Nurse Elisia. Fenn George Manville

trap our Master Neil, and so I tell you. I should like to set Miss Saxa at her. My word, she’d startle my lady. Well, now; look at that!”

      There was not much to see, only that Neil Elthorne had spoken as they were leaving the other patient’s bedside, and the nurse had turned to look at him as if half startled, and then turned away and came back seeming slightly disturbed. But by the time she had reached the first patient’s bedside her face was perfectly calm again, and an unbiased observer would have said that it was very beautiful in its gentle, resigned expression.

      “Let me sprinkle a little of the scent for you,” she said.

      “Oh, very well. If you like,” said Maria ungraciously. Then quickly, and with a flash of suspicion in her eyes, “I say, why do you look at me like that? You don’t think I shall die, do you?”

      “Oh, no,” said the nurse, smiling, “indeed no. You will get better and go.”

      “But lots of them do die, don’t they?”

      “Some do, unfortunately; but why should you think of that?”

      “You’ve seen lots die, haven’t you?”

      “Yes,” said the nurse gravely; “in spite of all our efforts; and I have seen many grow strong and well, thanks to the skill of Sir Denton Hayle and Mr Elthorne.”

      “We always call him Mr Neil at home; master’s Mr Elthorne.”

      “And go away at last, cured,” continued the nurse, not heeding the interruption, “thankful for Heaven’s mercy and full of gratitude to those who have tended them.”

      “So am I,” said Maria, shortly. “You think I’m not, but I am.”

      “Hush! Do not talk. You are getting flushed and excited. Here is Sir Denton.”

      “That’s right,” muttered Maria, as the nurse left the bedside to go toward a slight little white-haired gentleman, closely shaven, and whose lips were closely compressed, as, with his large, deeply-set eyes he gave a quick glance round the ward, which became perfectly still as he approached.

      “Good-morning,” he said. “Come, my child, this will not do. Too pale! Too much application. The nurse will have to be nursed if we go on like this.”

      “Oh, no, I am quite well, Sir Denton,” she said, smiling, with quite an affectionate look in her face.

      “Then I am an ignorant old pretender, my child,” he said gravely. “Well, Elthorne, anything special to report?”

      “Number forty-four, here, not quite so well as I should like to see her. Been a little feverish in the night, has she not, nurse?”

      “Yes, sir,” replied the nurse; “but if I might say so – .”

      “Of course, of course,” said Sir Denton, “a little irritable.”

      “I think it is more that she is fretting to get away from here, than from any fresh complication.”

      “Let’s see,” said the keen-looking old surgeon, turning at once to the bed, where Maria had lain watching them and trying to catch their words. “Well,” he said aloud, as he seated himself and made his rapid examination, “flowers and fruit, and a clear eye and a clean tongue. Healthy look, too, about your skin, and the colour coming back. Why, you may get up – yes, for an hour or two, say the day after to-morrow, and in another week or two we will send you back home cured. What do you say to that?”

      “Thanky, sir.”

      “Strange woman, that,” said Sir Denton, an hour later, when he was leaving the ward. “I believe that when she was made, all the atoms or particles which go to form the virtue known as gratitude were left out. What do you say, nurse?”

      “The poor woman has suffered a great deal.”

      “Yes, but she might have shown some little thankfulness to you for what you have done.”

      “I, Sir Denton?” said the nurse deprecatingly. “Yes, my child, you. What I have done would have been useless without your help. But there, it is waste of words to praise you, for you are a dreadful sceptic. By the way, Elthorne, there is nothing to prevent you from taking a week’s run. You ought to have it now.”

      “I don’t like to leave till that woman is perfectly safe from a relapse.”

      “Well, she is now, so go. It will suit me better than if you wait to go later on. Nurse Elisia and I will see to her. I suppose you will trust us?”

      “What a question!” said the young surgeon. “Well, under those circumstances I will go for a few days – say four.”

      “Take a fortnight, man.”

      “No; the time I said. I should not go down only my people consider that I am neglecting them. I shall be back at the end of four days.”

      He glanced sharply at the nurse as he spoke, and she met his eyes in the most calm, unmoved way.

      “You may depend upon my taking every care of the patient, Mr Elthorne,” she said quietly.

      “Thank you; I am sure you will,” he said with his brow wrinkling a little. But he mastered himself the next minute, as he gave a few directions concerning other patients in the ward.

      “Tut, man! that will do,” said Sir Denton, impatiently. “The conceit of you young fellows is dreadful. Do you think there will be screens drawn round all the beds just because you are out of the way? We’ll try and keep your patients alive.”

      Neil laughed good-humouredly.

      “I have perfect faith in nurse,” he said apologetically. “Forgive me for being anxious about my ward.”

      “Partly humbug, my dear boy,” said the great surgeon to himself. “But there, I don’t blame him.” Then aloud: “My dear Elthorne, seriously, I think change is necessary sometimes, and take my word for it, as an old experienced man, when I say that a holiday is no waste of time. You will come back clearer-headed, and with your nerves toned up. When you come back I shall myself take a few days’ rest, and I can do so with the pleasant feeling of confidence that everything here in my ward will go on exactly as I could wish – thanks to you both.”

      “Thanks to your teachings,” said Neil.

      “Well, perhaps I have done my best. You are wanted there.”

      One of the dressers had come up and was waiting to speak, and Neil went off with him directly to the other end of the ward.

      “He will be a great man one of these days, nurse,” said the old surgeon quietly. “His heart is in his work, and he is having chances far beyond any that came to my lot when I was young. We have made such vast strides during the past five and twenty years. And now, my child, a word or two with you.”

      “With me, Sir Denton?” said the nurse, with the blood flushing up at once into her pale cheeks.

      “Yes,” he said, watching her keenly. “Proof positive. The colour flooded your face directly I spoke. You are as nervous as if you had been ill.”

      “Oh, I am quite well, Sir Denton,” she said hastily.

      “No, you are not, my child. You are over-strung. You have been working too hard, and you are on the point of breaking down. Your life is too valuable to us all here for your health to be trifled with.”

      “Indeed, I – ”

      “Know nothing about it,” said the old man decisively. “I do, and I know that your heart is so much in your work that you would go on till you dropped. You must have change from the air of this place.”

      “Really, Sir Denton, I am – ”

      “Going to do exactly as I bid you, nurse; and I wish that you would look upon me as a very old friend, and not merely as a crotchety surgeon, who worries and bullies the nurses about his patients.”

      “Indeed, you have always been most kind and considerate to me, Sir Denton.”

      “Have I? I