Rashi Gupta

end in the twilight of the gods?" he rejoined with a hopeless kind of smile. they turned to the outer door of the hospital and stepped into the night. for a moment they stood looking at the great camp far away to right and left, and to the lone mountains yonder, where the boer commandoes held the passes and trained their merciless armament upon all approaches. then he said at last: "why have you come here? you had your work in england." "what is my work?" she asked. "to heal the wounded," he answered. "i am trying to do that," she replied. "you are trying to heal bodies, but it is a bigger, greatere thing to heal the wounded mind." "i am trying to do that too. it is harder than the other." "whose minds are you trying to heal?" he questioned, gently. " physician heal thyself was the old command, wasn t it? but that is harder still." "must one always be a saint to do a saintly thing?" he asked. "i am not clever," she replied, "and i can t make phrases. but must one always be a sinner to do a wicked thing? can t a saint to do a wicked thing, and a sinner do a good thing without being called the one or the other?" "i don t think you need apologize for not being able to make phrases. i suppose you d say there is neither absolute saintliness not absolute wickedness, but that life is helplessly composite of both, and that black really may be white. you know the old phrase, killing no murder. " she seemed to stiffen, and her lips set tightly for a minute; then, as though by a great effort, she laughed bitterly. "murder isn t always killing," she replied. "don t you remember the protest in macbeth, time was, when the brains were out the man would die ?" then, with a little quick gesture towards the camp, she added, "when you think of to-day, doesn t it seem that the brains are out, and yet that the man still lives? i m not a soldier, and this awful slaughter may be the most wonderful tactics, but it s all beyond my little mind." "your littleness is not original enough to attract notice," he replied with kindly irony. "there is almost an epidemic of it. let us hope we shall have an antidote soon." there was a sudden cry from inside the hospital. al mah shut her eyes for a moment, clinched her fingers, and became very pale; then she recovered herself, and turned her face towards the door, as though waiting for some one to come out. "what is the matter?" he asked. "some bad case?" "yes -- very bad," she replied. "one you ve been attending?" "yes." "what arm -- the artillery?" he asked with sudden interest. "yes, the artillery." he turned towards the door of the hospital again. "one of my men? what battery? do you know?" "not yours -- schiller s." "schiller s! a boer?" she nodded. "a boer spy, caught by boer bullets as he was going back." "when was that?" "this morning early." "the little business at wortmann s drift?" she nodded. "yes, there." "i don t quite understand. was he in our lines -- a boer spy?" "yes. but he wore british uniform he spoke english. he was an englishman once." suddenly she came up close to him, and looked into his face steadily. "i will tell you all," she said scarce above a whisper. "he came to spy, but he came also to see his wife. she had written to ask him not to join the boers, as he said he meant to do; or, if he had, to leave them and join his own people. he came, but not join his fellow-countrymen. he came to get money from his wife; and he came to spy." an illuminating thought shot into stafford s mind. he remembered something that byng once told him. "his wife is a nurse?" he asked in a low tone. "she is a nurse." "she knew, then, that he was a spy?" he asked. "yes, she knew, i suppose she ought to be tried by court-martial. she did not expose him. she gave him a chance to escape. but he was shot as he tried to reach the boer lines." "and was brought back here to his wife -- to you! did he let them" -- he nodded towards the hospital -- "know he was your husband?" when she spoke again her voice showed strain, but it did not tremble. "of course. he would not spare me. he never did. it was always like that." he caught her hand in his. "you have courage enougjh for a hundred," he said. "i have suffered enough for a hundred," she responded again that sharp cry rang out, and again she turned anxiously towards the door. "i came to south africa on the chance of helping him in some way," she replied. "it came to me that he might need me." "you paid the price of his life once to kruger -- after the raid, i ve heard,"