CHAPTER V.VIRGIE BECOMES A NURSE.
Three cars of that night train had been literally dashed in pieces, two more had been partially demolished, and only two baggage cars and the engine remained uninjured.
Twenty passengers had been killed outright, several were so badly injured that their death was only a question of time, and many were crippled for life.
It was a shocking casualty, and even those who escaped unhurt were so badly shaken up and so unnerved by the sight of the dead, the dying, and the sufferings of the wounded, that they dropped exhausted and almost helpless the moment the necessity for action was over, and all who could be removed had been taken out of the wreck.
The disaster had been caused by a broken rail on a bridge that spanned a small stream. The wrench and strain of the first car, as it was thrown from the track, had snapped the iron arch, the whole structure had then given away, and most of the train had been precipitated into the meadow below, with the fearful results already described.
The sleeper, in which Virgie had been traveling, was the least shattered of any, and most of the frightened passengers had escaped from it as soon as possible after it touched the ground.
One man affirmed that he went back afterward to ascertain if any one remained in the car, but there had beenno response to his shout, he could see nothing, for all the lights had been extinguished, there had been no cries or groans, and believing that everybody had succeeded in getting out, he went elsewhere to render assistance.
It was supposed, and rightly, that Virgie, with her maid and child, and Lady Linton, must have been stunned by the shock of going over the embankment, and did not recover consciousness until all others had left the wreck, and thus, had it not been for the brave woman’s energy and perseverance, they might have been left there to perish.
When she had recovered sufficiently to look after the comfort of her small family, she found poor Mina suffering extremely, her arm having been broken in two places, while she was otherwise badly bruised; and little Virgie, although she had escaped without even a scratch, had become almost frantic with terror on account of her mother’s swoon.
There was a small village not far from the scene of the disaster, and to this the sufferers were borne, the kind-hearted people cheerfully throwing open their homes to them and offering whatever they had to make them comfortable, and their services also as nurses. Medical and surgical assistance was immediately summoned, and the whole place immediately became a veritable hospital.
Mina’s needs were among the first to be attended to, and she bore the operation of having the broken bones set with much fortitude and patience.
After that was over she became comparatively comfortable, although Virgie hovered about her all day, ministering to her as tenderly as if she had been a sister, sparing neither her own strength nor expense to alleviate her sufferings.
But toward evening, when she had fallen into a heavy sleep, produced by an anodyne, and little Virgie, wearied out with excitement and the trying scenes that she had witnessed during the day, had begged to be put to bed, Virgie bethought herself of other sufferers and went out to ascertain if she could be of assistance elsewhere.
Her first inquiry was for Lady Linton, who, she found, had been carried to a neighboring cottage and was reported as very seriously injured.
She made her way thither, and was told that, although there were no bones broken, it was feared the lady had suffered some internal injury which might prove fatal.
She had been unconscious most of the day, but now she was lying in a heavy sleep that almost amounted to stupor.
Virgie asked the weary woman who told her this, if she could be of any assistance, and she replied that if she could come in and sit awhile with the sick lady it would give her a chance to get her husband’s supper and put her house in order; she had neglected everything to attend to the sufferer.
Virgie willingly complied, and passing quietly into the sick-room, she sat down by the bed and looked upon her husband’s sister, her heart filled with the strangest emotions.
She saw that she slightly resembled Sir William, although she was a good many years older and not nearly so attractive. This, however, might be owing somewhat to her injuries, for there were several bruises about her head and face; she looked haggard and worn; her hair was in disorder and thin and quite gray; one hand had been badly cut and lay bandaged upon a pillow beside her, and truly she was a pitiable object in her present condition.
For long years Virgie had entertained hard and bitter feelings toward this woman. She did not, of course, know the extent of the wrong of which she had been guilty, but she had never forgotten Lady Linton’s arrogance, nor the scorn which she had expressed regarding her to Mrs. Farnum; still, as she now lay there before her, so helpless and miserable, she could feel only compassion and regret for her. Something of the divine nature always animates the heart and begets a certain tenderness for those whom we benefit, particularly if some signal sacrifice has been made to secure it.
She sat there beside the unconscious woman for an hour or more, changing the wet cloths on her bruised head and gently fanning her, for the room was far from airy or comfortable, although it was the best in the house.
Then the physician came in, and Virgie questioned him regarding Lady Linton’s condition.
He could not tell just yet how serious her injuries were, he told her. They might not prove to be anything alarming, but her nervous system had undoubtedly suffered a severe shock which might prove to be worse than any hurt.
“Do you know her?” he asked, in conclusion, while his keen eyes searched Virgie’s beautiful face curiously. He had heard something of the heroism which she had shown that morning in saving the woman’s life.
“I know who she is,” she replied. “Her name is Lady Linton.”
“Hum! English, then,” interrupted the doctor, with a quick glance at the figure on the bed. “Any friends in this country?”
“She mentioned that she was on her way to Chicago to meet her son and daughter, and some other friends, but I do not know their address.”
“Where is her home?”
“With her brother, Sir William Heath, in Hampshire County, England.”
Virgie flushed scarlet as she spoke this name which she had not uttered before in years.
“She ought to have some friends here to care for her, but he is so far away it would be useless to send for him, at least until we know more about her condition. Was she traveling entirely alone?”
“I judge so. She spoke of no one being with her when she was found.”
“You found her; you saved her. I heard about it,” said the doctor, his face glowing.
“I went for assistance,” Virgie returned, quietly.
“You did much more than that, madam. Did you escape unhurt?”
“Entirely, and my little daughter also, for which I cannot be too grateful. My maid, however, has a broken arm, besides several bruises; but she is very comfortable, and requires but little attention, so if I can make myself useful by caring for any others who are suffering, I shall be more than glad to do so.”
The physician thought a moment, and then asked:
“Have you ever had any experience in a sick-room?”
“Yes. My father was an invalid many months before his death.”
“Then you might do good service here, if you are willing to devote yourself to this case under my direction. There’s only one woman in the house. She cannot, of course, give her whole time to nursing, and this lady will need close watching and a great deal of attention during the next two or three days. Indeed she really needs someone who can be depended upon.”
Virgie flushed again.
It was very strange, she thought, that she, of all persons, should be commissioned to care for Lady Linton at such a critical time.
But she did not hesitate; it was her duty to do what she could for her, without regard to her own personal feelings in the matter; her enemy was like the Levite who had been left wounded by the wayside, and it now fell to her to act the good Samaritan’s part.
“Very well,” she answered, quietly, “then you may consider that I am at your service.”
The doctor looked relieved, and after giving her minute instructions for the night, he went his way to other patients, confident that he could not leave the sufferer in better hands.
As soon as the woman of the house was at liberty again, Virgie went back to see if Mina was comfortable, and to arrange for someone to wait upon her if she should need it during the night, and then she returned to her charge.
But there was very little change in Lady Linton’s condition during the next two days. She slept most of the time, only rousing to take the nourishment that was almost forced upon her, and then sinking into that death-like stupor again.
But the third day she awoke and began to manifest some interest in her condition and surroundings, and seemed to remember all that had occurred.
Then, after a thorough examination, it was ascertained that her injuries was not nearly so serious as had at first been feared. There was a severe contusion on one side, where the broken timbers of the car had pinned her down to the floor; she had several ugly scratches and flesh wounds, besides bruises on the head, and one ankle was badly sprained. Thestupor, as the physician thought, had been caused more by the shock to the whole nervous system than by her injuries, and he now said that if no new symptoms developed she would improve rapidly.
And it proved even so. At the end of a week she was able to be bolstered up in bed, and began to appear more like herself and to realize that she had another lease of life.
She had conceived a great liking for Virgie, although she had not been told, neither had she recognized the fact that she had saved her from death at the time of the accident. She treated her with the greatest deference—an unusual thing for the haughty woman under any circumstances—and expressed a great deal of gratitude for the attention she so freely bestowed upon her.
Once she had begged to be told her name, and Virgie had told her to call her “nurse.” She shrank from telling her who she was lest she should recognize her.
“But you are not a nurse, you are a lady,” she persisted, “and you are so kind to me I want to know you.”
Virgie could not fail to feel a thrill of triumph at these words, she, who had been “that girl” and who had been held up to such scorn and contempt in those cruel letters so long ago.
“I am simply your nurse for the present,” she replied, with averted face; “perhaps some other time before I leave you I will tell you my name,” and her ladyship had to be content with that.
But Virgie did not remain quite so much with her after that, she did not need such constant care, and she left her more with the woman of the house. Shewent in several times every day, and was careful to see that she had every attention, but there was a quiet dignity and reserve about her which Lady Linton admired.
“Who is this beautiful woman who has been so kind to me—to whom I owe so much?” she asked the doctor one day.
“Truly she is a beautiful woman, and you do owe her a great deal. You owe her your life twice over,” he answered, impressively.
“How so?” was the surprised query.
“In the first place she saved you from that burning wreck almost at the risk of her own life; in the second place she is the only one in the town who could be found to give you proper care; everybody else was engaged with the other sufferers, and during those days and nights when you lay in that heavy stupor, she never left you; she fed you, she ministered most faithfully to your every need, and brought you safely out of it.”
“Was it she who came to me when I lay pinned down in my berth?” asked Lady Linton, gravely.
“Yes, madam.”
“Who is she?”
“I am obliged to confess that I do not know her name,” the doctor admitted, smiling. “I doubt if she knows mine either. We have not stopped to exchange cards in this business; it has been of too serious a nature to admit of much ceremony. I call her ‘madam,’ and she has, naturally, addressed me as ‘doctor.’”
“She seems a thorough lady,” said his patient, thoughtfully.
She had, as Sir William once told her she would,changed her ideas somewhat regarding American people since coming to this country.
“You are right, madam,” replied the physician, emphatically. “It has never been my privilege to meet a more cultured lady nor a truer woman. I shall certainly ask her to favor me with her name and address before she leaves.”
“Is she going away?” demanded Lady Linton, quickly.
“Yes; in a day or two, I believe; her maid is doing nicely now and able to travel. But, bless me, I must not sit chattering here when there are more than forty patients waiting for me.”
And the brisk little doctor trotted off, leaving Lady Linton looking very thoughtful, and wondering who her mysterious but beautiful nurse might be.