"I must."
"Must is a hard word. Let Jesus appoint, and let you and me
obey; because we love Him, and are His."
He was silent, and so was I then; the words trooping in a sort
of grand procession through some distant part of my brain -
"All things are yours; whether life, or death, or the world,
or things present, or things to come; all are yours; and ye
are Christ's; and Christ is God's." I knew they swept by
there, in their sweetness and their majesty; I could not lay
hold of them to make them dwell with me then.
A few days went past, filled with duty as usual; more filled
with a consuming desire which had taken possession of me, to
know really how Mr. Thorold was and what were the prospects of
his recovery. His face always looked clear and well; I thought
his wounds were not specially painful; I never saw any sign
that they were; the dressing of them was always borne very
quietly. That was not uncommon, but involuntary tokens of pain
were sometimes wrung from the sufferers; a sigh, or a knit
brow, or a pale cheek, or a clinched hand, gave one sorrowful
knowledge often that the heroism of patient courage was more
severely tested in the hospital than on the field. I never saw
any of these signs in Mr. Thorold. In spite of myself, a hope
began to spring and grow in my heart, which at the first
seeing of him in that place I had thought dead altogether. And
then I could not rest short of certainty. But how to get any
light at all on the subject was a question. The other nurse
could not tell me, for she knew no more than myself; not so
much, for she rarely nursed Mr. Thorold. Dr. Sandford never
told how his patients were doing or likely to do; if he were
asked, he evaded the answer. What we were to do, he told
explicitly, carefully; the issue of our cares he left it to
time and fact to show. So what was I to do? Moreover, I did
not wish to let him see that I had any, the least, solicitude
for one case more than the rest. And another thing, I dreaded
unspeakably to make the appeal and have my doubts solved. With
the one difficulty and the other before me, I let day after
day go by; day after day; during which I saw as much of Mr.
Thorold as I could, and watched him with intense eyes. But I
was able to resolve nothing; only I thought his appetite grew
poorer than it had been, while that of many others was
improving. We had some chance for talk during those days; by
snatches, I told him a good deal of the history of my European
life; and he gave me details of his life in camp and field. We
lived very close to each other all that time, though outward
communication was so restricted. Hearts have their own way of
communicating, - and spirits are not wholly shut in by flesh
and blood. But as the days went by, my anxiety and suspense
began to glow unendurable.