Then he heard a sigh that seemed to rise out of the ground, and at the same moment the dog uttered a deep bay. He laid hold of the door and pulled it quickly open. At his feet the figure of a man was kneeling, bent double and huddled up.
"Paul!" he cried in an excited whisper.
Brother Paul raised his head. His face was frightfully changed. It was gray and wasted. His eyes wandered, his lips trembled, and he looked like a man who had been flogged.
"Good Lord, what a wreck!" thought John. He helped him to rise and enter. The poor creature"s limbs were stiff with cold, and he stumbled from weakness as he crossed the threshold.
"But, thank G.o.d, you are back and no harm done!" said John. "How anxious we"ve been! You must never go out again--never! There, brother, sit there."
The wandering eyes looked up with a supplicating expression. "Forgive me. Brother Storm----"
But John would not listen. "Hush, brother! what have I to forgive? How cold you are! Your hands are like ice. What can I do? There"s no fire in the house at this time of night--even in the kitchen it will be out now.
But wait, I can rub you with my hands. See, I"m warm and strong. There"s a deal of blood in me yet. That"s better, isn"t it? Tingling, eh? That"s right--that"s good! Now for your feet--your feet will be colder still."
"No, brother, no. I ought to be kissing the feet of everybody in the house and asking the prayers of the community, and yet you----"
"Tut! what nonsense! Let me take off this shoe. Dear me, how it sticks!
Why, you"ve worn it through and through. Look! What a mercy the snow was hard! If there had been thaw, now! How far you must have walked!"
"Yes, I"ve wandered a long way, brother."
"You shall tell me all about it. I want to hear everything--every single thing."
"There"s nothing to tell. I"ve failed in my errand--that"s all."
John, who was on his knees, drew back and looked up. "Do you mean, then---Have you not seen your sister?"
"No, she"s gone, and n.o.body knows anything about her."
"Well, perhaps it"s for the best, brother. G.o.d"s will be done, you know.
If you had found her--who knows?--you might have been tempted--But tell me everything."
"I can not do that, I"m so weak, and it"s not worth while."
"But I want to hear all that happened. See, your feet are all right now--I"ve rubbed them warm again. Though I fast so much and look so thin I"ve a deal of life in me. And I"ve been pouring it all into you, haven"t I? That"s because I want you to revive and be strong and tell me everything. Hush! Speak low; don"t waken anybody! Did you find the hospital?"
"Yes."
"Then Nurse Quayle sees nothing of your sister now? That"s the pity of the life she is leading, poor girl! No friends, no future----"
"It wasn" that, brother."
"What then?"
"The nurse was not there."
A silence followed, and then John said in another voice: "I suppose she was on a holiday. It was very stupid of me; I didn"t think of that.
Twice a year a hospital nurse is ent.i.tled to a week"s holiday, and no doubt----"
"But she was gone."
"Gone? You mean left the hospital?"
"Yes."
"Well," in a husky voice, "that isn"t to be wondered at either.
A high-spirited girl finds it hard to be bound down to rule and regulation. But the porter--he is an intelligent man--he would tell you where she had gone to."
"I asked him; he didn"t know. All he could say was that she left the hospital on the morning of Lord Mayor"s Show-day."
"That would be the 9th of November--the day we took our vows."
There was another pause; the big dark eyes were wandering vacantly.
"After all, he is only a porter; you asked for the matron, didn"t you?"
"Yes; I thought she might know what had become of my sister. But she didn"t. As for Nurse Quayle, she had been dismissed also, and n.o.body knew anything about her."
John had seated himself at Paul"s side and the form itself was quivering.
"Now that"s just like her," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "That matron was always a hard woman. And to think that in that great house of love and pity n.o.body----"
"I"m forgetting something, brother."
"What is it?"
"The porter told me that the nurse called for her letters from time to time. She had been there that night--not half an hour before."
"Then you followed her, didn"t you? You asked which, way she had gone, and you hurried after her?"
"Yes; but half an hour in London is a week anywhere else. Let anybody cross the street and she is lost--more lost to sight than a ship in a storm on the ocean. And then it was New Year"s Eve, and the thoroughfares were crowded, and thousands of women were coming and going--and--what could I do?" he said helplessly.
John answered scornfully: "What could you do? Do you ask me what you could do?"
"What would you have done?"
"I should have tramped every street in London and looked into the face of every woman I met until I had found her. I should have worn my shoes to the welt and my skin to the bone before I should have come crawling home like a snail with my sh.e.l.l broken over my head!
"Don"t be hard on me, brother, least of all now, when I have come home like a snail, as you say, with my sh.e.l.l broken. I was very tired and ill and did all I could. If I had been strong like you and brave-hearted I might have struggled longer. Bid I _did_ tramp the streets and look into the women"s faces. She must have been among them, if she"s living the life you speak of; but G.o.d would not let me find her. Why was it that my search was fruitless? Perhaps there was evil in my heart at first--I don"t mind telling you that now--but I swear to you by Him who died for us that at last I only wanted to find my sister that I might save her.
But I am such a helpless creature, and----"
John put his arm about Paul"s shoulders.
"Forgive me, brother. I was mad to talk to you like that--I who sent you out on that cruel night and staid at home myself. You did what you could----"
"You think that--really?"
"Yes, only at the moment it seemed as if we had changed places somehow, and it was I who had lost a sister and been out to find her, and given up the search too soon, and come home empty and useless and broken-spirited, and----"