Ruth Wakefield was no flirt and never had been one; she was quickwitted and she had a wide command of language, and she smiled as she went on upon her rounds among the little cots when she remembered that neither of them really knew the other's name; she liked the name he'd given to her ... she liked the way he said it ... she liked the fine expression of his speaking countenance ... she liked his eyes ... she liked his manly way of meeting whatever came to him with courage and with cheerful readiness to serve the country they both loved ... her heart went out to him in very many ways, and, then, she looked again at those soft fingers that his hand had held ... she seemed to feel again the subtle, unexplainable, electric thrill that crept through all her being at his touch ... that seemed to answer to the look within his eyes ... the accent on his tongue, and, then, she blushed again and went about her work within that shadowy hospital where many strong men lay in bitter pain with renewed courage and with a new and hither-to unknown tenderness.
She stood, at length, beside a cot whereon lay one whose face was hidden while surgeons dressed a gaping wound he had received upon his head; Ruth stopped and gave her scissors that she always carried in the pocket of her apron to the one who needed them for use in cutting away the dark hair that grew along the edges of the wound; it clung in tiny ringlets and was black as night and very soft and thick.... Ruth could not help remembering, that her hands had often strayed among such soft and dark and clinging ringlets, but she shuddered as she thought of them and of Estrella who had deemed herself to be the only woman Victorio Colenzo had ever loved, and, then, she wondered if all men were like to that one she had married thinking him to be as he professed to be ... judging him to be as truthful as she was ... she wondered if the man she had just left would be like that under similar circumstances ... he was ready in his hints at tenderness ... was he, too, perhaps, a gay deceiver?
While her thoughts were rambling on in this way, her eyes were idly looking at the man who lay upon his face and writhed under the stitches that the surgeons took to close the gaping wound upon his head; he turned his face an instant toward her and she recognized him as a Spanish officer she'd seen in San Domingo under most distressing circumstances; she had gone, as she had often done before, to minister to the needs of those who were among the poorer classes in the village, one day, and found before a hovel a most richly caparisoned horse held by an orderly; inside, there knelt upon the floor a young and pretty peasant girl; she was imploring this same officer who lay upon that little cot not to make her go with him to be his helpless slave; Ruth rescued her and told the man to go his way in no uncertain language; now, he lay there dressed as if he were an American soldier; she recognized him perfectly for his face had often haunted her, it was so sinister and devilish.
She sought out Father Felix, then, and told him what she had discovered, and he took what steps were necessary in the matter, for he who'd named Ruth Tender Heart had named her very well indeed; it seemed to her she could not bear to turn this Spanish spy over to the proper authorities, and, yet, she knew it was her duty to do that very thing, so the good Priest helped her to do her duty as he'd promised her he would, and, after that, there was a wall at sunrise and a platoon of armed men, and, then, that Spanish spy soon disappeared.
CHAPTER XVIII
We intimated when we first began this tale that Father Felix was a man to be admired, not only for his strong religious zeal, but for his great virility and patriotic fervor.
Never had he shown these qualities more fully than during the naval battle of Santiago which engagement took place shortly after the events narrated in the last chapter; there was work to do on land as well as on the water at that crucial time; more than 18,000 helpless persons ... men, women and children ... marched out of the beleagued city seeking safety in the open country surrounding it; among these were many wealthy women of the higher class whose delicate silken garments were bedraggled and torn by the hardships of the journey which it was necessary to make on foot over muddy roads and through barbed wires which had been stretched irregularly all around Santiago and its vicinity by the Spanish soldiery for the purpose of turning back the invading Americans who were advancing upon them.
Among these women there was one who reached the hospital over which Ruth Wakefield presided; she was bespattered and weary and sick at heart, but there was a light in her dark eyes and a steadiness in her firm hand that appealed to Ruth at once and made her single this one woman from among all who came to her that day for help; as soon as she had changed her apparel and washed the grime of travel from her person, she asked to be allowed to assist the others who were at work among the little cots that were now filled with suffering humanity; she took her place so quietly that it seemed to those among whom she moved that she had almost always been right there and would always continue to be there; Estrella liked her from the first of their acquaintance and the older woman found the girl so pleasing that whenever she could do so, she gave her hand a little squeeze or patted her upon her shoulder to make her know that they two were congenial and going on, together, toward the same loved goal; this silent association became at once a bond between these two who, in their nurse's uniforms, looked enough alike to be twin sisters ... they had the same dark eyes and sensitive and drooping lips ... they had the same fair skins, although Estrella had been tanned by more outside exposure than the other had ... they moved in the same way and both were tall and straight and lithe and quick; Ruth noticed them together and at once began to wonder why they looked so much alike ... then she thought of what Estrella'd told her as to what she knew of her own family, and, immediately, Ruth began to speculate and piece together little circumstances and then she soon began to hope that poor Estrella, maybe, might, in this way, find her own people; so she asked some kindly questions of the woman who had come to them that day, and she found that she had had a little sister, long ago ... a little sister who had disappeared and whom they'd mourned as dead for many years; Ruth told her all she knew about the girl ... all except her intimate association with the man whom, she, herself, had married; she did not feel that she could speak of him to this dark stranger ... anyway, it would not matter, now, and if Estrella wished to speak about it later on, then she could do so; they called the girl, then, and found she had a little dainty cross of gold that she had always worn about her neck.... Manuello's mother had preserved it for her while she was an infant thinking it might prove the child's identity, so that the ones who'd cared for her might be profited thereby, and, since she knew about it, she, herself, had held it sacred as the only link that bound her to her unknown family ... and so it proved, indeed, the link that proved her as the sister of the lady who had come to them that day from the beleaguered city of Santiago.
Estrella's blood, it seemed, was Spanish ... she had descended from the ones who knew the roses of Castile ... she'd always seemed far different from the peasants among whom she'd lived until she met Ruth Wakefield who recognized in her a higher strain ... a higher nature ... than she found in any of the peasants whom she met in San Domingo; old Mage, even, looked upon Estrella differently than on the other servants whom she always treated with great condescension, for she felt herself above the most of them as she was always nearer to her dear young lady than any of them were; Ruth trusted her with Tid-i-wats, for one thing, which separated her from all the rest, for Tid-i-wats, was most abrupt in very many ways, and, sometimes, even went so far as to just sink her long, sharp claws right through whatever garments anybody wore, so that they found and often even penetrated the skin beneath the garments; she would do this deed in such a loving way that many who were sadly scratched by her would try to smile and take this punishment as if it were but joy and gladness ... old Mage squirmed sometimes, 'tis true, beneath this discipline that Tid-i-wats gave very freely, but she never put her down or turned against her,—only saying: