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Page 20
She snatched them away; the crimson in her cheeks deepened. "Don't,
please. Your pity only makes it harder. Oh, I don't know what has
happened--here--" And she struck her breast fiercely. "If--if they
send the children away I shall never believe in anything again; the
part of me that has believed and trusted and been glad will stop--it
will break all to pieces." With a hard, dry sob she left him, running
up the remaining stairs to Ward C. She did not see his arms reach
hungrily after her or the great longing in his face.
The House Surgeon turned and went downstairs again.
In the lower corridor he ran across the President, who was looking for
him. With much courtesy and circumlocution he was told the thing he
had been waiting to hear: the board, likewise, had discovered that
Saint Margaret's had suddenly grown too small to hold both the Senior
Surgeon and himself. Strangely enough, this troubled him little; there
are times in a man's life when even the most momentous of happenings
shrink into nothing beside the simple process of telling the girl he
loves that he loves her.
The President was somewhat startled by the House Surgeon's commonplace
acceptance of the board's decision; and he returned to the board-room
distinctly puzzled.
Meanwhile Margaret MacLean, having waited outside of Ward C for her
cheeks to cool and her eyes to dry, opened the door and went in.
Ward C had been fed by the assistant nurse and put to bed; that is, all
who could limp or wheel themselves about the room were back in their
cribs, and the others were no longer braced or bolstered up. As she
had expected, gloom canopied every crib and cot; beneath, eight small
figures, covered to their noses, shook with held-back sobs or wailed
softly. According to the custom that had unwittingly established
itself, Ward C was crying itself to sleep. Not that it knew what it
was crying about, it being merely a matter of atmosphere and unstrung
nerves; but that is cause enough to turn the mind of a sick child all
awry, twisting out happiness and twisting in peevish, fretful feelings.
She stood by the door, unnoticed, looking down the ward. Pancho lay
wound up in his blanket like a giant chrysalis, rolling in silent
misery. Sandy was stretched as straight and stiff as if he had been
"laid out"; his eyes were closed, and there was a stolid,
expressionless set to his features. Margaret MacLean knew that it
betokened much internal disturbance. Susan, ex-philosopher, was
sobbing aloud, pulling with rebellious fingers at the pieces of iron
that kept her head where nature had planned it. The Apostles gripped
hands and moaned in unison, while Peter hugged his blanket, seeking
thereby some consolation for the dispelled Toby. Toby persistently
refused to be conjured up on Trustee Days.
Only Bridget was alert and watchful. One hand was slipped through the
bars of Rosita's crib, administering comforting pats to the rhythmic
croon of an Irish reel. Every once in a while her eyes would wander to
the neighboring cots with the disquiet of an over-troubled mother; the
only moments of real unhappiness or worry Bridget ever knew were those
which brought sorrow to the ward past her power of mending.
To Margaret MacLean, standing there, it seemed unbearable--as if life
had suddenly become too sinister and cruel to strike at souls so little
and helpless as these. There were things one could never explain in
terms of God. She found herself wondering if that was why the Senior
Surgeon worshiped science; and she shivered.
The room had become repellent; it was a sepulchral place entombing all
she had lost. In the midst of the dusk and gloom her mind groped
about--after its habit--for something cheerful, something that would
break the colorless monotone of the room and change the atmosphere. In
a flash she remembered the primroses; and the remembrance brought a
smile.
"They're nothing but charlatans," she thought, "but the children will
never find that out, and they'll be something bright for them to wake
up to in the morning."
This was what sent her down the stairs again, just as the board meeting
adjourned.
Now the board adjourned with thumbs down--signifying that the incurable
ward was no more, as far as the future of Saint Margaret's was
concerned. The trustees stirred in their chairs with a comfortable
relaxing of joint and muscle, as if to say, "There, that is a piece of
business well despatched; nothing like methods of conservation and
efficiency, you know." Only the little gray wisp of a woman by the
door sat rigid, her hands still folded on her lap.
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