In the Valley of the Shadow | Page 2

as
finally as if he had grown up with her. One could trust her to the last
ditch, he thought.
She walked straight up to the cart. "I am the nurse sent for by Dr.
Hitchcock. Are you Mr. Moore?"
"I am Mrs. Moore's brother--Mr. Belden," he explained. "Have you
your checks?"
"That is all arranged," she returned briefly. "I am all ready. May I ask
you to hurry? Dr. Hitchcock was anxious for me to see her before six,
when the fever begins."
His nerves were more sharply edged than he knew: an instant irritation
seized him.
"There is plenty of room in the back of the cart," he insisted, "the
express people are very uncertain. Would you not better give me the
checks?"
She swung herself up beside him with a firm, assured motion; for a
heavily built woman she carried herself very lightly.
"I think not," she said decidedly, "the man has started, I am sure. I
would rather lose no time."
He bowed and started the horse: he disliked her already. To a
deep-seated, involuntary disgust that any woman should have to earn
her living he added a displeased wonder that one should choose this
method of doing it. There must be disagreeable details connected with
it, embarrassments, absolute indignities: why did they not marry? This
woman was good-looking enough. She was very obstinate--almost
dictatorial. His idea of womanhood was hopelessly confused with
clouds of white tulle, appealing eyes, and a desire for guidance. It was

impossible to connect any of these characteristics with the woman
beside him.
For a while they drove in silence. Then compunction seized him and he
remarked on the beauty of the foliage. She assented easily, but seemed
no more relieved by the speech than embarrassed by the silence. It was
impossible to treat her as a hired servant: one felt a strong personality
in her. Before they reached the house he was searching for conversation
that should not bore her.
As they stepped into the wide hall, where he observed with a shade of
displeasure that her luggage had come before them, Dr. Hitchcock met
them.
"Ah, Miss Strong, glad to see you. Come right up. On time, as usual, of
course! I was afraid you couldn't make it. Jameson comes to-morrow,
you know--"
They were up the stairs; Belden stood idly in the hall where they had
left him. He had had an idea of showing her the house, stating some of
the facts of Clarice's sudden and terrible need of her, indicating that in a
family so jarred from the very foundations it would be wiser to look to
him than to the bewildered master of the establishment; but this was not
necessary.
Evidently she persisted in dispensing with his services.
His hand slipped to his vest pocket, but he replaced the cigar
uncertainly: it seemed not quite the thing to smoke. Ought he to go to
Peter? In his mind's eye he saw the poor fellow haunting the landing by
Caddy's door; he had an idea that in some way he kept things quiet by
doing this. And how could one be sure that the troubled creature
wanted company?
There was a violent ring at the bell, a jarring of wheels on the asphalt.
The door flew open and the prettiest little woman imaginable, all fluffy
ends and scarlet flowers and orris scent, rushed toward him.

"Oh, Will! Oh, Will!" she gasped, "isn't it terrible? Where is Peter? Can
I see her? Oh, Will!"
Instinctively he took her in his arms--one always did that with Peter's
sister--and she put her head on his shoulder and cried a little, while he
patted her and murmured, "There, there!"
She was so manifestly comforted, and it was so pleasant to comfort
her--this was what a woman should be. He felt a renewed sense of
capacity, of readiness for even the most terrible emergency. He led her
gently to the great cushioned window-seat and listened sympathetically
to her excited babblings.
"It will kill Peter--it will kill him! In--in a great m-many ways, you
know, Will, Peter isn't so--so c-calm as Caddy. He is just bound up in
her. Suppose--Oh, Will!"
"Don't cry, Sue dear, don't!" he said soothingly. "She has a good
chance--a fine chance, really. These things are mostly resisting power,
you know, and grit, and think what a lot of grit Caddy's got!"
"Oh, I know, I know! Don't you know when the baby died--that first
baby--and s-she was so weak she could hardly speak? 'Never mind,
P-Peter, we'll have another!' Oh, dear, she was so pl-plucky, Will! And
now to think--"
He choked a little. "I know, I know," he murmured, "Caddy's a brick.
She always was."
She sat up, not wholly withdrawing from his arm, and patted her eyes,