Part 11 (1/2)
”But I don't care to practice my art on you, remember! Good bye!”
The words were spoken in the gangway as the handsome Sergeant pa.s.sed out, and--though it is by no means certain,--something very like the sound of a kiss followed close upon them.
”Good bye!”
Ah, how many times the words are uttered on the border of shadows that shall pall loving hearts. It is well that good-byes can be said in happy ignorance of the morrow.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote Y: Appendix, Note A.]
CHAPTER IX.
NIGHT WATCHES.
The four Brownie maidens were once more together in their own quarters.
There was little said for a long time. The meeting between Sophia and her lover had awakened tender and anxious thoughts in the hearts of all.
Agatha was following in imagination the agile form of Lieutenant MacWhirlie, as he went the grand rounds of his pickets. The thoughts of Faith were with Adjutant Blythe who, somewhere in camp or field, served at the Captain's side, his faithful squire and counsellor. Grace's musings were of the gallant and stalwart Ensign of the Corps, Sergeant Lawe.
It would be too much to say that the Nurses had no anxiety about the safety of their lovers. But then, they had been bred in the midst of war's alarms. They knew that their fathers, kindred, and friends were brave, experienced, skillful, and devoted to one another. They had learned to regard war risks as matters of ordinary life and business, and were rarely troubled about them. There was special reason why they should be even more light hearted than usual that night. Yet, so strangely run the currents of one's thoughts, that these maidens were all sad.
There was some reason, indeed, why Agatha and Faith should feel thus, for the old saying fell true in their case about the course of true love not running smooth. Captain Bruce refused consent to the marriage of Agatha and MacWhirlie. The two had waited long, patiently, devotedly; yes, and hopefully, although they had often known that ”hope deferred”
which ”maketh the heart sick.” Every one thought the Captain's conduct strange. But he never gave any reason, except that Agatha was too grave, and MacWhirlie too gay for a well balanced marriage. As obedience to parents is one of the unchanging laws of Brownieland, no one could oppose.
Now, it so happened that Commodore Rodney had taken up a like notion concerning his daughter and Adjutant Blythe. ”Blythe is too jovial, and Faith is too serious,” said the Commodore. ”They could never sail smoothly in the same s.h.i.+p on a whole life's course.” An odd feature of this trouble was that each of the fathers pooh-hooed the objection of the other, and each uncle was highly pleased with his niece's choice!
The best of Brownies, like other people, have their whimsies. Grace and Sophia had no such sorrows to vex them, and were looking forward to their wedding on the next Thanksgiving Day.
Enough for the present of these disappointments and hopes. The night watch in the Hospital has just been changed, as have also the outer sentinels. Blythe, for it is he who attends to this latter duty, has sounded a soft note on the whistle that hangs against the rear door of the Sanitary Tent. It is the signal that the Nurses are wanted in the Hospital. Night duty is divided between them, two of them always watching in the Hospital, while the others sleep in the marquee. Agatha and Grace have the first watch to-night, and pa.s.s into the Hospital. But Faith knows whose lips had sounded the call, and comes in to exchange a few words with her lover.
”Good-bye!”
Why should she, too, have come back with a tear upon her cheek?
The light is turned down low in the fox-fire lantern. The yellow hospital flag flaps lazily against the staff. The full moon hangs over Hillside. The tramp, tramp of the sentinel grows dim and clear by turns as he recedes from or nears the door. The noises of the camp have died away and silence reigns at last over plain, fort and field. Both Brownies and Pixies are weary with the day's battling and sleep well.
Faith and Sophia, too, after a long talk about their trials and their loves, their hopes, fears and joys, have fallen asleep in each other's arms.
The stars that mark the midnight hour are fast hastening into the zenith. The sentinels walk their beats with weary pace. The relief guards will soon be on the rounds. Faith and Sophia stir in their sleep uneasily as though dimly conscious that the whistle will soon call them to duty. There is a soft touch, as the touch of an angel's finger, upon their cheeks. It seems to rest upon their eyes, their lips. It is pressed against their nostrils. It stays their breathing. They turn restlessly on their couch. They toss their arms, but the soft touch is on them, too. Cannot they awake?
Yes, their eyes are open now. Is it a dream? Is it the vision of a nightmare? Two forms, the terrible forms of their foes, the Pixies, are bending over them, wrapping them around in the silken folds of their snares!
Alas! it is no dream. The most dreaded of all their enemies, Spite the Spy, chief of the Pixies, and Hide the son of Shame, are crouching at their bedside. The maidens start from their pillows, but fall back again hopeless. They are bound hand and foot as with grave-clothes. They are wrapped in a winding sheet of gossamer; enshrouded alive.[Z]
Spite reckoned truly that the next impulse of the Nurses would be to scream. He thrust his hairy face close against their cheeks, and hissed from between his lips, ”Utter one sound and you die! Keep still and you shall not be harmed.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BOY'S ILl.u.s.tRATION.