Y first feeling was one of horror. Her condition was frankly terrible. I even feared at first that she was dead. I found a pulse, however. I am big and strong; I got her down off the staircase and laid her flat on the floor. All the time I was praying that none of the family or the servants had been roused. I did not want any one to see her yet.
I brought down some aromatic ammonia and gave it to her in water. Mrs. March was sleeping calmly; across the hall Mr. March also slept, audibly. I had a little time; I wanted an hour—maybe two.
She came to very gradually, throwing an arm over her head, moving a little, and finally opening her eyes. I talked soothingly to her.
“Now don't be alarmed,” I said over and over. “You are at home and everything is all right. I am a nurse. Everything is all right.”
“I want—Julie,” she said at last, feebly.
I had never heard the name.
“Julie is coming. Can you sit up if I hold you?”
She made an effort, and by degrees I got her into the music room. She collapsed again there; and, there being no couch, I put her down on the floor with a cushion under her head. Terrible thoughts had been running through my head. The papers had been full of abduction stories, and I confess I thought nothing else could explain her condition, her rags.
“I am hungry,” she said when I got her settled. “I am—I am starving! I don't know when I have had anything to eat.”
She looked it too. I had the beef capsules in my pocket and I left her there while I made some broth. I brought it back, with crackers. She was into a chair by that time; and she drank the stuff greedily, blistering hot as it was.
I had my first chance to take an inventory of her appearance. It was startling. Her hands were abraded and blistered. She held one out to me pathetically, but without comment. Over one eye was a deep bluish bruise. Her face was almost colorless, and her forearm, where one sleeve had been torn away, was thin to emaciation. Every trace of beauty was eclipsed for the time. She was shocking—that is all.
Her clothing was thin and inadequate—a torn white waist, much soiled; a short, ragged black skirt; and satin bedroom slippers, frayed and cut. She had nothing on her head and no wrap, though the night was cold. She looked up at me when she held out the empty cup.
“How is mother?”
“She has not been well. She is all right.”
“Was it worry?”
“Yes. Do you think you can get up the stairs?”
“Is that all I am to have to eat?”
“I'll get more soon. You mustn't take too much at once.”
She rose and I put my arm around her. She had taken me for granted, childishly, but at the foot of the stairs she halted our further progress to ask me:
“Who are you? You are not a servant.”
“I am a trained nurse. I've been caring for your mother during her illness.”
We went up the stairs and into her room.
Mrs. March wakened about the time I had got the girl to her own room.
“Don't tell mother yet,” she begged. “Give me a little time. I—I'd frighten her now.”
I promised. When I went back, half an hour later, Clare had undressed herself and put on a negligée from the closet. She was sitting in front of the fire I had lighted, brushing out her hair. For the first time she was reminiscent of the girl of the photographs. She was not like them yet—she was too gaunt.
I tried to coax her to bed, but she would not go. I was puzzled. Her nervous excitement was extreme; more than once she stopped, with brush poised, as if she were on the point of asking me some question; but she never asked it—her courage evidently failed her. It was a horrible night. I sat inside the door of my patient's room, in darkness, and watched the door opposite. I could hear the girl pacing back and forth; I was almost crazy.
I offered her a bromide, which she refused to take; but about half-past three I heard her lie down on the bed, and some of the tension relaxed. I had a chance to think, to work out a course of action. Mr. Patton should be notified at once; and as soon as the girl was really composed, I would rouse Mr. March. I knew I would be criticized in the family for not rousing them all at once, but I am always willing to take the responsibility for what I do—the doctor's orders first and my own judgment next is my motto. And there have been times when the doctor's orders—but never mind about that.