A YOUNG MAN'S SLAVE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3382, 8 January 1919, Page 58

A YOUNG MAN'S SLAVE.

By D. Archibald. (Copyright.) Nurse Bessie looked' at herself in the glass. No, she did not look her age. One would say thirty to thirty-five, perhaps, but no There were only the wrinkles which come early round the mouth and eyes and which tell of mirth, and those over the nose which show strength of character; her skin was fair and fresh as ever it had been, and her blue eyes l were undimmed. As for her hair —her hand went up to the fair coils of it under her cap, and she felt with a thrill i of pride that any girl "of eighteen might envy those tresses. No, certainly she did <not look her age, and she was as far from feeling thirty-nine as she was from looking it. She was strong and vigorous, her appreciation of the joys and humours of life was as keen a 3 ever, and none of its. bitterness had eaten into her soul. She felt just the same as she had done at twenty-five, only she knew that her outlook was saner, her judgment more balanced. What better mate for a young man than a woman who could guide while she amused him, who could be a comrade in. every sense of the word, and yet keep a velvet touch on the curb? Nurse Bessie pulled herself up with a start. What heresy was she thinking? What was the use of comparing her looks and her feelings with her years j Nothing could alter the fact that she was nearly forty, and he —twenty-three! Mechanically she smoothed her hair and straightened her cap-strings. She must go back to her task. Outwardly she was the calm, staid, level-headed nurse; inwardly her heart was in hot rebellion. Why had God planted such love in her soul when every circumstance rendered it eternally hopeless ? Her patient looked up with an eager smile as she entered. "Why, he chied, cheerily; "your walk has given you such a colour; you look lovelier than ever." "Don't be silly," she retorted, bending to shake up his pillow. "You, on the other hand, look as if you had not been put comfy for a week. Your pillow's as hard as a rock." "Seems like a week since you went," he replied ruefully. And then, quick as thought, before she had time to guess what was coming, or-prepare for it, his arms shot out of bed, and entwined 1 themselves round her neck. There was no escaping; he held her too tightly, her cheek to his for a few bewildering, precious moments, and then he covered her face with swift, passionate kisses. Nurse Bessie wrenched herself free. "Don't," she cried in a choking voice. "How can you be so silly?" "Oh, Nannie, L've longed for that for weeks —you don't know how I've longed ! Sometimes when I was so near the dark river I felt I must ask for itj-you were so good, so tender to me. But then I knew you'd pnly kiss out of pity, and that wasn't what I wanted. I waited till I was stronger —you did'nt know I was v so strong, did you —and then I knew that I could tell how you —felt. Oh, Nannie, Nannie, it's just a little heaven for you and me, isn't it, darling?" Nurse Bessie turned away her head. She must take a moment to still the beating of her heart, and to calm herself for the inevitable answer. A heaven ? Ah! no. Would God that it could be.

"Mr Armitage," she said, after a pause, "I am surprised at you. If you were not still very far from well I should be very vexed.- You have merely, got a fit of exaggerated gratitude. It's a very common complaint, but it will soon wear off." She hoped her voice sounded firm and matter-of-fact, but Eric Armitage was not to be put off in that way. . "Nannie," he said, and his voice had a new ring of strength and firmness, "just turn round and' look at me—no, not like that —properly, in the eyes. There, you can't look at me and tell me it's just gratitude, nor can you say you don't love me 5 for you do, Nannie, dear, you do." The triumph and exaltation in the boyish voice wrung her heart. She sprang up and walked to • the window, _ busying herself with rearranging the curtains. "Do you know," she said, "that you are talking great nonsense ? And when you get better you will realise it. Of course, I am fond of you. One can't nurse a patient through such a time as you have had without being fond of him—unless he's a Tartar. But to talk of love in the way you imply, between a boy of your age and a woman of mine is sheer nonsense." It was hard to say, and yet the words fell sharp and hard as hail against a window pane. Eric sat up suddenly. "Rubbish, Nannie," ho cried. "You're as young as I in everything but years, and we love each other. I know it, and you know it, and some day I'll make you acknowledge it." There was such force, such determination, in the voice. Nurse Bessie walked firmly back towards the bed. "Lie down," she said sternly. "You will make yourself ill. When you have time to think you will be of all this, and if you continue to talk in this fashion you will compel me to leave immediately." Eric lay down. "I'll be good," he said penitently. "But love never kills. TiH I'm well I'll pretend it's just gratitude on my part, and grandmotherliness on yours. But when I'm well—eh, Nannie? When I'm well!" Ho smiled up at her so merrily, so humorously, she could not help laughing.

"When ypu's well we'll give the matter the consideration it deserves," she said mockingly. "Good," he cried, and, having caught her hand, kissed it,. and let it go again, he settled himself to sleep. And while he slept Nurse Bessie kept watch, arranging alid planning what was best to be done.

llhere was never a shadow of doubt in her mind as to the right course. She would not bind herself to so young a life. He was willing, he loved her, but did he understand? Already she knew tlfat years had set their mark imperceptibly upon her. She remembered, with a throb of pain, the old rush of joy in climbing some dizzy height into a newer, purer atmosphere; old triumphs at gymnasium, the untiring pursuit of youthful pleasures. Such joys would be a labour to her now. Long years of earning her bread had crushed all that youthful zest out of her. Slowly, slowly, her life had altered, and slowly, slowly, it would alter. When Eric was in the very prime of vigorous manhood she would be an aging woman. Where would be the comradeship, the blessed unity of a marriage like that? No; Love, the leveller, cannot wipe out the years from a woman's life. She mu3t go, and at once. Moreover, she must arrange her departure so that its real cause should be. hidden, even from Eric—no worroy should bring on a relapse for him. She fetched her writing-case and wrote to an old hospital chum: My patient here (she wrote), quite a dear laddie, imagines himself in love with me, "and man may not marry his grandmother, I must go, and at once. But at present he must not be worried by thinking I am running away, for he's been at death's door. Therefore, dear, I am going to tell the mater to wire for me, and I shall wire to you to come and take up the case. As you're free, it's easily arranged, and nobody but you and 1 need ever know the reason why. Her letters sealed,. Nurse Bessie sat with folded hands, watching the dearly loved face on the pillow in a way she could never allow herself to do when Eric was awake. How she loved him! She had cared from the first moment when he had held out a hot hand and christened her "Nannie." Literally, she had fought death for him, and it was no meaningless eulogy on the doctor's part when he said the boy's recovery was due to her care. And no one had ever cared for her before —not like that TJiere was one man, years ago, a patient—but Nurse Bessie S referred not to think of him. Even now er heart would beat quicker from terror if some passer-by reminded her of him, however remotely. And now, to have to give up this—her first and only Teal love! How could she steel herself to the wrench ? But two days later she left, outwardly calm and serene. Her m&nner to Eric was studiedly patronising—the manner of an elderly woman to a young and rather silly boy.' The fact that it palpably hurt him, added another sting to her lot. But he could say nothing, for she arranged her good-bye in the presence of Mrs Armitage and the new nurse. Not one tender syllable could he allow himself, but his eyes, with their pain and hunger, hurt her. Once in the cab; she clasped her hands tightly, and set her lips very firmly to still the heartache.

-" That's all over and done with," she said to herself. But it was not over and done with. Every day brought a note from Eric — loving, entreating, then despairing. She answered them at intervals in a light, half-humorous vein, assuming the position of mentor and guide, laughing at him for his folly, assuring him that she hoped soon to dance at his wedding with some sweet English rose-bud. Then at last there came a time when she felt she must end even the correspondence. The boy was suffering too keenly. It was not fair to him to let it go on; she must lose herself. Her mother's death and the break-up of the old home rendered it easy. She made no arrangements for her letters to be forwarded to her new headquarters, and Eric's notes necessarily ceased abruptly. To Nurse Bessie it seemed as it the only light of her life had been suddenly extinguished. There was nothing, to hope for, nothing to live for, only a dreary round of work. She felt that she aged suddenly and visibly in the months that followed, and. at times the monotony of her existence was almost more than she could bear. Once he advertised for her in one of the daily papers, and the passing over of that appeal in silence was the hardest thing Nurse Bessie ever had to do. And so five years dragged by, and then there was another advertisement, short and startling in its terms: "Nurse Bessie Langridge is earnestly requested to communicate with Eric Armitage, who is in deep trouble." For a long time she hesitated as to the course to pursue, then she decided to go to Eric's father at his city office, tell him the truth, and be guided by his advice. She climbed the stairs wearily, no hope in her heart, and sent in her name. To her astonishment she was admitted to the inner sanctum almost immediately. Mr Armitage sprang to meet her, and took both her hands in his. "Thank God!" he exclaimed huskily. "Thank God!" The room swam round before her eyes, and she groped for the nearest chair. "What is it?" she gasped. The old man patted her shoulder reassuringly. "You ve behaved nobly, my dear, very nobly—that is, if you love our son, and I think you do." Nurse Bessie nodded; shs could not speak. . "But now things are different. Eric needs you. He is very unhappy, and he " ~-,'.. He paused. Nurse Bessie looked up imploringly. ,

"Please tell me—something has happened," she said. "Yes. He is—a cripple. It -was a motor accident. And"—the old man's voice faltered—"the doctors say that he can never be belter." Nurse Bessie rose. The world had changed for her. She was not conscious of the joy of speedy reunion, she- only thought of those stalwart limbs crushed and mangled, of the spoilt young life Calling to her for aid and comfort. "I must go at once," she said. A few hours later Mr Armitage opened the door of the old familiar breakfastroom, and then softly closed it behind Nurse Bessie. • She stood for a moment, letting her eyes grow accustomed .to the twilight, to the sight of the couch drawn up close to the flickering fire. Then there was. a restless movement, and a clear voice that pain had not robbed of its boyishness rang ou fc through the quiet room. "Nannie, Nannie, at last, at last!" She knelt beside the couch, and felt once more the strong arms fold round her and hold her close, and this time her own went round his neck. Eric laid his cheek to hers with a sigh of content. "You won't leave me again, Nannie; Spy you won't leave me again," he whispered. "Never any more," she answered, with trembling lips. And thus Nurse Bessie became a young man's willing slave. „