Jane Cable

  When the beautiful and mysterious nurse whose fame had gone up withthe soldiers into Tilad Pass, arrived with others to take chargeof the Red Cross hospital, on the day following the battle, shefound the man she had been longing to see for many weary, heartsickmonths. She found him dying.

  To the surprise of the enthralled command, she fell in a dead swoonwhen she looked upon the pallid face of Graydon Bansemer. She hadgone eagerly from one pallet to another, coming upon his near thelast. One glance was enough. His face had been in her mind formonths--just as she was seeing it now; she had lived in the horrorof finding him cold in death.

  It was Teresa Velasquez who first understood. She knew thatBansemer's one woman had found him at last. Her heart leaped withhatred for one brief instant, then turned soft and contrite. If shehad learned to care for the big American herself during the harddays when he had been so tender, she also had learned that herworship was hopeless. She had felt his yearning love for another;now she was looking upon that other. While the attendants werebending over their unconscious companion, the Spanish girl stoodguard over the man who had been her guardian, the man whose lifewas going out before her miserable, exhausted eyes.

  Jane Cable stirred with returning life; Teresa was quick to see thatwords not medicine would act as the restorative. She went swiftlyto the American girl's side and, clasping her hands, cried sharplyinto her half conscious ears:

  "He is not dead! He is alive! He needs you!"

  The effect was magical. Life leaped into Jane's eyes, vigour intoher body. She recovered from the swoon as mysteriously as she hadsuccumbed to it. Her sudden breakdown had puzzled her companions.It is true that she was new in the service; she had seen but littleof death and suffering; but, with all that, she was known to possessremarkable strength of purpose and fortitude. That she shouldcollapse almost at the outset of her opportunities was the sourceof wonder and no little contempt among her fellow workers. Thewords of the strange girl in men's clothing opened the way to smartsurmises. It was not long before everyone in the command knewthat the "beautiful Red Cross nurse" was not wearing the garb ofthe vocation for the sake of humanity alone--in fact, it was soonunderstood that she did not care a straw for the rest of mankindso long as Graydon Bansemer needed her ministrations.

  Ignoring the principles of the cause she served, she implored thedoctors to confine their efforts to one man among all of them whosuffered; she pleaded and stormed in turn, finally offering fabulousbribes in support of her demands. For the time being, she washalf crazed with fear and dread, woefully unworthy of her station,partially divorced from reason.

  The more desperately wounded were left in the village with anadequate guard, the rest of the command departing with Major March.A temporary hospital was established in the convent. There weretwo doctors and four or five nurses, with a dozen soldiers undercommand of Lieutenant Bray. It was while the apparently dead Bansemerwas being moved to the improvised hospital that Jane presentedherself, distraught with fear, to the young Southerner who hadso plainly shown his love for her. She pleaded with him to startat once for Manila with the wounded, supporting her extraordinaryrequest with the opinion that they could not receive proper carefrom the two young surgeons. Bray was surprised and distressed; hecould not misunderstand her motive.

  He had gone on caring for her without suspecting that there wasor had been another man; she had not confided in him during thoseweary, pleasant months since they left San Francisco behind them.To learn the true situation so suddenly and unexpectedly stunnedhis sensibilities; he found difficulty in grasping the importanceof the change an hour or two had made. He had fought valiantly,even exultantly, in the Pass that morning, her face ever beforehim, her words of praise the best spoils of the victory, shouldthey win. He had come down to the village with joy and confidencein his heart, only to find that he was not, and could never be,anything to her, while the life or memory of this fallen comradestood as a barrier.

  Bray's hour following the discovery that she had deliberately soughtout and found this stricken private was the most bitter in hislife. His pride suffered a shock that appalled him; his unconsciousegotism, born of hereditary conquests, revolted against the thoughtthat his progress toward her heart was to be turned aside by theintervention of a common soldier in the ranks. Gentleman though hewas, he could not subdue the feeling of exultation that came overhim when she approached with her plea. He knew that it was a basesense of power that made him feel that he could punish his pride'soffender by either denying or granting her appeal. The attitude ofself-sacrifice appealed to his wounded vanity; he was tempted toprofit by an exhibition of his own pain and generosity.

  He went with her into the convent and to the pallet on which wasstretched the long, still figure of Graydon Bansemer. A surgeonwas standing near by, studying the grey face with thoughtfuleyes. Bray's first glance at the suffering face sent a thrill ofencouragement through his veins. The man was beyond all human help;the grip of death was already upon his heart.

  Then, the true manhood that had been his, through all generations,revolted against the thought that was in his mind. The man shouldnot die if it was in his power to prevent; no matter what the costto him, he would give his aid to her and hers. He tried to putaside the feeling that death was certain--and very soon, at that;he sought honestly to justify himself in the hope that Bansemer'slife could be saved, after all.

  "Leave me alone with the doctor, Miss Cable," he said. She waskneeling beside the man on the cot. Without a word, but with adark appealing look into the Virginian's eyes, she arose and wentswiftly away. "What chance has this poor fellow, doctor?"

  "None whatever, sir. He'll be dead in an hour. I'm sorry, on heraccount. Strange case. I've heard she belongs to a fine family inthe East. Poor devil, he's got an awful hole in his side."

  "Have you made a careful examination? Is it possible that no vitalspot has been touched?"

  "We haven't had time for a thorough examination; it was betternot to waste the time on him when there were others whom we havea chance to save."

  "You will oblige me, doctor, by giving him the quickest and mostcareful attention. There may be a chance. He is one of the bravestmen in the army. Don't let him die if there is a chance for him.Miss--er--the nurse--has asked if he can be moved to-day."

  "No. But wait; I don't see why, if it will satisfy her. He willdie anyhow, so why not tell her that we will start south with himto-morrow?"

  "It isn't fair. She should be told the truth."

  "He'd die, that's all--any way you put it."

  "You will make the examination?"

  "Yes, in--at once."

  "But you--you feel that it is hopeless?"

  "Certainly, sir."

  "I'm-I'm sorry," said Bray, walking away. The doctor looked afterhim with a queer expression in his eyes and then called his confrereto the pallet.

  Bray found Jane waiting for him outside the door; Teresa Velasquezwas standing beside her, holding her hand.

  "What does he say?" cried Jane, grey with anguish.

  "He cannot be moved. There is no--but little hope, Miss Cable. Theyare to make another examination."

  "He must be saved! He must! Let me go to him now. I will help. Iwill give my life to save his," she cried. Bray stood between herand the door, his arms extended.

  "Don't go in now, I implore. Wait! There may be good news."

  "He is everything in the world to me!" she moaned.

  "Come with me," whispered Teresa. Bray looked at the Spanish girl,and a new light broke in upon his understanding. What was thisrefugee to Bansemer? The answer shot into his brain like a flashand he turned cold.

  "Miss Cable, I think I understand your anxiety," he said, his voicetrembling. "Won't you let this young lady take you away for halfan hour or---"

  "But I am a nurse! Why should I be kept from him? I am here to carefor all of them," she protested.

  "You are not fit to do duty just now," he said. "Miss Cable, Iunderstand why you are here. It is noble of
you. I am truly sorrythat there is so little hope." He was leading her away from thebuilding, leaving Teresa standing there with her eyes fastenedupon the door with a look that could not be mistaken. "I would givemy own life to have his spared for your sake, Jane. Forgive me. Iwould willingly give all I have in life for you. But I am afraidit is impossible to save him."

  "Don't say that," she whispered.

  "You--you would be his wife?" he asked.

  "No, that cannot be. I COULD not be his wife."

  "You mean--he is married?"

  "No, no! not that. You can't understand. I can never marry him--never!"

  Bray struggled for a moment with the puzzle; his eyes went slowlyto Teresa. Then he suddenly understood why Jane Cable would notmarry the man she had come to find. He asked no questions of himself,but Teresa would have been the result of every conjecture had hedone so.

  "He might better be dead," he thought, his eyes hardening. "She'sfound him out. Gad, I hope---" but he put it from him.

  Graydon Bansemer did not die within the hour, nor that day. Thecareful examination of the surgeons gave little additional hope;it did, however, reveal the fact that no vital organ had beendestroyed or injured. The ball had torn a great hole in his leftside and had gone through the body. Probing was not necessary.The flow of blood was frightful. There was a spark of life left onwhich to build a frail hope, and they worked with new interest.

  The attention of everyone was directed to this tragic struggle; theefforts of all were lent to the successful end. Jane Cable, doggedand tireless, came to be his nurse, now that the life thread stillheld together. It is not the purpose of this narrative to dwellupon the wretched, harrowing scenes and incidents of the wildernesshospital. The misery of those who watched and waited for death;the dread and suffering of those who gave this anxiety; the glowof spiritual light which hovered above the forms of men who hadforgotten their God until now.

  The first night passed. There were sleepless eyes to keep companywith the faint moans and the scent of chloroform. Over the figureof Graydon Bansemer hung the eager, tense face of Jane Cable. Herwill and mind were raised against the hand of death; down in hersoul she was crying! "You shall not die!" and he was living, livingon in spite of death. The still, white face gave back no sign oflife; a faint pulse and an almost imperceptible respiration toldof the unbroken thread. Hoping against hope!

  Dawn came, and night again, and still the almost breathless girlurged her will against the inevitable. She had not slept, nor hadshe eaten of the food they brought to her. Two persons, a soldierand a girl, stood back and marvelled at her endurance and devotion;the harassed surgeons, new in experience themselves, found time tominister to the seeming dead man, their interest not only attractedby his remarkable vitality but by the romance attached to his hopeof living.

  That night he moved, and a low moan came from his lips. The Goddessof Good Luck had turned her face from the rest of the world for abrief instant to smile upon this isolated supplicant for favour.Jane's eyes and ears had served her well at last; she caught thechange in him and her will grasped the hope with more dogged tenacitythan before. The word went out that there was a chance for him.Her vigil ended when Bray came to lead her away--ended because shedropped from exhaustion.

  The next morning, after a dead sleep of hours, she returned tohis side. The surgeon smiled and the nurse clasped her hands withtears in her eyes. Bansemer was breathing thickly and tossing indelirium. It was as if he had been lifted from the grave.

  Lieutenant Bray was seated in front of the convent late thatevening, moodily studying his own emotions. Teresa, still attiredas she had been for weeks, hung about the chapel with the persistanceof a friendless dog. He watched her and pitied her, even as hepitied himself for the wound he was nursing. What was to become ofher? He called her to him.

  "Senorita, they say he is better. Tell me, does it mean much toyou?"

  "Oh, senor, he has been noble and good and honourable. If he livesI shall always hold these weeks with him in absolute reverence."

  "Then she does not understand?"

  "She? What is there for her to understand? She loves him and heloves her. That is enough."

  "She says she will not marry him. There must be a reason."

  The girl's face darkened instantly and her breath came quickly.

  "You--you think that I am the reason? Is it so? Because I am herein these hateful clothes? You would say that to me? How dare you!"

  She burst out with tears of rage and shame and fled from his sight.

  Jane came rapidly through the church door, out of the gloom andodour into the warm sunshine and the green glow of the world, herface bright, her eyes gleaming.

  "He is conscious!" she cried. "He knows me!"

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE SEPARATION OF HEARTS