A Man: His Mark. A Romance / Second Edition

by W. C. Morrow

Dismayed over the loss of time, he proceeded at once to make his charge comfortable. He prepared his bed for her and placed her upon it. She was still unconscious, but he saw that she was rallying.

He suddenly realized that it was now impossible for him to summon Dr. Mal-bone, for the fury of the storm had been steadily increasing, and the crash of falling trees still sounded above the roaring of the wind. It would be worse than foolhardy for him to brave the storm and the darkness. At any moment she might recover consciousness and find herself alone and suffering in this strange place; and a whole night and day would hardly have been sufficient for him to fetch the surgeon, had that been a physical possibility. So the young man realized that he alone, with no training in the surgeon’s and physician’s art, must take this woman’s life in his hands, and for a long time to come be her physician and nurse, cook and housekeeper, mother and confidant, father and protector.

That realization was sufficiently cruel and taxing, but the ordeal that now confronted him was the most trying of all. He had not yet given any attention to the appearance of his charge, further than to ascertain to what extent she was hurt. When he now lighted a candle and held it to her face, he saw that she was a young and handsome woman.

He noted the high-bred patrician face through the grime, the abundant dark-brown hair, the black brows but slightly arched and nearly meeting between the eyes, the fine nose, the habitual, half-hidden curve of scorn at the corners of her mouth, and the firm, strong, elegantly moulded chin.

It was evident that the man and the woman were father and daughter, for the resemblance between the distorted dead face and the grimy living one was strong; the manifest difference in ages finished the conclusion.

Was she fatally hurt? What if she should die? What effect would the knowledge of her father’s death have upon her? How long would she remain helpless on the couch, held by her injuries; and how long, after her possible recovery, would she be held a prisoner by the impassable condition of the roads? Would she be cheerful and brave through it all?

She was growing more and more restless; wise haste was now the crowning necessity. First of all, she must have suitable clothing, and it must be provided before he made his bungling efforts to set her broken bone. How could he hope to perform this difficult surgical feat with no more knowledge of its requirements than he had secured while serving a few times as Dr. Malbone’s untrained assistant in the mountains, and with the most inadequate understanding of the use of such splints, bandages, needles, and ligatures as Dr. Malbone had given him for his use upon himself in case of an emergency, and with an imperfect knowledge of the narcotics, stimulants, febrifuges, and other medicines with which Dr. Malbone had provided him? The sufferer had youth and superb health; but how could he feel the smallest assurance that, in the event he should secure a knitting of the fracture, crookedness and deformity from improper adjustment would not result? But there was nothing to do but try, and to bring every intelligent force of his nature to the task.

He hoped that she would not regain consciousness before he should make another trip to the scene of the tragedy and secure her luggage. The twilight was deepening. He threw logs on the smouldering fire in the chimney-place and started to leave. He paused a moment at the door to watch his patient. She was again stirring and moaning.

“A sedative would be safer,” he reflected. And then, when he had poured it with great difficulty down her throat, he wondered if he had given her too much, and if it would have a bad effect in depressing her vitality and working against her rallying. He waited until she had become still and quiet, and then hastened down to the road.

The storm had been gradually changing in character. He had expected the snow to wait until the wind had fallen, but a hurricane was still blowing, and snow was coming down in long gray slants. Already it had begun to whiten and fill crevices into which the wind was driving it. It would have been better had he brought a lantern, but there was no time for that; and the wind doubtless would have made its use impossible.