The orderly hurried away, leaving her alone. With trembling hands she shut the door, turned toward her desk, and there stood, both hands pressed hard to her heart, fighting hard to control the tumultuous tides that surged through her heart and thundered in her ears. "Barney! Barney!" she whispered. "Oh, Barney, at last!"
The blue eyes were wide open and all aglow with the tender light of her great love. "Barney," she said over and over, "my love, my love, my--ah, not mine--" A sob caught her voice. Over her desk hung a copy of Hoffman's great picture, the Christ kneeling in Gethsemane. She went close to the picture. "O Christ!" she cried brokenly, "I, too! Help me!" A knock came to the door, Nurse Crane entered. Margaret quickly turned toward her desk again.
"Dr. Bailey is at the door with a patient," said the nurse.
"Dr. Bailey?" echoed Margaret, not daring to look up, her trembling hands fluttering among the papers on the desk. "Go to him, Nurse, and get what he wants. Take my room. I shall follow in a moment."
Once more she was alone. Again she stood before the picture of the Christ, the words of the great submission ringing through the chambers of her soul. "Not my will but Thine be done." She pressed nearer the picture, gazing into that strong, patient, suffering face through the rain of welcome tears. "O Christ!" she whispered, "dear blessed Christ! I understand--now. Help me!
Help me!" Then, after a pause, "Not my will! Not my will!"
The strife was past. Quietly she went to the lavatory that stood in the corner of her office, bathed her eyes, smoothed away the signs of struggle from her face, and went forth serene to her duty and her cross. In the hall she met Barney. With a quick, light step she was at his side, both hands stretched out. "Barney!"
"Margaret!" was all they said. For a moment or two Barney stood holding her hands, gazing without a word into the sweet face, so pale, so beautiful, so serenely strong. Twice he essayed to speak, but the words choked in his throat. Turning abruptly away he pointed to the figure under the grey blanket on the camp bed.
"I've brought--you--Dick," at last he said hoarsely.
"Dick! Hurt? Not--" She halted before the dreaded word.
"No, injured. Badly, I fear, but I hope--"
"The room is ready," said Nurse Crane.
At once all other thoughts and emotions gave way to the immediate demands of their common duty. They had work to do, and they had trained themselves to obey without thought of self that Divine call to serve the suffering. Together they toiled at their work, Margaret noting with delighted wonder the quick fingers and the finished skill that cleansed and probed and dressed the wound in the head and made thorough examination for other injury or ill, Barney keenly conscious of the efficiency of the silent, steady helper at his side whose quick eye and hand anticipated his every want. At length their work was done and they stood looking down upon the haggard face.
"He is resting now," said Barney, in a low voice. "The fracture is not serious, I think."
"Poor Dick," said Margaret, passing her hand over his brow.
At her touch and voice Dick moaned and opened his eyes. Barney quickly stepped back out of sight. For a moment or two the eyes wandered about the room, then rested on Margaret's face in a troubled, inquiring gaze.
"What is it, Dick, dear?" said Margaret, bending over him.
For answer his hand began to move feebly toward his breast as if seeking something.
"I know. The letter, Dick?" A look of intelligence lighted the eye. "That's all right, Dick. I shall get it to Barney. Barney is here, you know."
A hand grasped her arm. "Hush!" said Barney in stern command.
"Say nothing about me." But she heeded him not. For a moment longer the sick man's gaze lingered on her face. A faint smile of content overspread the drawn features, then the look of intelligence faded and the eyes closed wearily.
"Come," said Barney, moving toward the door, "he is better quiet."
Leaving the nurse in charge, they went together toward the office.
"Where did you find him?" asked Margaret as she gave Barney a seat.
Then Barney told her the story of how he had chanced upon the canoe and had discovered Dick lying insensible in the woods.
"It was God's leading, Barney," said Margaret gently, when the story was done; but to this he made no reply. "Is there serious danger, do you think?" she inquired in an anxious voice.
"He will recover," replied Barney. "All he requires is careful nursing, and that you can give him. I shall wait till to-morrow."
"To-morrow? And then?"
"I am leaving this country next week."
"Leaving the country? And why?"
"My work here is done."
"Surely there is much yet to do, and you have just begun to do such great things. Why should you leave now?"
Barney waited a few moments in silence as if pondering an answer.
"Margaret, I must go," he finally burst forth. "You know I must go. I can't live within touch of him and forget!"
"Forgive, you mean, Barney."
"Well, forgive, if you like," he replied sullenly.
"Barney," replied Margaret earnestly, "this is unworthy of you, and in the face of God's mercy to-day how can you hold resentment in your heart?"
"How can I? God knows, or the Devil. For three years I have fought it, but it is there. It is there!" He struck his hand hard upon his breast. "I can't forget that he ruined my life! But for him I believe in my soul I should have won--her to me! At a critical moment he came in and ruined--"
"Barney! Barney, listen to me!" cried Margaret impetuously.
Barney sprang to his feet.
