"I am glad you think anything connected with me personal," was her answer, and she went and stood, with her back to him, looking out of the window. A shell burst a few yards away. She started, and glanced nervously at Keith. "Why don't you speak?" said the girl. "It is bad enough to be away for a few days, but then to come and – and to say nothing! And you have not even kissed me!"

He strode up to her, laid a hand on each of her shoulders, drew her towards him, and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"Poor Kitty!" he said, "you are more to be pitied than any other woman in Ladysmith. There are fifteen thousand people in the town all told, and I don't believe there is a woman here more wretched than yourself!"

"Why do you say that?"

"I say it because I know it. Why won't you do things? You might copy Katherine Hunt, for instance."

"Or Mollie," she said. She coloured crimson as she spoke, and then her face turned white.

"Or Mollie, brave Nurse Mollie," answered Keith, and a rich colour dyed his cheeks and mounted to his brow.

Kitty looked at him. She saw the expression in his eyes, and every remnant of self-control deserted her.

"Gavon," she said, "I will have the truth. Oh, I should not be miserable were it not for you! You come to see me when you cannot help it; but you don't love me – you never loved me!"

He was silent; his lips took that hard, firm line which they wore at times, but which Kitty had seldom seen; his eyelids narrowed slightly, and he watched Kitty with a curious expression on his face. She was too mad with rage and misery to be checked even by that look.

"You are recommended for your V.C.," she said; "and you will get it, I suppose. Oh, I know you are brave, very brave against the Boers, but you can hurt a woman who loves you for all that. You can be false and faithless!"

"That is not true," he answered.

"It is true!" cried the girl. "You are busy, and you don't care; but I am not busy, and I do care. You have no time to think; I have all the long, long hours to think, and I think and think, and I know and know. You don't love me; my heart will break. I came out here to be near you, and ran untold dangers just to be by your side; but I am left in this miserable hotel, and you come to see me only when you must."

"I come to see you when I can," he replied.

"It is not true," she said. "If you loved me as I love you, your heart would be drawn to me. But it never, never is drawn to me; you only come to see me when you must – and you love Mollie, not me. Deny it, Gavon; tell me to my face that I am telling you a lie, and I will believe you. I will believe no one else. But oh, you can't. You love Mollie, and Mollie loves you, and it is cruel – oh, it is cruel! It is the hardest fate that could overtake a poor girl – to love a man, and for that man to love her sister. Oh, I am a miserable, most miserable girl!"

"Stop, Kitty; you have said enough," cried Keith. "Now listen to me." He spoke with great decision and suppressed passion, and there was a power in his voice which arrested the weak, half-hysterical girl. "I forbid you, Kitty, if we are to remain engaged to each other, ever to say again what you have said to-day. I decline to answer your accusation. If you don't wish for me as I am, give me up; but if you do wish for me – and I have thought you did, Kitty – if you do wish for me, you must take me as I am, with my faults, with the measure of love I can give you – just as I am. When this siege is over (if it ever is over), when we leave Ladysmith (if we ever do leave it), I will marry you, and be as good a husband to you as God gives me grace to be; but I will not answer your base accusations. If you believe what you say you believe, why don't you give me back my freedom? why do you remain engaged to me? I decline to answer your insinuations. And now good-bye, Kitty. I will come back to see you, when perhaps you will be in a better frame of mind."

He turned and left the room. He was in his full uniform, and he had never looked more handsome. Kitty was terribly frightened when he left her.

"I never meant to say that to him! Now he will never forgive me! But I mean to marry him whether he loves Mollie or whether he does not," said the desperate girl to herself.

She thought for a minute, and then, carried out of herself, pinned on her hat, and ran, just as she was, to the new hospital. She entered, and stood waiting near the surgical ward. She saw Mollie in the distance. Mollie was very busy; she was attending to several patients. Major Strause had, as she hoped, gone quite away without saying anything. Kitty did not attempt to call her sister; she kept looking at her. To her jealous eyes each movement of Mollie's was torture. She had to admit that beside Mollie she herself cut but a poor figure. Even her very beauty, owing to her selfishness and self-indulgence, was getting to be of the very poorest and shabbiest order. There was no self-renunciation on her face; there was no light of courage in her eyes: there was scarcely another woman in Ladysmith who did not show to advantage against poor Kitty. And Mollie, who had beauty as well, how splendid she looked this morning! How erect was her form, how stately was her step, how firm and courageous and grand her nerve!

"No wonder he loves her; he can't help himself. Oh, I wish I were out of the world!" thought the wretched girl.

Just at this moment Mollie caught sight of her. She had not seen Kitty for two or three days. She gave a brief direction to a nurse who stood near, and walked down the ward.

"Well, Kitty?" she said.

She went up to Kitty and took her hand; the girl pushed her back.

"I have come to say something."

"What is it, dear? Anything wrong?"

"Everything is wrong. I saw Gavon this morning, and he – I know now what I guessed before. There is only one way to save me, and you won't take it. You won't be troubled by me long; I cannot endure this. I have come to say that this is good-bye."

She turned away as she spoke; she did not wait for any remarks from Mollie. Mollie went to the door of the hospital and called the girl's name; but Kitty had put wings to her feet, and was running back to the hotel. Shells fell around her as she ran, but nothing wounded or touched her.

Katherine Hunt was standing in the door of the hospital. She had been up all night, and was tired.

"Aren't you ever going to rest, Sister Mollie?" she said.

"Some day," replied Mollie, with a sigh.

"You are fretting about that silly little sister of yours. She's not worth it."

"I am rather anxious about her," said Mollie. "She is very desperate and very unhappy. I have no time to go over to her, or I would."

"I am off duty for two or three hours. I will go to the hotel and look after her."

"She bade me good-bye. She means something desperate," said Mollie.

"No, you need not be alarmed; that is not Kitty's way. Take care of yourself, and don't yield," said Katherine Hunt.

Katherine put on her hat, and prepared to go back to the hotel. Mollie returned to her duties. About noon there was a brief lull, and she went out to take a little air. She had scarcely been two minutes in her post of observation, where she could watch both her cases and the street beyond, when Major Strause strode up to her side. He looked around, saw that they were alone, and said briefly, —

"The day and the hour have come. As long as I was in hospital I kept my word. Will you marry me, Mollie Hepworth?"

"No, Major Strause," she replied.

"I will ask you once more. Will you, when the siege is over, be my faithful and true wife?"

"I will never be your wife."

"Is that your final answer?"

"Yes."

"I have asked you to be my wife for more than one reason," continued Major Strause. He stood in such a position that she could not get away from him. "I have hitherto not declared my reasons. Now I am prepared to go fully into the matter. You can say 'yes' or 'no' afterwards. I have just seen your sister. She is terribly unhappy. Her brain is not too strong, and it has been very much shaken by the terrors and misery she has undergone since she came to Ladysmith. She loves Captain Keith."

"She is engaged to Captain Keith," interrupted Mollie.

"Yes, yes; but that is a trifle. The fact is that she loves him desperately, as I love you. He does not love her; he loves you."

"You have no right – " began Mollie.

He interrupted her by a hasty ejaculation.

"No right," he said, "when the whole thing is as plain – as plain as that there is a sun in the sky! The man loves you as men will love women like you, Sister Mollie; and you love him back. Your sister is mad with trouble. There is only one way to save her – marry me!"

"And believing such a thing to be true, would you really take me to be your wife?" said Mollie.

"I would."

"Then you would be a very miserable man."

"That would be my affair. I would take you as my wife; and, before God, I would be the best man on earth. Yes, Mollie Hepworth, the best, for you have power over me. I was born, I think, with a devil inside me; but in your presence he lies quiet, he does not trouble. You have the effect of sending him to sleep."

"That is little," said Mollie, "if he is there. I cannot marry a man with a devil in his heart."

"Can you not? will nothing induce you?"

"Nothing."

"Not even to save your sister from suicide?"

"She will not commit suicide," said Mollie, a startled expression crossing her face. "I don't believe that for a single moment. No, you cannot frighten me with that. Kitty will marry Gavon. He will be good to her, and she will be happy, if ever we leave Ladysmith alive."

"The provisions are getting weak, and enteric is gaining strength," said the major gloomily. "Ten fresh cases have been brought into hospital this morning. Do you happen to know that?"

"I had not heard it."

"They are making beds on the floor now; there are not enough bedsteads. There is a sad lack of nurses, too. These are dark days for Ladysmith. But outside the Boers are rejoicing. Buller does not get any nearer. We are left to our fate. That being the case, may we not be happy while we can? Your sister would be relieved if she knew that you were engaged to me. Keith would scarcely give you another thought when he learned that you were to be the wife of his – " Major Strause bent lower, and hissed the last words into the girl's ear – "his enemy!"

"And why are you Gavon Keith's enemy?" said Mollie.

"Will you say that you will marry me?"

"I will not."

"If you say it, I need never tell you; if you don't say it, I mean to tell you, and now."

"Now, now," said Mollie – "now?"

"Sister Mollie, you are wanted," said Sister Eugenia, coming out of the hospital.

"Oh, for shame!" said Mollie, turning to Major Strause; "for shame, to keep me now to talk of these things. – Yes, Sister Eugenia."

"I will wait till you come out, or it will be the worse for Gavon Keith," said Major Strause, in a very firm voice.

Mollie looked at him in absolute terror. She went back to the hospital, where her services were urgently needed. But all the time, as she attended to this patient and the other, her thoughts were with Major Strause, and she remembered his words – "It will be the worse for Gavon Keith."

Presently she had a moment's leisure, and seeing the major standing outside, she went back to him.

"I am prepared to listen to you to the very end," she said. "All I ask of you is that you will be brief."

"I must tell you something that will pain you very much," he replied. "You think well of Keith? You have no reason to."

"Speak!" said Mollie.

"About a year ago a very shady circumstance occurred in connection with Gavon Keith. A young man, a cousin of mine, was in our regiment. We were stationed near Netley at the time, and this young fellow – he was extremely rich – became a great friend of Keith's. He came of rather a delicate family. His father and mother were both dead. He had unlimited means – "

"Is the story going to be very long?" interrupted Mollie.

"It shall be as short as I can make it. I need not trouble you with many particulars. He was devoted to Keith, and Keith, for reasons of his own, did all he could to keep young Aylmer from my society."

"Why?" asked Mollie.

"He had what he supposed were good reasons, but it was naturally annoying to me, as I was Aylmer's cousin. However, the long and short of it was that Aylmer was devoted to Keith, and the two were inseparable. Aylmer became very ill; I offered to nurse him. Keith arrived suddenly on the scene, and took my patient from me. I could not help myself, for Aylmer loved Keith and disliked me. Aylmer's illness was supposed to be progressing favourably; nevertheless there were reasons to fear the possibility of a fatal result. Keith came to nurse him one afternoon. It was arranged that he was to spend the night with him. In the night Aylmer died suddenly. The doctor gave the usual death certificate, and poor Aylmer was buried. His will was read, and it was found that he had left Captain Keith ten thousand pounds. This was a large legacy; still no one said anything. Keith was a favourite in the regiment, and people were glad that the young man had remembered him. They are glad to this day. They shall be glad, if you so will it, to the end of time; for Keith and I alone know the truth."

"What do you mean?" said Mollie. Her face was very white – white as death. "What do you mean?"

"I happened to go into the sick-room the morning after Aylmer's death. Now listen – listen hard. Aylmer was ordered two medicines: one was what they call an alterative, or fever mixture – you know the kind?"

Mollie nodded.

"Aylmer was to take two tablespoonfuls of the alterative medicine every two hours. He suffered intense pain from some obscure internal inflammation, and a sedative, which contained a large quantity of opium, was also to be given at stated intervals – a teaspoonful at a time. Those were the two medicines. When I went into Aylmer's room on the following morning, I found that Keith had given Aylmer the wrong medicine – he said by mistake. Anyhow, Aylmer had taken two tablespoonfuls of the sedative and one teaspoonful of the fever mixture. The consequence was that he died. You must admit that a very ugly finger of suspicion points to Captain Keith, more particularly as I found out, after careful inquiries, that he wanted that ten thousand pounds badly just then."

"And you think – "

"I don't think; I know. I have more to say. Keith was very ill after Aylmer's death – shock the doctors called it; but I, having made my discovery, knew better. I carried the bottles away with me. I have them still. When Keith was a little better I went to see him, and told him what had happened. I invited him to take the matter up and make inquiries; but he preferred to hush the whole thing into oblivion."

"And your part, Major Strause?"

"My part is of no consequence. Had I been less soft-hearted, I should have gone straight to the coroner and told him what I had discovered. But I could not bear to ruin the career of a brave soldier, and I let things lie."

"And you – you received nothing?" asked Mollie, her cheeks on fire, her eyes glowing.

"I wanted a little money badly, and Keith gave me some out of his legacy. I could not resist the temptation of asking him for it. I don't want for a moment to pretend that I acted the hero. I did not; but compared with a man who could take the life of another, I was – "

"Very white indeed," said Mollie, with a curious, half-strangled laugh.

"Yes," he answered, "very white. We need not discuss that point. All this time I have lain low, and Keith has got on and forgotten the ghastly thing – he has engaged himself to a pretty young girl, and I have never said a word, and I never will say a word; on the contrary, I will do something else. On your wedding day I will make you, Mollie Hepworth, a present. I will give you those bottles out of which the medicines were taken. You shall destroy them, and so save Gavon Keith for ever. Will you marry me under these conditions?"

"If I say 'no'?"

"If you say 'no,' I never repeat my offer; and to-night the whisper begins in Ladysmith that one of the heroes of the hour, a man who is to be recommended for his V.C., has committed a secret murder."

"You will do that?"

"I will do that for you, Mollie Hepworth; for you, because I want to win you at any cost. If you say 'yes,' Gavon Keith need fear nothing from me. He will marry your sister – he will cease to care for you; he will marry Kitty, and Kitty will be happy, and you will have saved him. You can never marry him, because I mean to ruin him if you do not marry me. Now you know what I require. I will come back for my answer to-night. Good-bye for the present."

He left her. She put up her hand to her forehead. She felt it was very wet. She did not quite know why the heavy moisture stood on it. She was almost incapable of thought.

CHAPTER XXIII.
DARK DAYS

That evening Molly was sent for in a hurry to visit Kitty. One of the servants from the hotel had rushed across to the hospital, and told her that her sister was ill, was in a most nervous condition, and ought not to be left.

"What am I to do?" said Mollie. She turned to Katherine Hunt.

"Don't go to her; leave her to me," said Katherine, her cheeks first flushing and then turning pale. "Yes," she continued, "leave her to me. She could not have come out here but for me. She must not disturb your grand, your magnificent work. I am the one who ought to look after her."

"There are one or two cases that I ought not to leave to-night," said Mollie. "Even if Kitty were dying, I ought not to leave those cases; for I am a servant of the Queen, and her service ought to come first."

"It ought, and must, and shall," replied Katherine Hunt. "Go to her for a few minutes, Mollie; I will follow you."

Mollie went out.

"If I told her now that I was going to marry Major Strause, she would get better," thought Mollie.

But although she knew that, she shrank back – she had shrunk back all day. She had felt the sacrifice demanded of her too terrible. Until this morning, although she had not had one particle of regard for the major, still she had thought that in some ways there were a certain bravery, dash, and fineness about him. She had noticed his tender touch with the sick men – his devotion to her service could not but in a measure touch her; but when he unfolded his scheme, he showed her all the blackness of his heart, and Mollie recoiled from the sight.

"Not only to love another man who is white as snow beside him – not only to love that man, but to hate Major Strause as I must hate all wickedness; and then – then, with that knowledge in my heart, to become his wife – it is too monstrous! I cannot do it!" thought the Red Cross nurse.

She reached the hotel, and went up to Kitty's room. Kitty was lying in bed. She looked very white and feeble; there was a curious expression about her – an absence of excitement and also of life. She was all alone in her bedroom. When Mollie entered, she raised her heavy eyelids; she saw Mollie, and uttered a feeble cry.

"I tried to do it," she said, "but I couldn't. I took some, but not enough. I could not go on. Do you think I am poisoned?"

"O my dear Kitty, my dear Kitty! what has happened?" said Mollie.

"I got some laudanum – I stole it from the hospital – and I swallowed some, but not enough. I could repeat the dose, and then it would be all over, but I am frightened. When I took a certain amount I got frightened. I have been very sick, and I thought I was going to die, and – oh, I couldn't do it. I would have made it all right for you if I could have done —it; but I couldn't."

"My dear, dear Kitty, how wicked and dreadful of you! Oh, God was with you to prevent this most terrible thing! But I am not going to scold you now; only you must not be left alone."

"You won't tell that I tried to do it?" said Kitty.

"No, darling Kitty; but I must take the laudanum away at once."

Mollie's lips were trembling; her strong frame was shaken to its depths. Kitty pointed to a shelf over her bed where a small bottle of laudanum stood. Mollie put it into her pocket. Then she tried to make her sister more comfortable, and talked to her cheerily. When Katherine Hunt arrived, Mollie left her in that young lady's charge, and went downstairs. Her firm nerves were upset. Still, her resolution was fixed to have nothing to do with Major Strause. He was coming for his answer that night; she would not have an interview with him. She went back to the hospital, and wrote him a short note, —

"Don't trouble me any more. Go your own wicked way. God will protect the innocent.

"NURSE MOLLIE."

This note she gave to an orderly, to deliver to the major when he made his appearance. She did not even ask the orderly whether he had come, or whether the note had been given to him; but she did not get it back again.

The next few days passed quietly. There were no messages from the outside world. Rations grew shorter. The stricken town lay quiet, preparing for its death agonies. After a hurried consultation, it was decided to kill only three hundred of the cavalry horses, and to turn the others out on to the flat beyond the racecourse, and let them survive if they could. This was done; and several of the soldiers said that it was one of the most pitiable events in all the war to see the astonishment and terror of the horses, particularly when they were not allowed to come home to their accustomed lines at night. The poor creatures looked like skeletons, and had scarcely strength to hold themselves upright. At night they came back in groups, hoping to get their food and grooming as usual. They had to be driven away by Basutos with long whips; and then they seemed to recognize that it was useless, and wont wearily back to spend the night on the bare hillside. They were too weak and wanting in energy even to look for fodder.

Meanwhile death was busy. Men fell ill daily and hourly. More died from enteric and dysentery and sunstroke than from wounds. Chevral, a preparation of horse meat, was now in daily use. At first the sick and wounded refused to touch it, but afterwards they took it greedily; and it seemed to stem the tide of mortal illness, and to bring back strength.

Mollie had not seen her sister since the dreadful evening when she found her half poisoned in her room. Katherine Hunt gave up nursing the soldiers for the sake of one weak and troublesome girl whom she, in a fit of generosity, had brought to Ladysmith. How often in the days that were at hand did she regret this step!

Meanwhile the major was, to all appearance, silent. What he did only God and his own conscience knew. Nevertheless, it takes but a little whisper to set an evil report circulating; and just about this time – in the midst of the danger, starvation, and anxiety – there was spoken of in the Royal Hotel, at the officers' mess, and wherever groups of Englishmen congregated together, a curious rumour, sufficiently out of the common, even in a moment like the present, to arouse attention. The days were long gone by when any one smiled or laughed much in Ladysmith; the days for recreation, football, races, or any other amusements no longer existed. But the time is never too gloomy for an evil report to find its listeners, and the report now in circulation gained in strength and credence day by day. It had something to do with Gavon Keith. Brave, fearless, handsome Gavon, already recommended for his V.C., had done something shady, very shady in the past. He did not look the thing a bit; even his enemies acknowledged that. He had a clear eye, a frank gaze, an upright look. He did not drink, nor even smoke, to excess. He was unselfish, and willing to share any small comforts he himself possessed with his men. Where his own life was concerned he was reckless. To save a company of his men in the last sortie, he had himself crossed the plain in order to draw off the attention of the enemy and let his men get under cover. The bullets had rained like hail all round him, but none had touched him; and he had got back again to shelter, having done what he intended to do, without so much as a scratch.

Yes, whatever his past, he was a brave soldier now. But what was this dark thing of the past? The old proverbial saying came into force where he was concerned, "There is no smoke without fire." Was it true that Keith had received a large legacy from a brother officer who had died? Was it true that he had officiously undertaken the nursing of this young man, when a proper hospital nurse was wished for by the doctor in attendance? Was it true that the friend had died suddenly, and Keith had secured his legacy? And was it – could it be – true that a wrong medicine had been given to the sick man by Keith – oh, of course, by mistake; yes, only by mistake? Was there any truth at all in this curious story?

Each person to whom it was told said that he, for one, did not believe a word of it; nevertheless, he, for one, was interested in it, and looked askance at Keith the next time he appeared on the scene. The men of Keith's own regiment were eagerly questioned. Yes, they knew something – they knew about Aylmer. He had died, poor chap, quite young, and very suddenly; and he and Keith were tremendous friends. Yes, Strause was Aylmer's cousin. No one liked Strause; they were all glad when he left the regiment. Of course, he was a very brave officer – no one could say a word against him now; but he had not been popular in the North Essex Light Infantry. Keith had certainly received a large legacy, and at the time there was a little cloud over him; he had not been himself – his nerves wrong. People had wondered, but suspicion had long died away. He was very popular. There was nothing in the story; of course there was nothing in it. The man who questioned also said that there was nothing in it; but he looked grave, and whispered it to his brother officer, and the brother officer whispered it to another; and so it came to pass that, except Sir George White and one or two others high in command, every one in Ladysmith knew the rumour about Keith. And even this might not have mattered much if Keith himself had not known it; but he did. The cloud fell about him like a winter fog. It dogged his footsteps; it surrounded him when he lay down and when he rose. At first he could not understand what this cold breath, this dullness in the air, meant; but at mess one day his eyes were cruelly opened. A man who had always sat near him got up and took a seat at the extreme end of the table. Keith asked a brother officer what it meant. This man looked at him hard, and after a slight hesitation said, —

"We have been listening to a story about you."

"A story about me!" said Keith; and then, he did not know why, but the colour rushed up into his face. "What is the story?" he said, after a pause.

"It is not my affair," said the man. "If it is false, you had better never hear it; if it is true – well, I leave it to your conscience."

Keith would have insisted on a further inquiry, but at that instant he received a message from his colonel, and was obliged to go off. He intended to go back afterwards and demand a full explanation; but he was depressed after a very hard day's work and want of sufficient food, and instead of going to the messroom he turned aside and went to see Mollie. He had avoided her since Kitty's all too frank words; but now she drew him, as the wretched and starving are drawn to food, and the cold and miserable to the sun.

Mollie gave him a quick, bright glance, and invited him into a little corner which was curtained off for herself. He sat down, and she spoke quickly, —

"What is the matter? Have you got a fresh wound? Oh, I know – you have had nothing to eat. You must have a cup of bovril."

"Not for the world," he answered. "We shall want every scrap of nourishing food for the sick and dying."

"For the sick, truly; but the dying do not matter," she answered. "But if you won't have bovril, there is plenty of chevral; it isn't bad."

He shuddered.

"I could not bring myself to taste it," he said.

"Don't be sentimental," she answered. "Try it now. Believe me, it is first-rate."

She left him, prepared a cup of the mixture, and brought it to him.

"Shut your eyes," she said, "and drink it off."

He did as she told him, and the trembling which had tried him so inexplicably no longer thrilled through his frame.

"And now tell me what is up," she said.

He was silent for a minute; then he told her just what had occurred in the messroom that day. He started when he saw the expression on her face. It had grown white as death, and her eyes shone with a strange light.

"Do you know anything about this?" he asked, amazed at her look.

"I would rather not say," she replied. "But I have to ask you an urgent question. You know it is false; can you live it down?"

"To be suspected of the most ghastly crime by the men I care for is just the drop too much now," he answered.

"It shall be put right," she replied at once.

A light flashed into her eyes, the colour returned to her face, her lips grew red.

"But you cannot put it right, Nurse Mollie."

"It shall be put right. Don't be afraid."

She laid her hand on his shoulder as she spoke, and looked into his eyes. Then she said, in a hoarse voice which he scarcely recognized as hers, —

"Leave me – you are better; leave me. I have something to do at once."

As soon as ever he had gone, Mollie sent an orderly from the hospital to desire Major Strause to come to see her without a moment's delay. The man said that he had never seen Nurse Mollie so imperative. He rushed off immediately to do her bidding, and in half an hour Major Strause was in her presence.

"I must speak to you where we can be alone," said the girl.