A Sister of the Red Cross: A Tale of the South African War

Suddenly, as is always the case, the effect of the drug which he had imbibed changed. He became sleepy and stupid. His head reeled, and he staggered as though he were drunk. Presently, unable to go another step, he fell down by the roadside. There Mollie Hepworth found him.

By the next morning he was himself again, and he then remembered all that had occurred. He was convinced that he had been drugged the night before. His suspicions with regard to Strause became intensified, and he felt that if this sort of thing continued much longer there was nothing for him but to leave the army, a ruined, and, in the eyes of many, a disgraced man. For he was quite aware of the fact that Strause dropped hints by no means in his favour. In no other way could he account for the coldness that had arisen amongst his old friends. He was thoroughly miserable, and but for his mother, would have left England for ever.

A few days after this Strause met him with the information that he had exchanged into another regiment.

"I am heartily glad to hear it," was Keith's rejoinder.

Strause looked him full in the eyes.

"All the same, we shall meet again," he said; "I have not done with you, my fine fellow."

Keith had a good deal of recuperative power, and after Strause went he began once again to recover. Hope returned to him; the brightness came back to his eyes, and the vigour to his frame. He never ceased to regret that he had not insisted on Strause's ugly suspicions being brought into the light of day; but being relieved from the man's society, he once more began to enjoy existence. He resolved not to let Major Strause ruin his life.

He sincerely hoped that he and his enemy might not meet again. The loss of five thousand pounds of his legacy mattered but little if he had really got rid of Strause. He became once more popular and beloved, and at the time when this story opens he had, to a great extent, got over the shock which Aylmer's death and its subsequent events had caused him.

Several months had passed since that fatal time when Mollie Hepworth had found him, drugged and insensible, by the roadside. He had tried to forget all the incidents of that dreadful night, except one. Over and over, often when he was dropping asleep, often in his busiest and most active moments, the face of Mollie, so kind, so calm, with an indefinable likeness to another face which he knew, and in a great measure loved, came back to him. He felt that Mollie was his guardian angel, and he wondered if he should ever meet her again. When she arrived at his mother's house, and he found that the girl who had helped him in the lowest moment of his life was really Kitty's sister, his surprise and delight were almost indescribable. Before twenty-four hours had gone the inevitable thing had taken place: he had lost his heart to Mollie Hepworth.

He loved her with all a young man's first passion. He had liked girls before, but he had never loved any one till now. Yes, he loved Mollie, and he did not see that there was any obstacle to his winning her. When he stood by her side in the front drawing-room in his mother's house before dinner, when once or twice his hand touched hers, and when many times his eyes looked into hers, he thought of a moment when he might draw her close to him and tell her everything. He had not told her everything yet. All he had told her was that he knew for a fact that Major Strause had drugged him; that he was in the major's power, and did not see any way out. He had told her nothing about Aylmer. He felt that the story, if it were to be kept a secret, ought not to be known even by one so trustworthy as Mollie. And as he talked to her and listened to her grave, sensible replies, he felt that he loved her more and more each moment. How glad he was now that he had never gone too far with pretty, gay, dear little Kitty! His mother had hinted more than once that Kitty would be a desirable wife for him. He had been wise not to listen to his mother's words. He had always been fond of Kitty, but he had never, he felt, said one word to her which she could justly misinterpret. Yes, he was free – free to woo Mollie, and to win her if he could. He knew that he would woo earnestly and with passion. He had a sudden sense, too, of belief in his own ultimate success. She loved her profession, but there was that in her which would make her love him even better.

He sat down to dinner in the best of spirits, and his eyes often followed the girl who was now occupying all his thoughts. After dinner he was destined to see the other side of the picture; for Kitty, in her despair, had shown him so much of her heart that he could not for an instant mistake her feelings. He was shocked, distressed. Once again he blamed himself.

"I am doomed to be unlucky," he muttered, as he tossed from side to side on his pillow. "Is it possible that Aylmer came by his death by foul means? O my God, I cannot even think on that topic! Is it also possible that at any time I gave poor little Kitty reason to believe that I cared for her other than as a brother? Honestly, I don't think I have done so. Poor little girl! I don't love her in the way she wants me to love her. She would make a dear little sister, but a wife – no. Kitty, I don't love you as a wife ought to be loved, and I do love your sister Mollie. What a position for a man to be in!"

CHAPTER VII.

CONFIDENCES

When Mollie went to bed that night, she found her sister seated by the fire. Her cheeks were deeply flushed, and traces of tears were plainly visible round her pretty eyes. When she saw Mollie, she turned her head petulantly aside. Mollie, in some astonishment, went up to her.

"Why are you not in bed, Kit?" she asked.

Mollie's matter-of-fact, almost indifferent words were as the proverbial last straw to the excited girl. She sprang to her feet, flung her arms to her sides, and confronted her sister, her brown eyes flashing, her cheeks on fire.

"You ask me that!" she said – "you! Why did you ever come back? If you meant to devote your life to nursing, why did you not stay with your patients? Why did you come back now of all times to – to destroy my hopes? Oh, I am the most wretched girl in the world!"

"What do you mean, Kitty?" said Mollie, in astonishment. "I do not understand you. Have you lost your senses?"

"My heart is broken," answered Kitty; and now all her fortitude gave way, and she sobbed as though she would weep away her life.

Mollie was very much startled. She thought she knew Kitty, but she did not understand this strange mood. She went on her knees, put her arms round the younger girl, and tried, at first in vain, to comfort her.

"You must save me!" cried Kitty presently, and her voice rose to a high hysterical note. "I shall die if you don't."

"But what am I to save you from, Kitty? And die, my darling! What extraordinary, intemperate words!"

"Oh, what do I care for my words? I am too wretched, too miserable! Don't you know what is going to happen?"

"No; what? Do speak."

"Gavon is going away, perhaps to be killed. He – is going to South Africa on Saturday week."

"Then, Kitty," replied Mollie, "are all these tears – is all this awful misery – on account of Gavon?"

Kitty struggled out of her sister's embrace.

"And why shouldn't it be?" she asked. "Have I not loved him for years? Oh, I don't mind saying it. Did I ever care for any other man? I could have married long ago, but I would not. I never cared for any one but Gavon all my days. All my hopes were centred on him, and he – O Mollie, yes, it is true – he did like me until you came."

Mollie felt a crimson flood rush to her face; she also felt a choking sensation round her heart. So this was the secret of Kitty's misery! She was silent for a moment, too absolutely astonished to speak. Then she said in a voice which was stern for her, —

"Dry your tears. Sit down, please. We must talk this matter out."

But Kitty's only response was a fresh burst of weeping.

"She is hysterical; I can do nothing with her until she gets over this attack," thought Mollie. She pushed her sister towards a chair, and said gravely, "If you will not listen to me now, we will defer our conversation. I am going to bed."

She went to the other side of the room, and began immediately to undress. For a time Kitty kept on sobbing, her face buried in her arms, which she had flung across the back of the chair. But presently, seeing that Mollie took not the slightest notice of her, she said in a semi-whisper, —

"I will be good, Mollie. I know I am horribly naughty, but I will be good now. I will listen to you."

"I am glad you are getting back your senses," replied Mollie; "but, Kitty, you must prepare for a scolding."

"Oh, I will be very good," answered Kitty again. "Scold me if you like. Do anything except keep silence; do anything except look so awfully, awfully indifferent."

"Indifferent!" cried Mollie; "how very little you know! But, Kate, my dear, I am ashamed of you. Your want of self-control distresses me. I don't know much about love and lovers, but I do know that, in our mother's day at least, no girl would talk as you have done to-night; no girl would wear her heart on her sleeve; no girl in the old days would declare her love for a man who had not spoken to her of his."

"And what do I care for the old-fashioned girl?" said Kitty. "I am modern, and I have modern ways. I do love Gavon, and I don't mind saying so. And, Mollie, I swear that he did love me before you came."

"Is this true?" said Mollie, in an altered voice. "Tell me everything."

"Yes, it is true. The moment he saw you there came a change over him." Here Kitty looked full up at her sister. "And you love him too, I believe," she said suddenly.

"No, Kitty," answered Mollie; "that is a remark I cannot permit you to make. If Gavon is your lover, he can be less than nothing to me. Now, please, do not conceal anything from me."

Thus adjured, Kitty spoke.

"I am terribly unhappy in every way," she said. "It is not only that for a long time I have hoped to become Gavon's wife, but I have got – yes, it is true, Mollie – I have got desperately and hopelessly into debt. I owe Madame Dupuys a large sum of money. Madame Dupuys knows that when I am of age I shall have quite a nice little fortune of my own, and until lately she seemed quite willing to wait to be paid when it was convenient to me; but of late she has pressed and pressed me. I have not been really frightened, for I thought the very moment Gavon asked me to marry him Aunt Louisa would be so pleased that she would help me to satisfy madame's requirements. But if Gavon doesn't ask me – and now, oh, now I begin to think that he never, never will! – I shall not know what to do. I shall be not only a miserable, forsaken girl, but I shall be disgraced."

"Nonsense, Kitty. It is very wrong indeed to go into debt, and for my part I do not understand any girl going into debt for mere finery."

"Oh, you are so grand and above us all," interrupted Kitty. "You don't understand the failings, the weaknesses, the longings of poor girls like myself."

"In some ways I am glad I don't," answered Mollie. "But there, we need not discuss my feelings in the matter. The thing is to know how to get you out of your present scrape. As to your sensations with regard to Captain Keith I have nothing to say, for I cannot understand your want of reticence in the matter. But the other thing ought to be attended to. You must allow me to tell Aunt Louisa, if you are afraid to do so."

"No, no, Mollie – no, no," answered Kitty; "that would quite destroy my last hope. Auntie has a perfect horror of girls who go into debt, and so has Gavon; I have heard him say so. I heard him say once that even if he loved a girl, and he found that she was frivolous, and extravagant, and ran into debt, he would never, never marry her. And that made me finally make up my mind that under no circumstances was he to know. You must not tell Aunt Louisa. I will get out of it some way, somehow, but you must not tell her."

"It is a very puzzling story. I scarcely know what to do," answered Mollie.

Kitty's eyes had now grown bright. She had ceased to weep so bitterly.

"After all," she said, "if you will only help me, things may come right. I shan't go into debt after this week, and I will try to make some kind of arrangement with madame. I have great hopes that on Monday night Gavon may ask me to marry him."

"Why on Monday night, Kitty?"

"Oh, I am going to Lady Marsden's fancy ball at Goring, and Gavon is to be there; and the beautiful dress I ordered from Madame Dupuys is to be worn on that occasion. I am to go as the Silver Queen. I think Gavon will like me in that dress, and – anyhow it is my last chance. If he proposes to me, all will be well. I shall be engaged – as happy as the day is long; and I don't mind Aunt Louisa knowing then – I don't mind anything then. And there's one way in which it can be done, and one way only."

"What is that?" asked Mollie.

"You, Mollie, my darling, must go away. You must not see Gavon. O Mollie, won't you, won't you help me? I want you to keep right away. I want you to go somewhere just until after Monday. Give me Monday night for my last chance."

"Suppose it fails?" said Mollie, almost in a whisper.

"Then," answered Kitty, with a shiver, "I will try hard to be good. I will take up my poor, broken failure of a life and make the best of it. But please, please give me my last chance. If he says nothing on Monday night, I shall have no hope. Please go away, Mollie, for the next three days."

"I could do so," answered Mollie. "I wonder if it is right. This is Thursday evening. I have a great friend, Nurse Garston, who is also a Red Cross Sister. She has often asked me to visit her in her home in the north of London."

"Then go, Mollie; do, Mollie darling, go!"

"I would do so if it were really the best thing for you."

"It is the only thing."

"But would you marry Gavon, Kitty, if you knew that he did not love you?"

"But he does."

"If you knew that he did not love you just in the extreme way in which a man ought to love the woman he is about to make his wife?"

"I don't care – yes, I would marry him. I would make him love me utterly, completely, if only I were his wife."

Once again Kitty flung herself into her sister's arms, and once again her tears flowed. Mollie was silent for a moment, standing very upright, allowing the young, slight figure to rest against her with all its weight. An imperceptible shudder went through her frame – she was seeing a picture. She saw in Gavon Keith's eyes an expression which no woman ever yet saw and mistook. A secret was whispered in her ear; her heart gave one throb of inexpressible joy, and then went down, down, as though it were sinking out of sight. The next instant her brave young arms were flung around Kitty.

"Come, Kitty," she said, "you are giving way to nonsense, and are hysterical. I will put you to bed. and you must fall asleep."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE PURSE MARK K. H

Kitty did sleep, but Mollie remained awake. All her healthy nature was disturbed; the daily routine of her useful life was passionately interrupted. She had now come face to face with tragedy, and this tragedy surrounded her own young and dearly-loved sister. Katherine, reckless, undignified, destitute of self-control, had given her heart to Gavon Keith. His heart had not responded to hers. Kitty was driven to despair, and was not strong-minded enough to conceal her feelings.

"He does not care for her," thought Mollie; and as the thought came to her she shivered, and put her hand before her eyes and tried to shut out a picture. It was a picture which fascinated her, and which she had often, often seen since it had first revealed itself to her as a reality. She saw a man lying by the roadside, and a girl bent over him. The girl saw his dark eyes open, and a look of bewilderment, then of gratitude, fill them, and she knew that from that moment she was never to forget those special eyes or that special man. She had never forgotten, and when she saw him in Mrs. Keith's house, and knew that he was, after a fashion, her cousin, and knew also that he was the supposed lover of her sister, the weight on her heart had never lifted. For she knew also that he might have been the one man in all the world to her. She might have given him a woman's first great, tender love. For Mollie, whose deepest affections were hard to touch, when once won, would have been won for ever; and Gavon Keith might have won her. Yes, she knew it; she was too honest to disguise her own feelings. He was in trouble too, and this very night he had taken her into his confidence. Such a confidence was dangerous. She knew that she was on the edge of a precipice; and although there was that within her which was strong enough to resist temptation, yet the temptation was keen, bitter, dreadful. She was in danger of loving the man whom Kitty loved. The predicament was a terrible one. Keith's half-confidence, too, had puzzled her. She felt uneasy about him. In what possible way had he put himself into Major Strause's power?

Towards morning she fell asleep; and in her sleep her dreams were of Keith. She fancied herself alone with him in a country far from England – alone, and in circumstances of exceptional difficulty. He and she were both tried in quite an unexpected manner, but in the trial their hearts drew nearer together; and as Mollie opened her eyes that morning she found herself murmuring his name.

"This will never do," she thought. "I must go away immediately. I will not see him again until he is engaged to Kitty. Oh, he must marry her – he must return her love!"

Mollie rose and dressed quickly. Kitty was still sound asleep. Mollie wrote a little note, and left it on the dressing table. It ran: —

"DEAREST KITTY, – I have one or two old friends to visit in the north of London. One of these friends will in all probability offer me a bed. If so, I shall stay away for two or three days – until after Monday. Please tell Aunt Louisa not to expect me for a few days. MOLLIE."

It was not yet eight o'clock when Mollie ran downstairs. She asked for breakfast, and waited for it in the breakfast-room. She ate hurriedly, being afraid that Keith might come downstairs.

It was close on nine o'clock before Kitty awoke. She could not at first make out why there was such a weight at her heart; then it returned to her – Gavon did not love her. Gavon beyond doubt loved her sister.

"I cannot bear it," thought the petulant and angry girl – "I cannot bear it. Why should Mollie come and take him away from me? Have I not loved him for years?"

She rose, and the first thing she saw was Mollie's little note on her dressing table. She opened and read it, and a look of relief crossed her face. She dressed slowly, putting on her most becoming and stylish garments. Her tears of the previous evening had but added pathos to her beauty. Her face was pale, and her wide-open eyes looked large. She ran downstairs in time to meet Mrs. Keith and her son.

"Where is Mollie?" asked the good lady as Kitty entered the room.

"She left a note. She has gone to visit some friends in North London," said Kitty. "Mollie won't be back for a day or two," she added. As she spoke she flashed a glance at Gavon, who was seated at the table. He rose, and went to the sideboard.

"Shall I cut some ham for you, Katherine?" he asked.

"Thank you. Yes, please, a little," she replied. Her lips quivered; she wondered if she could swallow anything.

The meal was about half through when a servant entered, bringing a note. The note was addressed to "Miss Katherine Hepworth." Kitty tore it open. Its contents caused her face at first to turn rosy red, and then very white.

"Say there is no answer," she said to the servant, who left the room.

"What is it, dear – anything that troubles you?" asked Mrs. Keith.

"Only a letter from Madame Dupuys," said Kitty, speaking as carelessly as she could. "She wants to see me. I hope nothing is wrong with my dress."

"You extravagant girl," said Keith, "are you getting a new dress for Monday evening?"

"Yes – a new dress for you, Gavon," replied the girl, and she looked sadly in his face.

There was something in her expression which gave him a pang of remorse.

"I like you in anything you wear, Kitty," he said, with a sort of assumed carelessness. And then, as he went out of the room he laid his hand for an instant on her shoulder. Light as the touch was, it thrilled her. The clouds vanished from her speaking face like magic, and she turned brightly to Mrs. Keith.

"When must you go to Madame Dupuys'?" asked that lady.

"Early – almost immediately. I will take a hansom and drive over."

"You need not do that; I am going out, and can drop you at madame's, and call for you afterwards."

"Oh, thank you, auntie; that will be lovely."

"I am going out immediately," said Mrs. Keith.

"Then I will run upstairs and put on my hat and jacket," said the girl.

She danced up to her room. She still felt that light, very light, caressing touch of Keith's on her shoulder. It tingled through her being. She dressed herself quickly, and ran downstairs. Soon the elderly lady and the young were driving away together in the direction of Madame Dupuys'. Mrs. Keith's face looked troubled. Kitty glanced at it, and then looked away.

"She is thinking about Gavon, and no wonder," thought the girl.

An impulse of affection, a fellow-feeling in a mutual sorrow, caused her to place her little hand inside Mrs. Keith's. Suddenly the young pair of eyes and the old met.

"How are we to bear it?" said Kitty to his mother.

Mrs. Keith squeezed the slight hand.

"We must prove ourselves Englishwomen, Kitty," she said then. "A brave woman will always willingly give up the man she loves to the cause of his queen and his country."

"Some women are not brave," said Kitty, in a smothered voice.

They arrived at the dressmaker's, and Kitty went upstairs. She was shown into a large showroom. She wandered about restlessly. The next instant a girl appeared, and asked her if she would step into madame's private sitting-room. Fear – an unreasoning fear – now caused Kitty's heart to sink very low. She followed the girl. She was shown into a small, prettily-furnished room. Madame Dupuys was waiting for her.

"I am very much obliged to you, Miss Hepworth," she said, "for calling to see me so early."

"But what is the matter?" said Kitty. "Why did you send me such an alarming note? What can be wrong?"

"I am more sorry than I can say, Miss Hepworth; but even at the risk of losing your custom, it is absolutely necessary that you should pay me at least half of my bill by to-night."

"I cannot possibly do it," said the girl. "What is the matter? You told me you would give me a little time."

"I am sorry, but I am obliged to change my mind. I am pressed myself to pay a large sum – pressed unexpectedly. I cannot let you have the dress for the fancy ball unless you pay me half my account."

"Oh, how terribly cruel of you! You will ruin me if you act so."

"Miss Hepworth," said the dressmaker, "I have to speak plain words; it is best to be straightforward. You have owed me a large sum of money for over two years. Mrs. Keith imagines that you do not owe me anything. If I go to her, the account will be paid at once. You owe me three hundred pounds. I shall be satisfied for the present with a cheque for half. Can you let me have a cheque for one hundred and fifty pounds to-day?"

"I cannot do it," said Kitty, in a low, terrified whisper – "I cannot do it; and I must have the dress. Give me until Tuesday morning, and you shall have a cheque for three hundred. Yes, I vow it. I must have the dress; nothing else will effect my purpose. Can you not understand that there are occasions when a girl's whole future – all her future – may depend on one dress, worn on one special evening? Can you not understand?"

"I can partly guess to what you are alluding. Are you likely to have a proposal, Miss Hepworth? Are you likely to make a brilliant match? Do you want to fascinate some one on Monday evening? For if that is the case, and if the man is – "

"Oh, think anything you like – I cannot explain. You know that in a year I shall be comparatively rich; and I will pay you in full – I promise it – on Tuesday. Can you not wait until then? and won't you let me have my dress?"