Anne Part 53

"Yes; so she tells me. The ladies of the Aid Society who sent her arranged it. And I wish with all my heart that our other young nurses were as well taken care of!" added the surgeon, a comical expression coming into his small eyes.

"On ordinary occasions I would not, of course, interfere with these orders," said Anne, "but on this I must. You must trust me with Diana, doctor--Diana and July. They will take good care of me."

"I suppose I shall _have_ to yield, Miss Douglas. But I regret, regret exceedingly, that I have not full authority over you. I feel it necessary to say formally that your going is against my wishes and my advice. And now, since you _will_ have your own way in any case, I must do what I can for you."

An hour later, two mules were ascending the mountain-side, following an old trail; Anne was on one, the tall grave Diana on the other. July walked in front, with his gun over his shoulder.

"No danjah hyah," he a.s.sured them volubly; "soldiers doan' come up dis yer way at all. Dey go draggin' 'long in de mud below always; seem to like 'em."

But Anne was not thinking of danger. "Could we not go faster by the road?" she asked.

"'Spec's we could, miss. But wudn't darst to, ef I was you."

"No, no, miss," said Diana. "Best keep along in dese yere woods; dey's safe."

The hours were endless. At last it seemed to Anne as if they were not moving at all, but merely sitting still in their saddles, while a continuous procession of low trees and high bushes filed slowly past them, now pointing upward, now slanting downward, according to the nature of the ground. In reality they were moving forward, crossing a spur of the mountain, but so dense was the foliage of the thicket, and so winding the path, that they could not see three feet in any direction, and all sense of advance was therefore lost. Anne fell into a mental lethargy, which was troubled every now and then by that strange sense of having seen particular objects before which occasionally haunts the brain. Now it was a tree, now a bird; or was it that she had known July in some far-off anterior existence, and that he had kicked a stone from his path in precisely that same way?

It was late twilight when, after a long descent still shrouded in the interminable thicket, the path came out suddenly upon a road, and Anne's eyes seemed to herself to expand as the view expanded. She saw a valley, the gray smoothness of water, and here and there roofs. July had stopped the mules in the shadow.

"Can you tell me which house it mought be, miss?" he asked, in a low, cautious tone.

"No," replied Anne. "But the person I am trying to find is named Heathcote--Captain Heathcote. We must make inquiries."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "JULY WALKED IN FRONT, WITH HIS GUN OVER HIS SHOULDER."]

"Now do be keerful, miss," urged July, keeping Anne's mule back.

"I'll jes' go and peer roun' a bit. But you stay hyar with Di."

"Yes, miss," said Diana. "We'll go back in de woods a piece, and wait.

July'll fin' out all about 'em."

Whether willingly or unwillingly, Anne was obliged to yield; the two women rode back into the woods, and July stole away cautiously upon his errand.

It was ten o'clock before he returned; Anne had dismounted, and was walking impatiently to and fro in the warm darkness.

"Found 'em, miss," said July. "But it's cl'ar 'cross de valley.

Howsomever, valley's safe, dey say, and you can ride right along ober."

"Was it Mr. Heathcote?" said Anne, as the mules trotted down a cross-road and over a bridge, July keeping up with a long loping run.

"Yes, miss; Heathcote's de name. I saw him, and moughty sick he looked."

"What did he say?"

"Fever's in him head, miss, and didn't say nothing. Senses clean done gone."

Anne had not thought of this, it changed her task at once. He would not know her; she could do all that was necessary in safety, and then go unrecognized away. "What will he say?" she had asked herself a thousand times. Now, he would say nothing, and all would be simple and easy.

"Dis yere's de place," said July, pausing.

It was a low farm-house with a slanting roof; there was a light in the window, and the door stood open. Anne, springing from her saddle, and followed by Diana, hastened up the little garden path. At first there seemed to be no one in the room into which the house door opened; then a slight sound behind a curtain in one corner attracted her attention, and going across, she drew aside the drapery. The head moving restlessly to and fro on the pillow, with closed eyes and drawn mouth, was that of Ward Heathcote.

She spoke his name; the eyes opened and rested upon her, but there was no recognition in the glance.

"Bless you! his senses has been gone for days," said the farmer's wife, coming up behind her and looking at her patient impartially. "He don't know n.o.body no more'n a day-old baby!"

CHAPTER XXV.

"Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or tends with the remover to remove: Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compa.s.s come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom."

--SHAKSPEARE.

"Why did you not send across to the hospital at the mill?" said Anne.

"Dr. Flower, receiving no second message, supposed that Captain Heathcote had recovered."

"Well, you see, I reckon I know as much about this yer fever as the doctors do as never had it," replied Mrs. Redd. "The captain couldn't be moved; that was plain as day. And we hadn't a horse, nuther. Our horse and mules have all been run off and stole."

Mrs. Redd was a clay-colored woman, with a figure which, cavernous in front, was yet so rounded out behind that if she could have turned her head round she would have been very well shaped. Her knowledge of the fever was plainly derived from personal experience; she explained that she had it "by spells," and that "Redd he has it too," and their daughter Nancy as well. "Redd he isn't to home now, nor Nancy nuther.

But Redd he'll be back by to-morrow night, I reckon. If you want to stay, I can accommodate you. You can have the loft, and the n.i.g.g.e.rs can sleep in the barn. But they'll have to cook for themselves. I shall be mighty glad to have some help in tending on the captain; I'm about wore out."

Mrs. Redd did not mention that she had confiscated the sick man's money, and hidden it safely away in an old tea-pot, and that all her knowledge of arithmetic was at work keeping a daily account of expenses which should in the end exactly balance the sum. She had no intention of stealing the money--certainly not. But of course her "just account" must be paid. She could still work at this problem, she thought, and earn something as well from the new-comers, who would also relieve her from all care of the sick man: it was clearly a providence. In the glow of this expected gain she even prepared supper. Fortunately in summer her kitchen was in the open air, and the room where Heathcote lay was left undisturbed.

Anne had brought the hospital medicines with her, and careful instructions from Mary Crane. If she had come upon Heathcote before her late experiences, she would have felt little hope, but men whose strength had been far more reduced than his had recovered under her eyes. Diana was a careful nurse; July filled the place of valet, sleeping on straw on the floor. She ordered down the bed-curtains and opened all the windows; martial law regarding air, quiet, and medicines was proclaimed. The sick man lay quietly, save for the continued restless motion of his head.

"If we could only stop his slipping his head across and back in that everlasting way, I believe he'd be better right off," said Mrs. Redd.

"It done him good, 'pears to me," said July, who already felt a strong affection in his capacious vagabondizing heart for the stranger committed to his care. "Yo' see, it kinder rests his mind like."

"Much mind _he's_ got to rest with!" said Mrs. Redd, contemptuously.

With her two a.s.sistants, it was not necessary that Anne should remain in the room at night, and she did not, at least in personal presence; but every half-hour she was at the top of the stairway, silently watching to see if Diana fulfilled her duties. On the third day the new medicines and the vigilance conquered. On the fifth day the sick man fell into his first natural slumber. The house was very still. Bees droned serenely.

There was no breeze. Anne was sitting on the door-steps. "Ought I to go now before he wakens?" she was thinking. "But I _can_ not until the danger is surely over. He may not recognize me even now." She said to herself that she would stay a short time longer, but without entering the room where he was; Diana could come to her for orders, and the others must not allude to her presence. Then, as soon as she was satisfied that his recovery was certain, she could slip away unseen. She went round to the back of the house to warn the others; it was all to go on as though she was not there.

Heathcote wakened at last, weak but conscious. He had accepted without speech the presence of Diana and July, and had soon fallen asleep again, "like a chile." He ate some breakfast the next morning, and the day pa.s.sed without fever. Mrs. Redd p.r.o.nounced him convalescent, and declared decisively that all he needed was to "eat hearty." The best medicine now would be "a plenty of vittals." In accordance with this opinion she prepared a meal of might, carried it in with her own hands, and in two minutes, forgetting all about the instructions she had received, betrayed Anne's secret. Diana, who was present, looked at her reproachfully: the black skin covered more faithfulness than the white.

"Well, I do declare to Jerusalem I forgot!" said the hostess, laughing.

"However, now you know it, Miss Douglas might as well come in, and make you eat if she can. For eat you must, captain. Why, man alive, if you could see yourself! You're just skin and rattling bones."

And thus it all happened. Anne, afraid to lay so much as a finger's weight of excitement of any kind upon him in his weak state, hearing his voice faintly calling her name, and understanding at once that her presence had been disclosed, came quietly in with a calm face, as though her being there was quite commonplace and natural, and taking the plate from Diana, sat down by the bedside and began to feed him with the bits of chicken, which was all of the meal of might that he would touch. She paid no attention to the expression which grew gradually in his feeble eyes as they rested upon her and followed her motions, at first vaguely, then with more and more of insistence and recollection.

"Anne?" he murmured, after a while, as if questioning with himself. "It is Anne?"

She lifted her hand authoritatively. "Yes," she said; "but you must not talk. Eat."

He obeyed; but he still gazed at her, and then slowly he smiled. "You will not run away again?" he whispered.