If Any Man Sin

by H. A. Cody

But no sign of recognition came from the unconscious form upon the cot. As Nance continued to press the outstretched hand, Nurse Marion rose and walked over to the window, and looked out upon the world of snow beyond. Tumultuous thoughts surged suddenly through her mind as she saw Nance kneeling by the bed and listened to her wailing cry. What right had this girl to supplant her? Had she been all sufficient to Martin, and had he forgotten Beryl, to whom he had given his heart and hand? For the first time in years a revulsion of feeling swept upon her. She had been a fool to believe that Martin had remembered her. He cared only for Nance, and his first love had grown cold. Years of separation had done it, and what vain fancy had led her to imagine that he still cared for her? She saw it now as never before. She must get away from the place. But where should she go, with the rivers frozen and the land snow-locked on every side?

Those few moments had wrought a marvellous transformation in Nurse Marion's face. It was calm—terribly calm—when at last she went back to Martin's side. She was the professional nurse now, ready to do her duty to the utmost, but no more. She had other patients in the hospital to care for, and she busied herself with them during most of the day. She had little to say to the watchers by Martin's side, and they, occupied with their deep anxiety, did not notice her unusual silence. Then, when all her other tasks were done, she sat with Nance and Dick through the long hours of the night. She had to be doing something, so she brought her needle-work, and though her fingers were busy, and at times her head drooped, she hardly realised what she was doing.

Since he had been brought into the hospital Martin had not shown the least sign of consciousness. He had lain as one in a deep sleep. But as the night wore away, and the dawn of a new day was breaking he began to move, and then to toss restlessly upon the cot. At last he opened his eyes and stared vacantly around the room.

"Tim! Tim!" he called. "Are you cold? Here's my jacket. It'll keep you warm."

His eyes next roved to the watchers near by until they rested upon the nurse's face. He did not seem at all surprised to see her there.

"Beryl."

At that word the needle-work dropped from the nurse's hand, her face went white as death, though she uttered not a sound.

"Are the hymns all ready, Beryl?" Martin continued. "It's almost church time, and I can't wait any longer."

"He thinks you are Beryl," Nance whispered. But the nurse made no reply. She sat erect, rigid, with staring eyes fixed full upon the man before her.

A troubled expression now came into Martin's eyes, and his fingers moved over the blanket as if in search of something. "I can't find them," he murmured. "The bread—the wine—some one has hidden them. Ah, ah, here they are," and his fingers closed eagerly upon some imaginary objects. Then a semblance of a smile flickered about the corners of his mouth, and his voice was low and reverent as his lips moved—"Take—and eat—this—in remembrance—that Christ—died—for thee—and feed—on Him——"