It was late when he rose from the chair, closed the book, placed it upon the shelf, and then threw himself upon his cot.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE KEEPSAKE
Every day Nurse Marion was kept busy at the hospital. She had three injured men to look after now instead of one, and from early morn until late at night she cared for her patients. She found Nance of great assistance, and looked forward to her arrival every afternoon. In fact, she was more drawn to this maiden of the wilderness than to any other woman she had met for years. She was charmed with her simplicity and naturalness of manner. There was nothing artificial about her. She had none of the languid veneer of many of the young women in towns and cities. She was so anxious to learn, and quick in acquiring knowledge, that the nurse was delighted. During the few weeks that they were together it was remarkable the progress Nance made in the ways of house-keeping, sewing, and cooking, as well as looking after the patients.
Beryl needed a companion upon whom she could depend. For years her life had been a lonely one, notwithstanding her constant activity. People loved her, and the miners down river almost worshipped her. For them there had always been a ready smile and a sympathetic word of cheer or comfort. But none knew of the great sorrow which had come into her life years before, nor the heaviness of her heart at times as she went about her daily duties. Try as she might she could not banish from her mind the one who had been the cause of her sorrow. Hers was not a nature which could lightly put away precious memories and reach out and enjoy things which were new. Her love had been too deep and sacred to be cast off at the least pretext or provocation. She had often heard young people talking about love as something that could be worn to-day like a beautiful robe and cast aside to-morrow and forgotten. Of such a love she knew nothing. Love to her was an inseparable attribute, constantly with her, and forming a part of her very being as the fragrance is to the rose.
Of her past life, and the longing which still dwelt in her heart for the one whom she had never expected to see again, she could not speak to others. The mere idea of bringing forth all of those memories for people to gaze upon and discuss was most horrible to her sensitive nature. There was nothing in common, not the slightest link, between the ones she daily met and her own past life. They could lavish their affection upon her, praise her, and admire her, but still she felt alone. She could touch the world of activity and seem to take her place naturally among men and women, but they could not enter into her life. There she had remained alone until Nance crossed her path. Then a marvellous change had taken place. Nance was not only different from others she had met, but she was the one link between the past and the present.
To no one had Beryl breathed Martin's name after his disgrace. But with Nance it was otherwise. She could talk to her freely about him with no reserve whatsoever. During their quiet afternoon hours each day she skilfully drew from Nance the story of her young life as far back as she could remember. Often Beryl's eyes would fill with tears as she listened to the brave, earnest struggle Martin had made to care for the waif of the wild, and to develop her mind. Nance told her story well, and the listener hung on every word with the most intense interest. Often the nurse would watch Nance as she moved about the room. She was really Martin's child. He had stamped upon her his own personality. She even spoke as he did, and Beryl noted that she pronounced certain words with the same accent that she knew was peculiar to Martin. The more she was with Nance, and learned from her lips of what her foster-father had done for her, the more deeply wrung was Beryl's heart. She recalled the fierce denunciations which had been heaped upon him after his fall, while she alone had been silent. A great longing now came into her heart to publish to the world the story of what he had done for an orphan child in the northern wilderness. If those who had denounced him the most bitterly only knew, she often said to herself, would they not think of him in a different light, and judge him less harshly?
"You must be very happy here, nurse," Nance naïvely remarked one afternoon, as the two were sitting by the window.
"Why, what makes you think so?" was the surprised reply.