Wild Youth | Page 5

and as fateful as birth or death. That day she was
taken suddenly and acutely ill. It was only a temporary malady, an
agonizing pain which had its origin in a sudden chill. This chill was due,
as the Young Doctor knew when he came, to a vitality which did not
renew itself, which got nothing from the life to which it was sealed,
which for some reason could not absorb energy from the stinging, vital
life of the prairie world in the June-time.
In her sudden anguish, and in the absence of Joel Mazarine, she sent for
the Young Doctor. That in itself was courageous, because it was
impossible to tell what view the master of Tralee would take of her
action, ill though she was. She was not supposed to exercise her will. If
Joel Mazarine had been at home, he would have sent for wheezy,
decrepit old Doctor Gensing, whose practice the Young Doctor had
completely absorbed over a series of years.
But the Young Doctor came. Rada, the half-breed woman, had
undressed Louise and put her to bed; and he found her white as snow at
the end of a paroxysm of pain, her long eyelashes lying on a cheek as
smooth as a piece of Satsuma ware which has had the loving polish of
ten thousand friendly fingers over innumerable years. When he came

and stood beside her bed, she put out her hand slowly towards him. As
he took it in his firm, reassuring grasp, he felt the same fluttering
appeal which had marked their handclasp on the day of their first
meeting at the railway- station. Looking at the huge bed and the
rancher-farmer's coarse clothes hanging on pegs, the big greased boots
against the wall, a sudden savage feeling of disgust and anger took hold
of him; but the spirit of healing at once emerged, and he concentrated
himself upon the duty before him.
For a whole hour he worked with her, and at length subdued the
convulsions of pain which distorted the beautiful face and made the
childlike body writhe. He had a resentment against the crime which had
been committed. Marriage had not made her into a woman; it had
driven her back into an arrested youth. It was as though she ought to
have worn short skirts and her hair in a long braid down her back. Hers
was the body of a young boy. When she was free from pain, and the
colour had come back to her cheeks a little, she smiled at him, and was
about to put out her hand as a child might to a brother or a father, when
suddenly a shadow stole into her eyes and crept across her face, and she
drew her clenched hand close to her body. Still, she tried to smile at
him.
His quiet, impersonal, though friendly look soothed her.
"Am I very sick!" she asked.
He shook his head and smiled. "You'll be all right to-morrow, I hope."
"That's too bad. I would like to be so sick that I couldn't think of
anything else. My father used to say that the world was only the size of
four walls to a sick person."
"I can't promise you so small a world," remarked the Young Doctor
with a kind smile, his arm resting on the side of the bed, his chair
drawn alongside. "You will have to face the whole universe to-morrow,
same as ever."
She looked perplexed, and then said to him: "I used to think it was a

beautiful world, and they try to make me think it is yet; but it isn't."
"Who try to make you?" he asked.
"Oh, my bird Richard, and Nigger the black cat, and Jumbo, the dog,"
she replied.
Her eyes closed, then opened strangely wide upon him in an eager,
staring appeal.
"Don't you want to know about me?" she asked. "I want to tell you-- I
want to tell you. I'm tired of telling it all over to myself."
The Young Doctor did not want to know. As a doctor he did not want
to know.
"Not now," he said firmly. "Tell me when I come again."
A look of pain came into her face. "But who can tell when you'll come
again!" she pleaded.
"When I will things to be, they generally happen," he answered in a
commonplace tone. "You are my patient now, and I must keep an eye
on you. So I'll come."
Again, with an almost spasmodical movement towards him, she said:
"I must tell you. I wanted to tell you the first day I saw you. You
seemed the same kind of man my father was. My name's Louise. It was
my mother made me do it. There was a mortgage--I was only