JOHN MARVEL
When, a little later, a scourge of diphtheria broke out in a little mining camp not far from the home of Miss Leigh's relatives and she learned that John Marvel spent all his time nursing the sick and relieving their necessities as far as possible, she awakened to a realization of the truth of what her cousin had said, that under his awkward exterior lay a mine of true gold.
Day by day reports came of the spread of the deadly pestilence, making inroads in every family, baffling the skill and outstripping the utmost efforts of the local physician; day by day, the rumor came that wherever illness appeared there was John Marvel.
One afternoon Miss Leigh, who had ridden over in the direction of the mining village to try and get some information about the young clergyman, who, a rumor said, had been stricken himself the day before, came on him suddenly in a by-path among the hills. At sight of her he stopped and held up his hand in warning, and at the warning she reined in her horse.
"Don't come nearer," he called to her.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "How are you?" For even at that distance—perhaps, some fifty paces—she could see that he looked wretchedly worn and wan.
"Oh, I'm doing very well," he replied. "How are you? You must not come this way! Turn back!"
She began to rein her horse around and then, on a sudden, as his arm fell to his side, and, stepping a little out of the path, he leant against a tree, the whole situation struck her. Wheeling her horse back, she rode straight up to him though he stiffened up and waved her back.
"You are ill," she said.
"Oh, no. I am not ill, I am only a bit tired; that is all. You must not come this way—go back!"
"But why?" she persisted, sitting now close above him.
"Because—because—there is sickness here. A family there is down." He nodded back toward the curve around which he had just come. "The Banyan family are all ill, and I am just going for help."
"I will go—I, at least, can do that. What help? What do you want?"
She had tightened the rein on her horse and turned his head back.
"Everything. The mother and three children are all down; the father died a few days ago. Send the doctor and anything that you can find—food—clothing—medicine—some one to nurse them—if you can find her. It is the only chance."
"I will." She hesitated a moment and looked down at him, as if about to speak, but he waved her off. "Go, you must not stay longer."
He had moved around so that the wind, instead of blowing from him toward her, blew from the other side of her.
A moment later Eleanor Leigh was galloping for life down the steep bridle-path. It was a breakneck gait, and the path was rough enough to be perilous, but she did not heed it. It was the first time in all her life that she had been conscious that she could be of real use. She felt that she was galloping in a new world. From house to house she rode, but though all were sympathetic, there was no one to go. Those who might have gone, were elsewhere—or were dead. The doctor was away from home attending at other bedsides and, by the account given, had been working night and day until he could scarcely stand. Riding to the nearest telegraph station, the girl sent a despatch to a doctor whom she knew in the city where she lived, begging him to come or to send some one on the first train and saying that he would be met and that she would meet all his expenses. Then she sat down and wrote a note to her cousin. And two hours later, just as the dusk was falling, she rode up to the door of a country cabin back among the hills. As she softly pushed open the door, with her arm full of bundles, a form rose from the side of a bed and stood before her in the dusk of the room.
"My God! you must not come in here. Why have you come here?"
"To help you," said the girl.
"But you must not come in. Go out. You must," said John Marvel.
