CHAPTER XII.
A DESPERATE CHANCE.
For a few hours that day Marion remained quietly in her room. She was not expected on duty, and it was fortunate for her that they could spare her.
She had returned the picture of Reginald Brookes without a word to Miss Williams, but the revelation it had brought to her distressed her beyond expression.
“It must be a mistake,” she whispered over and over. “The thing is impossible! It is too utterly horrible!”
Then the dying girl’s words came back to her distinctly. On her deathbed it was not probable that Kittie would have told a falsehood.
Marion was glad when the batch of letters was handed to her. They would serve to take her mind from this dreadful subject. The first letter was from Dollie, telling of her success as a typewriter.
“I am getting on famously,” she wrote, “and as my employer is old and bald, Ralph has not yet become jealous. Miss Allyn and I love our little flat better every day, and the only thing we miss that would make us perfectly happy is the daily companionship of my darling sister.”
Marion smiled very happily as she folded the letter.
“Dear Dollie! She is perfectly happy, and, oh! I am so glad for her. Not for worlds would I darken her life with so much as a glimpse of the misery I am witnessing!”
The next letter was from her mother, and Marion opened it eagerly. She was almost sure to hear some news of Sallie. As she read the first page her brow grew dark, and at the end she crumpled the letter angrily in her hand.
“Silas Johnson is a brute! Oh, how I despise him!” she cried. “To think that he received my letter and paid no attention to it! He did not care enough about his wife to even go and get her. Poor Sallie! I wonder if she died in Bellevue, after all. Oh, I almost wish I had followed the ambulance, and I would have done it if I hadn’t promised to take the Thomas Brennan.”
She paced the floor for awhile in great perplexity. If Sallie was living she felt that she must know it.
After a time she opened another letter. It was from Mr. Ray, and her cheeks crimsoned as she read it.
“After all, there is at least one good man in the world yet,” she said, bitterly: “and they are leaving England to-day, he and his sister, and how happy I shall be to renew their acquaintance.”
As Marion went to pick up the last letter she shrank back in alarm. The handwriting was not familiar, but nevertheless she could guess who was the writer.
“I won’t read it! I won’t even touch it,” she thought, indignantly. “How could he write to me, the cowardly fellow!”
Then a feeling of shame passed over Marion’s soul. She was condemning this man unheard, which was not like her just nature.
“There must be some mistake,” she whispered slowly. “Kittie may have found that picture, or perhaps she was still delirious when she told me. After all, why should I believe so absolutely in a dying girl’s word? Is not the brain sadly clouded and perhaps entirely irresponsible at such a moment? No, I will not convict him until I have heard his story! It is only just, and I shall read his letter.”
It was such a pleasant, jolly letter, yet Marion almost shivered as she perused it carefully.
It was not until she was putting the letter back in the envelope that she discovered an extra scrap of paper.
The doctor had thought of another word to say, apparently, and there was not room to add it to his already overfilled letter. Marion read the slip of paper with dilated eyes. The news it gave her was, to say the least, extraordinary.
“By the way, Miss Marlowe,” the postscript read, “a little maid servant of mother’s ran away a couple of weeks or so ago, and both mother and myself have worried considerably about her. The cause of our worry is simply that the child had been betrayed and we had hoped to help her in her hour of trouble. I mention this, knowing that such cases land frequently in ‘Charity,’ so please keep your eyes open for such a young lady. Her name is Kittie, and she is about sixteen, and very pretty.”
Marion passed her hand thoughtfully across her brow. She was, if anything, more mystified and astounded than ever.
“If he is guilty, then no words can describe him,” she said, finally, “for he must be a fiend incarnate if he could wrong the girl and then sit down calmly and write such a letter.”
Marion was glad when the hour for duty came. She hurried back to her ward as to a haven of refuge.
That night, after sunset, Marion went out for a walk about the Island. She went alone from preference, as she wished to do some hard thinking.
Young Dr. Brookes had said that he would see her the next day, as he had found an excellent excuse for running over to the Island.
“What shall I say to him?” Marion asked herself as she stood on the sea-wall and gazed out over the water.
A squad of convicts passed near her as she stood there. They were marching with the prison “lockstep,” which was now becoming familiar to Marion.
The young girl did not turn her eyes, for she dreaded to see them. A look at their rough faces always made her heart ache sadly.
As she stood in her simple frock, with her big white apron, she made a picture of beauty such as had never been seen on the Island.
Pretty faces and sweet faces had been seen there from time to time, but this willowy girl, with her mass of chestnut hair and her splendid head set on such graceful shoulders, would have attracted attention from any man in the land, then how much more the attention of these imprisoned unfortunates.
Not one convict alone, but a dozen of them glanced at her.
There was a sharp command from the guard, followed by a sullen answer. The next second, before Marion realized what was happening, there came a splash in the water. One of the convicts in desperation had leaped into the river.
“Forward! March!” cried a guard, in almost furious tones.
The squad moved on toward the penitentiary without so much as turning their heads, while one of the guards, rifle in hand, stepped quickly to the wall beside Marion.
“Come back, or I’ll fire!” he called out, sternly, as a smooth shaven head appeared slowly above the surface.
Marion reached up instinctively and grasped the guard’s arm.
“Don’t! don’t!” she gasped, “He will come back: I am sure of it!”
The man’s gaze never wavered from the bend above the water.
“If I had a boat I could save him,” he said, very coolly, “but I haven’t, and I must get him. That’s all there is about it!”
“You mean he must not escape?” said Marion, in agony.
“I lose my job if he does,” was the sullen answer. Then he raised the rifle, with one finger on the trigger.
“Once more, come back or I’ll fire!” he bawled, distinctly.
There was a little splash in the water as the swimmer turned around.
“You can fire and be d—d!” he shouted, hoarsely.
Marion covered her eyes, so that she could not see what happened.
There was a report of a rifle that echoed across the water.
“Hell Gate” or its vicinity had received another victim.
CHAPTER XIII.
MARION FINDS SALLIE.
As Marion rushed back to the hospital a boat moved slowly away from the little dock. It was the boat from Bellevue and had left its usual quota of patients. The horrible scene which she had just witnessed was one which she knew would remain with her always and which she would almost have given her life to have prevented.
“Oh, how terrible his life must have been!” she thought, “if the poor fellow preferred death in such a horrible manner.”
Then, curiously enough, on the very steps of the hospital she came face to face with the “Bible reader.”
“What has happened?” asked the woman, as she read Marion’s horrified expression.
“A convict shot and drowned,” was the young girl’s low answer. “Another victim has paid the penalty of sin or weakness!”
“Unrepentant, unforgiven,” murmured the woman, in horror.
The young girl turned upon her with an agonized countenance.
“We cannot say that—we do not know,” she said very sharply; then she fled hastily up the steps and into the building.
In order to reach the floor Marion had to pass the reception ward, and, as usual, she glanced in at the door in passing.
There was something going on that was out of the ordinary, but she was too upset to inquire into its meaning.
All that night the scene that she had witnessed haunted her, and she arose the next morning looking pale and haggard. As she left her room the Superintendent of Nurses met her. She was a middle-aged woman, rather stout and very dignified.
“I am going to transfer you to the medical ward for awhile, Miss Marlowe,” she said, briefly. “You can go in there at once and report to Miss Franklin.”
Marion bowed and turned in the direction indicated. It was a sad disappointment to her to be obliged to leave the “Maternity.” “I almost love Miss Williams,” she said to herself, “but as I seem to have a faculty for loving almost everybody, perhaps I shall love Miss Franklin.”
As she reached the entrance to the ward she stopped a moment. There were several new patients being put to bed, and Miss Franklin was busy.
Suddenly from the direction of the patients’ elevator there came a fearful shriek.
Marion’s face turned pale and her knees trembled as she heard it.
Miss Franklin darted past her just as the elevator stopped and let out an orderly and two doctors, who were all struggling with a patient.
Marion shrank back against the wall to give them a chance to pass her, and as she did so she overheard the house physician saying something to Miss Franklin.
“It developed yesterday as she was coming up on the boat. I’ll have her transferred to Ward’s Island to-morrow.”
“And meanwhile we’ll have all the other patients standing on their heads,” was Miss Franklin’s curt answer. “It seems to me that all the lunatics are brought straight to the ‘Medical’!”
“Can’t help it this time,” said the doctor, smiling, “and you know you can manage her the best of any one, Miss Franklin.”
The head nurse flushed at this genuine compliment. She was as conscientious as she was exacting, and such words were her recompense.
For the next few minutes everything was in commotion, for with a sudden effort the new patient sprang from the orderly’s arms and, rushing the length of the ward, bounded up on a table which held some charts and glasses.
“Quick! before she secures a weapon!” said the doctor to the orderly in a low, fierce tone.
The orderly sprang forward, but he was a minute too late. The woman had snatched a couple of glasses and cracked them together. With a piece of jagged glass in each hand she stood, alert and waiting.
Just at this very moment Marion took a step into the ward. She opened her eyes wider as she stared hard at the woman.
“Come on, Sile, and I’ll finish you!” shrieked the poor, crazy woman defiantly. “Jest strike me ag’in, yer coward, an’ I’ll kill yer, Silas Johnson!”
“My goodness! It is Sallie!” cried Marion with a gasp. “Oh, be careful of her, doctor! It is Sallie! Poor, dear Sallie.”
Before Marion could say more Miss Franklin stood before her.
“Hush! you simpleton!” she said, sternly.
“Don’t you see what you are doing? Is it any reason because you know her that you should frighten all the patients!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” cried Marion, who was scarlet with embarrassment. “I will not make another sound—only do let me go to her.”
Miss Franklin smiled in a sarcastic way. “Certainly, go to her if you wish and quiet her if you can. She evidently takes the orderly for some other person.”
“She thinks he is Silas Johnson, her husband,” said Marion, as she started down the ward. “Oh, can it be possible that this is poor Sallie!”
“Don’t go near her yet, miss,” said the orderly, as Marion approached. “She’s ‘as mad as a March hare.’ She’d cut your face open with that glass in a minute. We’ve got to do a little planning to capture the lady.”
Marion looked at Sallie as she crouched on the table. Her face was ashen, her eyes red and glaring, and her hair, which was always poor Sallie’s one beauty, fell in unkempt masses over her back and shoulders.
Not once did she take her burning gaze from the face of the orderly, and fierce, undying hatred was stamped upon her features.
“If you will only go away, I am sure I can calm her,” said Marion, bravely. “Sallie will not hurt me—even if she is crazy.”
“You can go, orderly,” said the physician, who was close to Marion. “I think this nurse can quiet the girl, and I don’t wish to resort to force if it can be avoided.”
Marion thanked him with a smile, and the orderly backed away with a grin of delight.
It was not always pleasant to be taken for a crazy woman’s husband.
“Sallie! Sallie! Don’t you know me?” asked Marion, softly, as she walked up slowly and stood beside the table.
The maniac did not notice her until the orderly had disappeared, then with a sigh of relief she dropped the sharp weapons that she had been clutching.
“He’ll never strike me again now, Marion,” she cried, shrilly, “I’ve done jest as yer said. I’ve defied him at last, an’ now I’m goin’ ter run away an’ go tew the city.”
CHAPTER XIV.
MARION’S FIRST PROPOSAL.
It was several days before Sallie recovered her senses, but she had not been transferred, much to Marion’s satisfaction.
With the last disappearing trace of fever her reason was slowly restored, and her delight was unbounded when she found herself with Marion.
“I’ll never go back,” she said over and over. “I’ll learn tew do nursing and stay right here, Marion. Do beg them tew let me stay! I know I can be useful.”
But Sallie was destined to go back to Silas, although not exactly in the manner she had imagined.
A letter from Deacon Marlowe informed Marion of Silas Johnson’s death. He had been killed by a fall on the ice in his own meadow. Neither Marion nor Sallie said much about the news, but they were both too frank and honest to express any sham sorrow.
Marion’s first leave of absence was to put Sallie on the train and send her back to Hickorytown, a weak, wasted woman. Before they started down to the boat Miss Williams came out in the corridor and handed something to Marion. It was a small, flat package done up in brown paper. “I found them pinned to poor Kittie’s one frock,” she said, sadly, “and as the child had no friends and the baby is dead, I thought perhaps you would like to have them.”
Marion took the parcel with a curious feeling of horror. It seemed a dreadful way to become possessor of Reginald Brookes’ picture.
“I’ll keep them,” she said, slowly, “for I did love the girl, and perhaps I may be able to learn something about her some day.”
On her way to the little flat Marion mailed a note to Reginald Brookes, for she had decided at last that she must settle the matter of the picture.
He had called at the hospital twice, but she had been too busy to see him. Thanks to her work, the excuse was genuine in both instances.
“Oh, Marion! I’m so glad!” cried Dollie as she admitted her. “That dear old ‘baldy’ of mine has given me a day’s vacation. If he hadn’t I would have missed you, and that would have been awful.”
Miss Allyn came in and hugged Marion enthusiastically, and in a very short time they were all seated at a cozy dinner.
“I want you to tell me something, Alma,” said Marion, after she had heard all the news and both girls looked at her quickly, there was so much seriousness in her manner.
“What is it, dear?” asked Miss Allyn, curiously.
“I want you to tell me what you know of Reginald Brookes,” said Marion, quietly. “There is a reason why I should know all that I can possibly learn about him.”
“Oh, Marion, he hasn’t proposed to you already, has he?” asked Dollie.
“No, indeed,” said Marion, laughing, “but I have another reason for wishing to know all I can about him. I will tell you both what it is just as soon as I think I am right in doing so.”
“Well, I will tell you what I know,” said Miss Allyn, blushing a little. “I’ve known Reginald Brookes ever since he was born, so I think I can speak with some authority.”
Marion held her breath and bent forward to listen, and the eagerness in her manner did not escape Miss Allyn.
“Regie Brookes is one of the best and noblest fellows that ever lived,” she said, distinctly, “and on a certain occasion, several years ago, I was fool enough to refuse to marry him.”
“Oh, Miss Allyn!” gasped Dollie, “was Dr. Brookes in love with you and did you throw him over on account of that—that Mr. Colebrook?”
“I guess those are about the facts in the case,” said Miss Allyn, bitterly. “Some women are big geese where men are concerned, but I wasn’t simply a goose, I was a whole flock,” she added, laughing.
“Do you suppose he is all over it?” asked Dollie, who was beginning to feel sympathetic.
“I hope so, I am sure,” said Miss Allyn, quickly. “Why, that was years ago—we were almost children.”
“You would not believe him guilty of wronging a poor girl, would you?” asked Marion, her cheeks tingling as she said it.
“Never!” cried Miss Allyn, emphatically. “He could not do it! Regie Brookes is the soul of chivalry and honor!”
“Then, I will tell you what I mean,” said Marion, slowly, and she repeated the sad story of Kittie’s death and the subsequent detail of the photograph now in her possession.
When she had finished her story, Dollie looked bewildered, but Miss Allyn’s expression of absolute faith had not changed an atom.
“Let me see the picture,” she said at once.
Marion drew the little package from her pocket and started to open it.
“I suppose it is in here; Miss Williams said it contained all of poor Kittie’s treasures,” she said as she tore off the paper and laid the contents on the table.
There was a handkerchief, a bit of ribbon and a brass locket in the package. Then Marion caught her breath as she discovered two pictures.
“This is his!” cried Miss Allyn, snatching up the one of young Brookes.
There was a glad cry from Marion at the very same minute. She was staring hard at the other picture.
“Oh, how wrong I was! How unjust!” she cried, remorsefully. “See! here is the picture of another young man, and Kittie has left no doubt as to who he is, for she has scrawled across the back of it, ‘This is the father of my baby.’”
The girls both looked at the picture and the words which were written on it, while Marion censured herself in the most vigorous language.
“He is a common-looking fellow, almost brutal,” said Dollie, looking again at the picture. “Oh, what a pity Miss Williams hadn’t found this first! I can see by her face that Marion has suffered!”
“I have, indeed,” said Marion, honestly. “It nearly killed me to think so badly of the doctor.”
“Well, you were not altogether to blame,” said Miss Allyn, consolingly. “The circumstances were startling. It would have convinced almost any one.”
There was a peal at the bell as Miss Allyn spoke, and the next moment Dollie had ushered a caller into the little parlor.
“It is Dr. Brookes,” whispered Marion to Miss Allyn. “I asked him to come, but do you know I almost dread to face him, now that I know how I have wronged him.”
“Nonsense!” said Miss Allyn, sensibly. “Just put that out of your mind, Marion. You did him an injustice and have regretted it sincerely. There is no use in torturing yourself by telling him about it.”
“But his picture,” said Marion, a little helplessly.
“Tell him exactly how you got it, and he will probably explain. No doubt the girl stole it while she was working for his mother.”
Marion took her advice and followed it carefully, telling him, in the presence of her friends, of Kittie’s death, but without mentioning the poor girl’s words about the picture.
Dr. Brookes looked grieved to hear of the girl’s death, but he smiled when he saw the photograph of himself. It was just as Miss Allyn had guessed—the little maid had stolen it.
“The first instance on record of any young lady caring enough about me to want my picture,” remarked the young man, with a mischievous glance at Miss Allyn.
For once the young lady was not ready with a gay reply, and Marion, with great tact, managed to turn the conversation.
After a little while both Dollie and Miss Allyn excused themselves, and Marion and Reginald Brookes were alone together.
“Miss Marlowe,” said the doctor, after they had been chatting for some time, “I came here to-night on a rather serious errand. I hope I shall not frighten you by telling you about it, but honestly I can’t keep it to myself much longer.”
He spoke so earnestly and so gently that Marion’s cheeks flushed in an instant. She seemed to feel what was coming, although she tried not to show it.
“You are a dear, good girl, Miss Marlowe,” he whispered, coming closer to her on the sofa, “and I’m an impetuous chap—I can’t make love on schedule! You see, it’s this way,” he went on, talking eagerly, “I fell in love with you that night on the train. It came over me in a second, and I couldn’t resist it. Not that I tried very hard,” he said, laughing a little and pressing the slender fingers that he had found and imprisoned.
“But you don’t know me at all, Dr. Brookes,” Marion tried to answer.
“Oh, I do, indeed!” was the ardent reply. “I know that you are good and brave and noble. I know that your sister and Miss Allyn love you dearly. Then my mother almost fell in love with you that evening, too, and last, but not least, I know that I love you, and if that isn’t enough I’d like to know what is lacking.”
He was kneeling close by her side now, looking up into her eyes, and as Marion saw his handsome face, with its candid, fearless expression, she felt overwhelmed with shame that she had ever doubted him.
Still, he was waiting for her to answer and she must be perfectly honest: She liked him exceedingly well, but did she love him?
Almost as if for answer, the dark, pleading face of Mr. Ray seemed to rise before her vision. Marion caught her breath quickly and her voice trembled as she answered:
“Wait—please wait,” she murmured, with a bewitching smile. “I do not know my own mind yet—and your words are so unexpected.”
“All right, Marion,” said the young man, as he touched his lips to her hand. “I will wait, of course, for I do not wish you to be mistaken, but, oh, Marion, dear, do please try to love me!”
The last glance between them was one of loyal friendship. As he bade her good night Marion was proud that he loved her.
“It will all come right some day,” she murmured to herself. “Some day my heart will choose between them, but until then the duties of life are before me and I must go patiently on in the career I have chosen.”
THE END.
No. 4 of My Queen is entitled “Marion Marlowe’s Noble Work; or, The Tragedy at the Hospital,” a story of the deepest interest, in which Marion passes through many thrilling experiences.