A Sister of the Red Cross: A Tale of the South African War

by L. T. Meade

Just about this time there was a curious change observable in Major Strause. Hitherto his character had been all that was contemptible. He was deep in debt; he was met at every turn by money difficulties. He was also a confirmed gambler. In order to keep himself in any degree straight, he had stooped to the lowest of crimes, and was in every sense of the word a most selfish man. Nevertheless, at the present moment no one could consider Major Strause selfish. When he was not absolutely engaged in his military duties, he spent his time in the hospital. He turned out to be not only a clever but also a tender nurse. He did exactly what Sister Mollie told him; he even sat with her worst cases at night; and was, she could not help expressing it, invaluable.

The fact was, two things had happened to Major Strause. In the first place, at Ladysmith his most pressing creditors could not trouble him; therefore, for the time being at any rate, he was not up to his ears in money difficulties. The second thing was this: he had fallen in love, passionately in love, with Sister Mollie. He was not a particularly young man—in fact, his years were very little short of forty—but until he met Mollie he had never honestly and truly, and as he thought unselfishly, cared for any one. He was not a marrying man, and if he thought of matrimony at all, he certainly thought of it as an aid to a fortune. If he met a rich, very rich girl who would have him, why, then, his money troubles might cease to exist. He certainly would not, under any circumstances, marry a poor one.

But love will work wonders even in natures like Major Strause's, and he no longer thought of money in connection with a possible wife. He knew well that Sister Mollie had little or no private means. He was fond of saying to himself that, when he looked at her brave and noble face, he ceased to think of money. The more he thought of her, the more deeply did he love her. He dreamed of her at night; to be in her society by day was heaven to him.

This was the real secret of the change in the major. It was because of Mollie he had become unselfish, a useful nurse, an invaluable servant of the Queen. Mollie improved him not only as a nurse, but also as an officer. He would rather do anything than catch the scorn in her eyes. So he fought bravely, and led his men to the front in the sorties made against the Boers. His brother officers began to like him, and even Keith, who quickly recovered from his wound, wondered what had come to the major. He was an old enough man to keep his emotions to himself, and neither Mollie herself nor Keith—who listened for Mollie's slightest footfall, who lived on her smile, who was consoled by her touch—guessed for a single moment that Strause cared for her.

Both Keith and Strause just then were playing a difficult game: for Keith, while engaged to one girl, devotedly loved another; and Strause was endeavouring by every means in his power to hide that part of him which was unworthy from Sister Mollie's eyes. Both men, after a fashion, were succeeding. Mollie, in the stress and strain of her present life, had more or less forgotten the curious story Keith had told her with regard to Strause. She was destined to remember it all too vividly by-and-by, but just then she was glad of his help. She learned to lean upon him, and to consult him with regard to those cases of delirium and extreme danger which were brought into the little hospital day by day.

The other nurses all depended more or less on Mollie, and she took the lead in this time of great peril.

As to Keith, his task was even more difficult than that the major had assigned to himself; for if ever there was an exigeante and jealous girl on the face of God's earth, it was Kitty Hepworth. She expected the undivided attention of the man she was engaged to. He liked her, and was intensely sorry for her. He was touched by her devotion to himself, and he did all that man could to render her stay in the beleaguered town as happy as it could be. He did not know until afterwards how much he was indebted to Katherine Hunt for his measure of success. She was possessed of enormous tact. She had the wisdom of ten ordinary women. When she was not writing accounts of the siege for The Snowball, she was attending on the sick and wounded, visiting the inhabitants of the town, cheering up the frightened mothers, comforting the children, helping to give out the rations. There was nothing that this clever and unselfish girl could not put her hand to; there was nothing she did not do more or less well.

As to Keith, he rejoiced when he saw her entering the hotel. He could be affectionate to Kitty, who had very little to say, and listen to Katherine's brilliant conversation; and Kitty could not be jealous of Katherine, try hard as she might. After the first week she got a fresh return of the malarial fever, and was from that moment more or less exempt from giving her services to the sick men in the hospital. Thus she seldom saw Keith in her sister's presence, and in consequence her fears slumbered, and she tried to believe that she was the happiest girl on earth, and that no one could be more loved than she.