautiful, so serenely strong.

Twice he essayed to speak, but the words choked in his throat. Turning abruptly away he pointed to the figure under the grey blanket on the camp bed.

"I've brought--you--d.i.c.k," at last he said hoa.r.s.ely.

"d.i.c.k! Hurt? Not--" She halted before the dreaded word.

"No, injured. Badly, I fear, but I hope--"

"The room is ready," said Nurse Crane.

At once all other thoughts and emotions gave way to the immediate demands of their common duty. They had work to do, and they had trained themselves to obey without thought of self that Divine call to serve the suffering. Together they toiled at their work, Margaret noting with delighted wonder the quick fingers and the finished skill that cleansed and probed and dressed the wound in the head and made thorough examination for other injury or ill, Barney keenly conscious of the efficiency of the silent, steady helper at his side whose quick eye and hand antic.i.p.ated his every want. At length their work was done and they stood looking down upon the haggard face.

"He is resting now," said Barney, in a low voice. "The fracture is not serious, I think."

"Poor d.i.c.k," said Margaret, pa.s.sing her hand over his brow.

At her touch and voice d.i.c.k moaned and opened his eyes. Barney quickly stepped back out of sight. For a moment or two the eyes wandered about the room, then rested on Margaret's face in a troubled, inquiring gaze.

"What is it, d.i.c.k, dear?" said Margaret, bending over him.

For answer his hand began to move feebly toward his breast as if seeking something.

"I know. The letter, d.i.c.k?" A look of intelligence lighted the eye.

"That's all right, d.i.c.k. I shall get it to Barney. Barney is here, you know."

A hand grasped her arm. "Hus.h.!.+" said Barney in stern command. "Say nothing about me." But she heeded him not. For a moment longer the sick man's gaze lingered on her face. A faint smile of content overspread the drawn features, then the look of intelligence faded and the eyes closed wearily.

"Come," said Barney, moving toward the door, "he is better quiet."

Leaving the nurse in charge, they went together toward the office.

"Where did you find him?" asked Margaret as she gave Barney a seat. Then Barney told her the story of how he had chanced upon the canoe and had discovered d.i.c.k lying insensible in the woods.

"It was G.o.d's leading, Barney," said Margaret gently, when the story was done; but to this he made no reply. "Is there serious danger, do you think?" she inquired in an anxious voice.

"He will recover," replied Barney. "All he requires is careful nursing, and that you can give him. I shall wait till to-morrow."

"To-morrow? And then?"

"I am leaving this country next week."

"Leaving the country? And why?"

"My work here is done."

"Surely there is much yet to do, and you have just begun to do such great things. Why should you leave now?"

Barney waited a few moments in silence as if pondering an answer.

"Margaret, I must go," he finally burst forth. "You know I must go. I can't live within touch of him and forget!"

"Forgive, you mean, Barney."

"Well, forgive, if you like," he replied sullenly.

"Barney," replied Margaret earnestly, "this is unworthy of you, and in the face of G.o.d's mercy to-day how can you hold resentment in your heart?"

"How can I? G.o.d knows, or the Devil. For three years I have fought it, but it is there. It is there!" He struck his hand hard upon his breast.

"I can't forget that he ruined my life! But for him I believe in my soul I should have won--her to me! At a critical moment he came in and ruined--"

"Barney! Barney, listen to me!" cried Margaret impetuously.

Barney sprang to his feet.

"No, you must listen to me. Sit down." Barney obeyed her word and sat down. "Now, hear me, and hear me fairly. I am not going to say that d.i.c.k was free from blame, nor was Iola either. Whose was the greater I can't tell. They were both young and, to a certain extent, inexperienced in the ways of life. Circ.u.mstances threw them much together and on terms of almost brotherly and sisterly intimacy. That was a mistake. They ignored conventions that can never be safely ignored. Just at that time d.i.c.k's life was made hard for him. His Church had rejected him."

"Rejected him?"

"Yes, rejected him. He was refused license by the Presbytery, was branded as a heretic and outcast from work." Margaret's voice grew bitter. "Do you wonder that he grew hard? Perhaps they could not help it--I can't say--but he grew hard. Yes, and worse than that, grew away from his faith, from his friends, and from those things that keep men straight and strong. He grew weak. The hour of temptation came upon him.

You and I have seen enough of that side of life to know what that means.

He broke faith with you--no, not with you. He was loyal to you, but he broke faith with himself and with her. For a single moment, that moment at which you appeared, he yielded to pa.s.sion, and bitterly, terribly, has he suffered since that moment. How terribly no one knows. He has tried to find you, but you would not be found. He wronged you, Barney, but you have made him and all of us suffer much." The voice that had gone on so bravely and so firmly here suddenly trembled and broke.

"Made you suffer!" cried Barney, with bitter scorn. "How can you speak of suffering? You have everything! I have lost all!"

"Everything?" echoed Margaret faintly. "Ah, Barney, how little you know!

But, no matter, G.o.d has brought you together and you must not do this wicked thing. You must not continue to break our hearts."

"Break your hearts? Margaret, what's the use of words? I had a heart, too, and a brother whom I loved and trusted as myself, yes, more than myself, and--I had--Iola. All I have lost. My work satisfies me for a few months, but try as I can this awful thing hunts me down and drives me mad. There is nothing in life left for me. And there might have been much but for--"

"Stop, Barney!" cried Margaret impulsively. "There is much still left for you. G.o.d is good. How much better than we. You can't forgive a fellow-sinner. Oh, shame! But He forgives and forgets, and surely you ought to try--"

"Try! Try! Heavens above, Margaret! Try! Do you think I haven't tried?

That thing is there! there!" smiting on his breast again. "Can you tell me how to rid myself of it?"

"Yes, Barney, I think I can tell you. G.o.d's great goodness will do this for you. Listen," she said, putting up her hand to stay his words, "G.o.d is bringing a great joy to you to shame you and to soften you. Here, read this." She handed him Iola's letter, went to the window, and stood with her back to him, looking out upon the great sweeping valley below.

"Margaret!" The hoa.r.s.e voice called her back to him. His hard, proud, sullen reserve was shattered, gone. His lips were quivering, his hands trembling. The girl was touched to the heart. "Margaret," he cried brokenly, "what does this mean?" He was terribly shaken.

"It means that she wants you, that she needs you. d.i.c.k was going to-morrow to bring her back to you, Barney. That was his one desire."

"To bring her to me? To bring her back to me? d.i.c.k? Dear old boy! and I--Oh, Margaret!" He put his trembling hands out to her. "Forgive me!

G.o.d forgive me! Poor d.i.c.k! I'll see him!" He started toward the door.

"No, not how," he cried, striving in vain to control himself. "I am mad!

mad! For three long years I have carried this cursed thing in my heart!

It's gone! It's gone, Margaret! Do you hear? It's gone!" He was shouting aloud. "I feel right toward d.i.c.k, my brother!"