"I am going up to the Waring-Gaunts', Mother. They might need me," she said in a voice of such serene control that her mother only answered,

"Yes, dear, Larry will go with you. He will soon be in."

"There is no need, Mother, I am not afraid."

Her mother made no answer but came to her and with a display of tenderness unusual between them put her arms about her and kissed her.

"Good-night, then, darling; I am sure you will do them good."

The night was gusty and black, but Kathleen had no fear. The road was known to her, and under the impulse of the purpose that possessed her she made nothing of the darkness nor of the approaching storm. She hurried down the lane toward the main trail, refusing to discuss with herself the possible consequence of what she was doing. Nor did she know just what situation she might find at the Waring-Gaunts'. They would doubtless be surprised to see her. They might not need her help at all.

She might be going upon a fool's errand, but all these suppositions and forebodings she brushed aside. She was bent upon an errand of simple kindness and help. If she found she was not needed she could return home and no harm done.

Receiving no response to her knock, she went quietly into the living room. A lamp burned low upon the table. There was no one to be seen.

Upstairs a child was wailing and the mother's voice could be heard soothing the little one to sleep. From a bedroom, of which the door stood open, a voice called. The girl's heart stood still. It was Jack's voice, and he was calling for his sister. She ran upstairs to the children's room.

"He is calling for you," she said to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt without preliminary greeting. "Let me take Doris."

But Doris set up a wail of such acute dismay that the distracted mother said, "Could you just step in and see what is wanted? Jack has been in bed for two days. We have been unable to get a nurse anywhere, and tonight both little girls are ill. I am so thankful you came over.

Indeed, I was about to send for one of you. Just run down and see what Jack wants. I hope you don't mind. I shall be down presently when Doris goes to sleep."

"I am not going to sleep, Mamma," answered Doris emphatically. "I am going to keep awake, for if I go to sleep I know you will go away."

"All right, darling, Mother is going to stay with you," and she took the little one in her arms, adding, "Now we are all right, aren't we."

Kathleen ran downstairs, turned up the light in the living room and pa.s.sed quietly into the bedroom.

"Sorry to trouble you, Sybil, but there's something wrong with this infernal bandage."

Kathleen went and brought in the lamp. "Your sister cannot leave Doris, Mr. Romayne," she said quietly. "Perhaps I can be of use."

For a few moments the sick man gazed at her as at a vision. "Is this another of them?" he said wearily. "I have been having hallucinations of various sorts for the last two days, but you do look real. It is you, Kathleen, isn't it?"

"Really me, Mr. Romayne," said the girl cheerfully. "Let me look at your arm."

"Oh, hang it, say 'Jack,' won't you, and be decent to a fellow. My G.o.d, I have wanted you for these ten days. Why didn't you come to me? What did I do? I hurt you somehow, but you know I wouldn't willingly. Why have you stayed away from me?" He raised himself upon his elbow, his voice was high, thin, weak, his eyes glittering, his cheeks ghastly with the high lights of fever upon them.

Shocked, startled and filled with a poignant mothering pity, Kathleen struggled with a longing to take him in her arms and comfort him as the mother was the little wailing child upstairs.

"Excuse me just a moment," she cried, and ran out into the living room and then outside the door and stood for a moment in the dark, drawing deep breaths and struggling to get control of the pity and of the joy that surged through her heart. "Oh, G.o.d," she cried, lifting her hands high above her head in appeal, "help me to be strong and steady. He needs me and he wants me too."

From the darkness in answer to her appeal there came a sudden quietness of nerve and a sense of strength and fitness for her work. Quickly she entered the house and went again to the sick room.

"Thank G.o.d," cried Jack. "I thought I was fooled again. You won't go away, Kathleen, for a little while, will you? I feel just like a kiddie in the dark, do you know? Like a fool rather. You won't go again?" He raised himself upon his arm, the weak voice raised to a pitiful appeal.

It took all her own fort.i.tude to keep her own voice steady. "No, Jack, I am going to stay. I am your nurse, you know, and I am your boss too. You must do just as I say. Remember that. You must behave yourself as a sick man should."

He sank back quietly upon the pillow. "Thank G.o.d. Anything under heaven I promise if only you stay, Kathleen. You will stay, won't you?"

"Didn't you hear me promise?"

"Yes, yes," he said, a great relief in his tired face. "All right, I am good. But you have made me suffer, Kathleen."

"Now, then, no talk," said Kathleen. "We will look at that arm."

She loosened the bandages. The inflamed and swollen appearance of the arm sickened and alarmed her. There was nothing she could do there. She replaced the bandages. "You are awfully hot. I am going to sponge your face a bit if you will let me."

"Go on," he said gratefully, "do anything you like if only you don't go away again."

"Now, none of that. A nurse doesn't run away from her job, does she?"

She had gotten control of herself, and her quick, clever fingers, with their firm, cool touch, seemed to bring rest to the jangling nerves of the sick man. Whatever it was, whether the touch of her fingers or the relief of the cool water upon his fevered face and arm, by the time the bathing process was over, Jack was lying quietly, already rested and looking like sleep.

"I say, this is heavenly," he murmured. "Now a drink, if you please. I believe there is medicine about due too," he said. She gave him a drink, lifting up his head on her strong arm. "I could lift myself, you know,"

he said, looking up into her face with a little smile, "but I like this way so much better if you don't mind."

"Certainly not; I am your nurse, you know," replied Kathleen. "Now your medicine." She found the bottle under his direction and, again lifting his head, gave him his medicine.

"Oh, this is fine. I will take my medicine as often as you want me to, and I think another drink would be good." She brought him the gla.s.s. "I like to drink slowly," he said, looking up into her eyes. But she shook her head at him.

"No nonsense now," she warned him.

"Nonsense!" he said, sinking back with a sigh, "I want you to believe me, Kathleen, it is anything but nonsense. My G.o.d, it is religion!"

"Now then," said Kathleen, ignoring his words, "I shall just smooth out your pillows and straighten down your bed, tuck you in and make you comfortable for the night and then--"

"And then," he interrupted eagerly, "oh, Kathleen, all good children get it, you know."

A deep flush tinged her face. "Now you are not behaving properly."

"But, Kathleen," he cried, "why not? Listen to me. There's no use. I cannot let you go till I have this settled. I must know. No, don't pull away from me, Kathleen. You know I love you, with all my soul, with all I have, I love you. Oh, don't pull away from me. Ever since that day when I first saw you three months ago I have loved you. I have tried not to. G.o.d knows I have tried not to because I thought you were pledged to that--that German fellow. Tell me, Kathleen. Why you are shaking, darling! Am I frightening you? I would not frighten you. I would not take advantage of you. But do you care a little bit? Tell me. I have had ten days of sheer h.e.l.l. For one brief minute I thought you loved me.

You almost said you did. But then you never came to me and I have feared that you did not care. But to-night I must know. I must know now."

He raised himself up to a sitting posture. "Tell me, Kathleen; I must know."

"Oh, Jack," she panted. "You are not yourself now. You are weak and just imagine things."

"Imagine things," he cried with a kind of fierce rage. "Imagine! Haven't I for these three months fought against this every day? Oh, Kathleen, if you only knew. Do you love me a little, even a little?"

Suddenly the girl ceased her struggling. "A little!" she cried. "No, Jack, not a little, but with all my heart I love you. I should not tell you to-night, and, oh, I meant to be so strong and not let you speak till you were well again, but I can't help it. But are you quite sure, Jack? Are you sure you won't regret this when you are well again?"

He put his strong arm round about her and drew her close. "I can't half hold you, darling," he said in her ear. "This confounded arm of mine--but you do it for me. Put your arms around me, sweetheart, and tell me that you love me."

She wreathed her arms round about his neck and drew him close. "Oh, Jack," she said, "I may be wrong, but I am so happy, and I never thought to be happy again. I cannot believe it. Oh, what awful days these have been!" she said with a break in her voice and hiding her face upon his shoulder.

"Never mind, sweetheart, think of all the days before us."

"Are you sure, Jack?" she whispered to him, still hiding her face. "Are you very sure that you will not be ashamed of me? I felt so dreadful and I came in just to help you, and I was so sure of myself. But when I saw you lying there, Jack, I just could not help myself." Her voice broke.

He turned her face up a little toward him. "Look at me," he said. She opened her eyes and, looking steadily into his, held them there. "Say, 'Jack, I love you,'" he whispered to her.

A great flood of red blood rushed over her face, then faded, leaving her white, but still her eyes held his fast. "Jack," she whispered, "my Jack, I love you."