The Settler

She was astounded by the heat of his reply. "No! A Scotch dromedary, suckled on predestination and damnation of infants? Pretty husband he'd make!" But she solved his vehemence for Hart's benefit on the way home. "He's in love with her himself."

"Between patient and doctor? What a mix-up!" Hart laughed. "Odds are on the doctor if he's up to his job. I'd hate to be Carter on the chance of an overdose." For which flippancy his ears were well pulled.

As he said, things were undoubtedly a little tangled, and if at first glance it would appear that Dorothy had not assisted in the unravelling, closer scrutiny shows that her remark helped at least to bring affairs to a head. For the remainder of the day Carter was very thoughtful, so preoccupied that he forgot to misbehave over his supper-tray while, time and again, Helen caught him surveying herself with a dark uneasiness. Puzzled, she came back to the ward before leaving and stood at the foot of his bed; but as yet his fever was confined to his mind, and he replied that he was feeling quite well to her question.

The "good-night" she wished him was not, however, for him. Always darkness magnifies trouble, and through its black lens he saw suspicions as facts. Tossing restlessly, he heard the city clock chime the quarters, halves, hours, until, at twelve, the night nurse's lantern revealed him wide-eyed, staring, and knowing the efficacy of a change of thought in producing sleep, she stayed for a chat.

Correct enough in theory, the treatment proved about as successful as would the application of a blister upon a sore; for he bent the conversation to his own uses, steering it by a circuitous route through the girl's own experience to Helen.

She was liked in the hospital?

Indeed she was! The night nurse was emphatic on that, and went on to say that beauty such as Helen's was not generally conducive of popularity. No, it wasn't jealousy! The nurse tossed her head at his question. Simply that pretty girls didn't have to be nice, so usually left amiability to be assumed with a double chin; and being a frank as well as a merry creature, she confessed to an accession of that desirable quality every time she saw her own nose in a glass. But Helen Morrill? She was sweet as she was pretty!

Dr. Carruthers thought so, too?

Well – the nurse would smile! And everybody in the hospital was glad of it. They would make such a perfect couple, an ideal match!

It was as good as settled, then?

Well – not given out yet, but every one knew! Her lantern being on the floor, she could not see his face, and he lay so quiet she thought he had fallen asleep, and was tiptoeing away when he spoke again.

But —Mrs. Morrill? She had been married before! Her husband – dead?

If he wasn't he ought to be – the nurse was sure of that. There was only one place for a man who could not live with such a nice girl. And if he were not – divorce was about as good in ridding one of the beast! With which she picked up her lantern and left him in darkness and despair. When she came next on her rounds she thought him asleep, but he resumed his restless tossings as soon as her back was turned. Dawn, however, betrayed him, and sent her flying to the head doctor with his pulse and temperature.

"He was all right last night!" the latter exclaimed. "Bring his chart down to the office." Studying it while he mixed sedatives a little later, he said: "Awake at midnight – hum! Talked, did he? What about? Mrs. Morrill?" He snatched truth out of her as though it had been an appendix. "Spoke of her and Dr. Carruthers? – ah! ha! Well, give him this and send Mrs. Morrill to me when she comes in."

If short, the interview did not lack excitement when, a couple of hours later, Helen opposed the freshness of the morning to the Head's angry glare. Her delicate colors, the eyes cleared by sleep and full of light, were enough to have softened the heart of a Gorgon, but served only to irritate him, who looked upon them as so much material gone to waste.

"What have you done?" he roared after her. "Look at that!" And went on as her distressed eyes came back from the chart: "You have done nothing – that's the trouble. Why did I appoint you to this case? Because of your vast experience? No, because I thought you could administer something outside of medical practice. And now he's dying – of jealousy. You have done it; you must cure him." And taking her by the arm as though she were a medicine-tray, he marched her to Carter's ward, gave her a shake at the door like a bottle that is to be "well shaken before taken," and thrust her in with the parting admonition, "Now, do your duty."

Here was an embarrassing position! Surely never before had nurse such orders – to administer love, like a dose, that, forsooth, to a patient who had already turned his broad back on her charms. Now did she pay toll of blushes for the perversity that had checked his every overture. How should – how could she begin?

Pleating and unpleating her apron, she stood at the foot of his bed, the prettiest picture of perplexity ever vouchsafed to gaunt, unshaven man. A week's stubble did not improve his appearance any more than his unnatural color, fixed, glazed eyes. But soon as a timid glance gave her these – she was on her knees beside him.

"Is that you, Helen?" Before she could speak he burst out in a sudden irruption of speech. "I'm so glad; there's something I want to tell you." Then it came, in a flood that washed away his natural reserve, the confession – his remorse for his obstinacy, the sorrow that had tamed his anger, his yearning through weary months for an overture from her; his ignorance of the settler's persecution, scorn of scandalous rumors; his attempts to communicate with and find her; all, down to his observation of her liking for Carruthers, finishing: "Through all, my every thought has been of you. But now – I see. It was a mistake, our marriage. It was wrong to couple roughness with refinement. So if you wish – " Her face was now buried in her arms, and he gently touched the golden hair. "Last night I made up my mind to bring no more misery into your life. But now … that I see you … it is difficult; … but … if you wish – "

He got no further, for speech is impossible when a soft hand stoppers one's mouth. And while he was thus effectually gagged, she took a mean advantage: told him just what she thought of him. Such a stupid! A big man, so very strong, but oh, so silly! Did he really think that she – any girl – would have waited upon him in such circumstances unless – Here she had to release his mouth to wipe away the streaming tears, and his question came out like an explosion:

"What?"

She told him, or, rather, conveyed the information in the orthodox way with lovers. This takes time, and becoming suddenly alive to the fact that he was sitting up in bed, she resumed her authority to make him lie down. In view of his condition she was certainly justified in using force to compel obedience; but was it right, was it proper for her, a nurse duly accredited to the case, to leave her arms about him? Well, she did, and – scandalous predicament! – her golden head was lying beside his on the pillow when the door opened for the matron, Carruthers, and the Head on their morning rounds.

"Well – I declare! Fine goings on!"

Helen's faint cry of dismay was drowned by the matron's horrified exclamation, but Carter rose to the situation. "Miss Craig, doctor – my wife." He could not include Carruthers, who retired precipitously, and was then just outside the door, swallowing hugely in vain attempts to get what looked like a monstrous pill, but was really his heart, back to its proper place.

"Your what?" Having the general objections to matrimony which come with prim old maidhood, the matron almost screamed: "Good gracious, man! Couldn't you have waited till you were sure you wouldn't need a minister to bury you?" And she tossed a high head at his answer.

"No, ma'am. We were that impatient we got married two years ago."

There she slid one in on him with a sniff of disdain. "Two years! Imph! One would never have thought it. And just look at this ward! Doctors' rounds and ward unswept, bed unmade; I doubt whether you've had your medicine! I'll send up another nurse at once. As for you, Mrs. – Carter" – she paused, flouncing out of the door – "you are – "

She intended "discharged," but the head doctor interposed twinkling glasses between Helen and destruction. "She was merely giving treatment according to orders."

How the matron stared! "Treatment? Orders? Whose orders, pray?"

"Mine."

Her response as she bustled away, "Has every one gone mad!" set them all smiling, and Carter's remark, "A bit too long in the oven," eloquently described her crustiness.

But if long study of people from interior views had left the matron purblind as to outward signs, sympathies, and emotions, she was not so short-sighted but that she came to a full stop at the sight of Carruthers, who stood, hands clinched, like a naughty boy, face to the wall.

"You poor man!" But though her tone was gentle as her touch on his shoulder, he threw her hand fiercely away and strode off uttering an unmistakable "damn."

"Another lunatic!" she tartly commented, and was confirmed in that flattering opinion when, instead of pining in romantic fashion, he fell in love again and married a sweet girl the following summer.

Left thus alone in the case, the head doctor nodded his satisfaction at the patient's decided improvement, while his further instructions were short as pleasant – "Same treatment, continued at intervals."

These orders, be sure, were faithfully observed. Indeed, he had scarcely passed out than – but the next hour is their's, intrusion would be impertinent. Sufficient that its confidences left each possessed of the other's every thought and feeling throughout their separation.

Her eyes dancing, she broke a happy silence to say: "You were dreadfully transparent. Did you really think I couldn't see through your misbehavior?" Then she told of how Dorothy had confided to her his appeal to Hart and efforts at self-improvement. "But," she added, with a sigh that was almost plaintive, "I wouldn't have cared."

Also she told him of her proud espionage upon him at the general manager's dinner; in return for which she learned how he had waited at the forks of his own trail that winter's night – waited while his ponies shivered in the bitter wind until he picked hers and Elinor Leslie's voices from the groan of passing runners.

She remembered. "Oh, was that you? Why didn't you come in?"

"I would – at least I think I would have," he corrected, "if you'd been alone. By-the-way, I saw her in Minneapolis the other day. She was taking an order from a fat Frenchman in a restaurant where Smythe and I had turned in for dinner. Luckily her back was turned, so we got out without her seeing me. But I caught her profile and she looked dreadfully weak and thin."

"A waitress?" Helen cried. "Oh, the poor thing! Couldn't you have – " Pausing, she confirmed his wisdom. "No, it was better she did not see you."

Silence fell between them, he thinking of the temptation in the warm gloaming, she busy with her own memories. Helen's watch beat like a pulse in the quiet; a house-fly rivalled the full boom of a bee as it battered its head against the window-pane, a futile illustration of Elinor Leslie's folly. Just so had she beaten at the invisible barriers that held her back from free passion. Now she lay, poor soul, bruised and beaten like a dying moth, wings singed by a single touch of the unholy flame.

But sadness could not hold them. Smiling, Helen suddenly relieved herself of the astonishing remark: "I am so glad you are ruined. Yes, I am." She nodded firmly, misreading his comical surprise. "Now we can go back to the farm – just you and I – be ever so happy."

"Why?" He listened with huge enjoyment to her explanation, then said, with mock concern, "It would be fine, and I'm that sorry to disappoint you, but – who said I was ruined?"

"Oh, everybody – the papers said this morning that – what is that funny name? Yes, Mr. Brass Bowels – that he had bought up enough of your liabilities to snow you under."

"They did, did they? Well – they have another guess coming."

"Aren't you ruined?" she asked.

But though he laughed at her naïve distress, he refused to say more, laughingly assuring her that she would not be long in suspense.

Nor had she long to wait. For as she was giving him his medicine the following afternoon, he bobbed up under her hand as though set on wire springs to the detriment of the snowy quilt, which absorbed the dose.

"Listen!"