Chapter XXX: An Unexpected Meeting in the Hospital

Forgot were hatred, wrongs and fears;
The plaintive voice alone she hears,
Sees but the dying man.—SCOTT.

When Elfie got back to the parsonage she found Erminie waiting for her in the library, where the dinner table for two had been set.

At Elfie’s age girls can eat a hearty luncheon and immediately afterwards eat a hearty dinner, and suffer no inconvenience from indigestion either.

So Elfie sat down to the table and opened her napkin.

“How is Mr. Mim?” kindly inquired Erminie.

“Poor fellow! I do believe but for his strict temperance habits, that blow would have killed him. As it is, he is getting well fast, just as you told me. His head is weak yet, though. And I took care not to excite him. I didn’t breathe a word to him of my adventures among the guerrillas. I allowed him to take it for granted that I had been sent home under a flag of truce.”

“And he knows nothing of your forced marriage?”

“Not a word.”

“Nor of the battle with the guerrillas?”

“No.”

“But I should think he would see that in the newspapers.”

“They don’t allow him to look at one in the present state of his health. But, Erminie, tell me about your protégés in the hospitals.”

“Nearly all my boys are doing very well, Elfie. Two of them only, will die. One has his mother with him, and if mother and son were not both such earnest Christians it would half break my heart to see them, for she is an old woman and he is her youngest son and only surviving child. The other boy is far from every friend he has in the world, and so he is my own peculiar charge. He too is a child of God, and will meet death as serenely as if he were eighty years old instead of eighteen. Just as I left the hospital they told me that a train of ambulances had arrived, bringing in a large number of wounded from some recent battle-field. So we shall have a plenty of work on our hands, Elfie. I have four hampers of lint sent me from the North. And directly after dinner we shall have to take a carriage and carry it to the hospitals. It must be wanted now.”

“Oh, Heaven help us, Erminie! We not only ‘sup full of horrors,’ but it seems to me we rise, breakfast, dine, sup and sleep full of horrors, in these war times. I don’t know how you _can_ stand it, Erminie. Has it hardened or strengthened you?”

“Strengthened me, I hope, dearest,” answered Miss Rosenthal, as she arose from the table.

Bob was despatched to the livery stable where Erminie kept her little carriage and horse, And Catherine was sent up into the attic to the linen room to fetch down the hampers of lint.

And so, when Erminie and Elfie came down ready dressed to go out, they found the carriage at the door and the hampers stowed within it, and old Bob on the coachman’s box.

“Drive to the hospital, Robert,” said Miss Rosenthal. And the horse started.

A drive of some twenty minutes brought them to the front of the extensive buildings.

“I declare, it looks like a funeral here,” said Elfie, noticing the crowd of ambulances that were drawn up before the hospital.

But when the two girls alighted and Elfie had a nearer view and saw wounded men piled like slaughtered cattle in those ambulances, and bleeding men carried up the steps of the hospital; and when they entered the building and she found the atmosphere pervaded with the scent of fresh blood, and the staircase slippery with gore, she could restrain herself no longer, but screamed and hid her face against Erminie’s black robe.

“Elfie! Elfie! if you cannot command your feelings, my dear, you must return to the carriage. You can do no good here unless you are calm and strong,” whispered Erminie.

“Oh, but I never saw anything so horrible! It is like human shambles, and it turns me sick. I have been here many, many times, but never saw anything like this!” shuddered Elfie.

“Because you have never before happened to be here when they were bringing in the recently wounded. You had better go back to the carriage, Elfie.”

“No, no: pray let me go on with you. I will not give way again, indeed I will not,” said Elfie, lifting her face.

And she kept her promise, although there passed her at that moment two soldiers, bearing between them a ghastly burden—a man with a livid face, and a bandaged head crimsoned with blood.

Old Bob, with a hamper of lint under each arm, followed the two young ladies.

Erminie led the way up the first flight of stairs to the first floor, and turned at once to the clothing room attached to that ward, and under the charge of a Sister of Mercy.

It was a room furnished all around with shelves and drawers like a dry goods store, and filled with ready made under clothing, dressing gowns, bed linen and napery.

A mild-eyed, black-robed young sister arose to receive the visitor.

“I have brought you a fresh supply of lint, Sister Agnes,” said Erminie.

“Ah, yes; we are very glad to have it; it is very much wanted. We had not near enough for the fresh cases we have received to-day.”

“From what battle-field do these come, Sister, do you know?”

“I don’t. Some of them came up by the steamboats. So I suppose there has been another battle somewhere down the river. And some of them, I know, came by railroad from the valley, where there has been a fight with the guerrillas.”

“Oh!” said Erminie.

And then as time was too precious to be spent in talking, she took up the large basket of oranges she had brought, and bowing adieu to this “mistress of the robes,” she passed down the corridor, attended by Elfie, and followed by Bob, who had been back to the carriage, and had returned with a large basket of jellies and fruits.

“I visited one-half the wards this morning, and I must look into the others this afternoon,” said Erminie, as she turned to the right and opened a door leading into a long room, furnished with a double row of little white beds, on most of which lay wounded men.

Smiles of glad welcome greeted this young angel visitant as soon as she appeared.

“Here, Elfie. You take this basket of oranges, dear, and go down one row of beds while I go down the other. And give each man one. Sister Frances says that the men in this ward may all eat fruit,” said Erminie.

Elfie took the basket of oranges, and went down the row of beds as she was bid, pausing at each to speak a kind and cheering word, and to give an orange.

At length she reached the very last little bed in the corner, and without looking at its occupant, she said:

“Well, you are the last, but you will not be the worst served, soldier. Here is the very finest orange in the whole lot. Just as if I had saved it on purpose for you. I hope it will refresh you. And—I hope you are not badly wounded.”

“Elfie!” in a feeble voice exclaimed the wounded man.

“Great Heaven!” cried the girl, starting, and nearly dropping her basket of oranges.

She stood beside the bed of Albert Goldsborough.

“Elfie, didn’t you know me?” he sadly and faintly inquired.

“No. I was picking out the biggest orange for the man who had to wait the longest, and so I didn’t look at you, and didn’t know you. You might have been sure of that. And now that I _do_ know you, I take back all I said and all I gave. Hand me that orange. I have nothing for you.”

“Not even forgiveness, Elfie?” he sighed, as he restored the fruit.

“Nothing,” she answered grimly, turning from him and walking back.

The hospital beds were very narrow and very near together. The wounded soldier that occupied the one next to Albert Goldsborough, heard and saw all that had passed between him and Elfie.

Now turning painfully on his side, he stretched out his hand towards Goldsborough and said:

“Here, Reb., take half my orange. Do now—you’re welcome to it. A Reb. boy gave me half his bread and water while we lay together on the battle-field before I was brought here; and I haven’t forgot that yet! Take half my orange, Reb., or if you’re thirsty take the whole.”

Albert Goldsborough smiled and shook his head, saying: “I thank you, but cannot take it. The lady who gave it would not like the transfer.”

Elfie heard all this and felt ashamed. She stopped short and burst into tears. She was almost hysterical with contradictory emotions. But she knew it would never do to make a scene in the ward of a hospital.

“The noble soldiers! _they_ cherish no feelings of bitter malignity against our brave foes. It is only we, miserable, mean, little non-combatants, who never risked our lives in the cause, who are as venemous as reptiles! I will follow the example of our dear Union boy there,” thought Elfie, as she hurried to the side of the young soldier of whom she had spoken, and said, with emotion:

“You are better than I am! You are a brave, good, generous fellow, and I hope I shall know more of you.”

The young soldier smiled and said, a little obscurely:

“You see, Miss, we must save the Union at any cost; but we don’t _all_ hate each other for all that.”

“No,” replied Elfie, humbly. And she passed on to Goldsborough’s bed and said:

“Albert, I didn’t mean it—indeed I didn’t! Take the orange again, dear—do! It isn’t you that I am angry with. It is treason. And my feelings are so contradictory—pull so violently opposite ways—that I feel as if my very soul was being drawn asunder by wild horses! Oh, if you had been true to your country! Oh, if you had _only_ been true!” she exclaimed, dropping on her knees and hiding her face on the edge of his bed while she sobbed convulsively.

She felt his hand laid softly on her head, and presently afterwards she heard him groan—a low, deep, irrepressible groan, that seemed to have been wrung from him by extreme agony.

Elfie lifted her tearful face and took his hand in hers. That hand was burning with fever.

“Are you wounded, Albert? Are you wounded badly? Tell me, dear.”

“Yes, Elfie, badly.”

“I knew that you were taken prisoner; but I had no idea that you were hurt until I saw you here. How did it happen? Tell me all about it, dear, unless it troubles you to talk. If it does, don’t speak.”

“It relieves me to talk to you, Elfie. When I turned from the lost battle-field, it was to hurry to the spot where I left you to provide for your safety. But I was pursued; and when I was about half way across the plain, between the hill and the grove, a minie ball from a sharpshooter struck my leg above the knee and shattered the bone—”

“Oh! my dear—”

—“Almost at the same time I saw a troop of horse galloping from the opposite direction. In a moment, Elfie, I was surrounded and captured. And they took me at once to Colonel Rosenthal. But, Elfie, as I sat there in my saddle before him, my limb hung, a shattered, useless, helpless mass beside my horse’s flank. I did not speak as I handed him my sword. I was very glad not to be spoken to; for if I had been obliged to open my compressed lips to answer I should have groaned in agony. And I didn’t want my enemy to hear me do that.”

“Oh, Albert, I am sorry! I am so sorry! Is it very painful now, dear? Have they dressed it well?”

“They have dressed it very well, Elfie; and they are trying to save it; but it is so very painful now that I doubt if they can do so.”

“Oh, Albert, there is no danger of your losing your limb!”

“We shall know by to-morrow morning whether we can save it or not. But, Elfie, I am not so anxious to save my limb as I am to obtain your forgiveness for the great wrong that I did you,” he said.

“Oh! Albert, dear, don’t talk of that. It is past; and don’t you see, dear, that I am friends with you?”

“Thanks, Elfie—thanks! You should understand, Elfie, that farce of a marriage, with the license, and ring, and parson, and prayer-book, all regular, was yet of no sort of value in law, unless it should be ratified by your consent,” he said.

“I know—I know, Albert. But do not let us talk of such exciting things. Your fever is rising, and—here comes Erminie.”

Miss Rosenthal had not passed down her side of the ward as quickly as Elfie had passed down hers. Erminie’s walk was more like that of a physician in charge. She was familiar there. She had to stop by the side of every bed, and hold a conversation with the patient or a consultation with the nurse. And so her progress was slow.

Now, however, having got to the end of her row of beds, she approached her friend, and saw the new patient.

“Albert Goldsborough! is it possible!” she exclaimed, in surprise—surprise immediately suppressed by her habitual caution as a hospital visitor.

“Yes, Miss Rosenthal, I am here,” he answered.

“I am very, very sorry to see you lying thus,” said Erminie, taking his hand, and laying her finger upon his pulse. “You are feverish, and must not give me a word of explanation yet. Elfie, my dear, your presence is no sedative just now,” she added, turning to the weeping girl; “so you may go down. Inquire your way to the office of the surgeon in charge, and ask him, in my name, to send one of his assistants here; for here is a patient who needs immediate attention.”

Elfie arose; but, before leaving the spot, stooped over the wounded man and kissed his forehead, murmuring:

“Good-bye, Albert. If you ever doubted my reconciliation to you, believe it now.”

“Thanks, dear Elfie! You will come again?” he said, holding her hand and detaining her.

“Yes, I will come as often and stay as long as they will let me,” she sobbed.

“Now go, Elfie dear. Go at once. He is suffering extremely for want of attention; and his wound must be looked to immediately,” urged Erminie.

Elfie sat her basket of oranges within Goldsborough’s reach and pointed imploringly to it, and she had the comfort of seeing him smile, and take one and put it to his lips, before she left the ward.

In a very few minutes one of the young assistant surgeons came up in answer to Miss Rosenthal’s summons, and stood beside the bed of the intensely suffering man.

“Yes, Miss Rosenthal, his wound must be looked to immediately,” said the young man.

And Erminie got up to go.

“Good-bye, Colonel Goldsborough. I will see you again to-morrow, when I hope you will be better,” she said, gently.

“Good-bye, Miss Rosenthal; and a thousand earnest thanks.”

When Erminie had entered the carriage, and had given her order to the coachman to drive to the Emory Hospital, and when they were once more on their way, she turned to her silent companion and said:

“Elfie, my dear, you must be very careful what you do, unless you would fetter your whole life with that forced marriage. As it stands now, without your consent it is not binding on you. With your consent it becomes indissoluble.”

“I have not consented,” said Elfie.

“My dear, not in words, perhaps; but actions speak louder than words. There is such a thing as constructive consent. Your manner may be so construed, Elfie, as to forge you fetters that you cannot break in all your life. I speak in warning, to save your future from misery, my dear.”

“Oh, Erminie! would you have had me act otherwise than I did to the wounded, perhaps dying man? Oh, Erminie! I tried—I did indeed—I tried to be firm and hard and cruel, but I could not! I could not! And when I saw his face blanched, and his eyes drawn in, and his lips wrung with the agony he was trying to bear in silence, I—I could—couldn’t be unkind to him!” wept Elfie, burying her face in Erminie’s mantle.

“Nor would I have you be unkind, Elfie, my dear,” said Miss Rosenthal, caressing her. “Be as kind as you please. Do everything for him that Christian love inspires. Only take care that you give him no hold upon your future life.”

“Oh, Erminie! Erminie! I never had much self-control! And since my soul has been so torn between my old love and my hatred of treason, I have less! Oh, Erminie, I cannot say to myself that I will go ‘thus far and no farther!’”

“Then I do not understand you, love. I only wished to caution you, that you should not, through inadvertence, forge chains for yourself that it would gall you to wear.”

“Oh, Erminie! no! you don’t understand me! How should you, when I don’t understand myself?—When I saw _him_ at the head of his band; strong, rampant, insolent; in arms against the government; doing his arrogant will with everybody, and with myself among the rest. I _hated_ him, or I thought I did! And I prayed that he might come to _this_, and come to _worse_! And now, when I see him stretched, broken, helpless, and writhing in agony in that bed, as if it was a rack, I feel as if my cruel prayers had been granted, and I had brought him to it!” she wept.

“That is morbid, Elfie. Whatever brought Colonel Goldsborough a wounded prisoner to our hospital it was not your prayers! For we know that heaven never hears the prayers for vengeance. But one word, Elfie. If Colonel Goldsborough rises from his bed again, do you mean to ratify with your consent that forced marriage?”

“_If_ he rises! Oh, Erminie! you have looked upon too many wounded men not to know when you see the face of a dying one! Oh, Erminie! you must see that he will never, never rise from that bed!” said Elfie, breaking into fresh sobs.

“No, no, Elfie, I see no such thing; that ghastly look of agony is by no means the look of death, which is usually very peaceful. No, Elfie, Colonel Goldsborough may possibly lose his leg; but he has a very fine constitution. And I see no earthly reason why he should lose his life. It is in anticipation of his recovery that I warn you not to allow your compassion for him in his present condition to compromise your future relations with him. But here we are at the Emory,” said Miss Rosenthal, as the carriage drew up before the gates of the hospital.