O the clouds may cover the mountain's brow, Angelie!
And hide their wreaths of eternal snow, Angelie!
And the fiend of the storm may shriek at will,
And the lightning leap from hill to hill,
For the night is past and I come to thee,
My bride, my beautiful Angelie!
["SISTER WARWICK": A STORY OF INFLUENCE.]
By H. MARY WILSON, Author of "In Warwick Ward," "In Monmouth Ward," "Miss Elsie," etc.
CHAPTER I.
"We'll keep our aims sublime, our eyes erect,
Although our woman-hands should shake and fail."—E. B. Browning.
Sister Warwick was slowly rousing to the consciousness of the birth of another working-day. Her first sensation was weariness, her next a thought of surprise that the night had been passed without a summons to the side of one of the many beds in her ward, the third, and this with fully-awakened faculties, that her good Staff-nurse Carden was holding towards her the welcome tea-tray that her kind thoughtfulness never failed to bring with this earliest report of the "night duty."
Margaret Carden's hospital career had fulfilled the expectations of those who had watched it with loving, interested eyes. She had quietly and conscientiously worked her way from her probation through the three years of training, had done well, if not brilliantly, in her exams., and was now back again in the ward that was her "first love," so to speak. She was a staff-nurse on night duty.
She was very happy to be here. She loved little Sister Warwick—loved and respected and reverenced her. She could see through the brusque exterior that nettled some of the others, and could fully appreciate the noble heroism of her consistent, hard-working, unselfish life.