Since that tragic meeting at his father’s bedside in the grey dawn, Zaidos had had a shadow, his cousin Velo Kupenol, whose very existence Zaidos had forgotten in the years spent in America. Even now as Zaidos was exploring the trenches of the English position, Velo was near, apparently that he might see that no harm came to Zaidos, still a little weak because of the broken leg.
He managed to slip away from Velo finally and was greatly relieved. Somehow everything went along better without Velo tagging at his heels. Zaidos felt ashamed when he tried to analyze his feelings. He was at a loss to understand himself. Even Nurse Helen, who frankly confessed to Zaidos that she disliked Velo, was obliged to say that there was nothing openly objectionable about him. His manners were always easy and graceful, and he was quicker to jump to her assistance than any man on the detail.
He treated Zaidos with a protective fondness that was almost funny. He watched him, saw that he went to bed and arose on schedule time, helped dress his scratch, and looked after him generally like a faithful and devoted nurse.
Yet Nurse Helen pondered. She never once let him handle one of the dressings which were rapidly healing the ugly little tear in Zaidos’ arm.
Wherever he sat down to rest some soldier told him something of interest. Gunners explained the watch-like perfection of their guns. Snipers told thrilling tales of long shots. The cooks showed him how cleverly the big field stoves came apart, and how they could be assembled at a moment’s notice.
At supper time his new friend, Lieutenant Cunningham, called him. He had kept a place for Zaidos beside him. Velo had been omitted from the group, so he smilingly sat down in another bend of the trench with his pannikin of stew and cup of coffee, seemingly quite content. But black hate raged in his black heart!
Velo was a strange sort. He was a coward; he dreaded danger and endured hardships badly. Yet the thought that harm might come to him never entered his head. He was deeply superstitious, and while he could and did change the bottles and place the poison within his cousin’s reach, while he placed the rusty pin in the crutch where it would inflict a wound on Zaidos’ body, while he could plan endlessly to rid himself of his cousin, he would not himself directly aim the blow or fire the deadly shot. He rejoiced in the battle that was threatening. Zaidos would die, and he wanted the evidence of his own eyes. Also he wanted the statements of witnesses. Sometimes when he heard Zaidos’ ready laugh, and saw his bright, straightforward look, a flicker of pity shadowed his dastardly resolve. Then he remembered the soft living, the ease and luxury of the house of Zaidos, and remembering that he, as Velo Kupenol, must be all his life nothing but a dependent on his cousin’s bounty, he steeled his wicked heart to its self-appointed task.
But he must change his tactics. Zaidos as usual was surrounding himself with friends. Velo felt that he must be doubly careful. There must be no more strange, unaccountable accidents to Zaidos. When the blow fell it must crush him utterly; until then, he must be left to move securely.
Velo thought of all this as he sat talking to the soldier beside him and eating the plain fare of the men in the field.
The talk was all of the coming attack. Spies had reported a movement of preparation in the enemy’s ranks, and there was a stir of warning in the very air. To Velo’s amazement, no one seemed worried or anxious. The conversation moved smoothly on, as though the battle was a test of skill on a chess-board. Not a man there seemed to regard the coming event in a personal light. Even the uncertainty did not distress anyone. The attack would surely come, but whether it would come the following night or in a week’s time did not seem to matter in the least. Velo had expected to see in an event like this a lot of men brooding gloomily over the possible outcome, a dismal time with last farewells, and touching letters written home. He watched the young officer beside him. He had finished his meal and had taken out a pad of paper and an indelible pencil. He wrote rapidly, but with a calm and smiling face. Velo could not imagine any tragic farewells in that letter.
Velo, still staring at the writer, listened to the conversation along the wall of the trench. It had at last turned from war to out-door sports. Velo, who never exercised if he could avoid it, listened idly. A small, pale boy in a lieutenant’s uniform was violently upholding certain rules while the officer next to Zaidos disputed him smilingly. They argued pleasantly, but with the most intense earnestness.
“Who is that straw-colored chap?” Velo asked the writer beside him.
“Across?” questioned the scribbler. “We call him ‘Sister Anne.’ You know she was the lady in Bluebeard’s yarn that kept looking out the window. He is always sticking his head out of the trenches, to see what he can see. He’s going to get his some day.”
“Don’t you know his real name?” asked Velo. “He acts as though he thought he was somebody of importance.”
“Why, when you come down to it, I suppose perhaps he is when he is at home,” said the man. “He’s a jolly good sort, though. He’s the Earl of Craycourt.”
“And who is the chap beside my cousin?” asked Velo, steadying his voice with difficulty.
“The Prince of Teck’s second son,” answered the writer. Velo’s curiosity rather disgusted him. “Anybody else you would like to know about?”
“Well, who are you?” said Velo, trying to get back.
“Your very humble servant, John Smith,” he said. He slid the pencil down into his puttee and stood up, bowing. He did not ask Velo for his name but, closing the pad, strolled off and slid an arm around the neck of the second son of the Prince of Teck.
Velo for once felt small, but he jotted young John Smith down on his black list for further reference! As for the others, he could not get over the fact of their noble birth. He stood staring at the group. Zaidos was as usual in the center of things, having the best sort of a time. That was Zaidos’ luck, thought Velo. He stared at the bent head of “John Smith,” bending over the “second son of the Prince of Teck.” For a plain “John Smith” he seemed exceedingly chummy with the young nobleman. Velo was a natural-born toady. True worth, real nobility of mind and soul meant nothing to him. But he did not lack assurance. After a moment he braced up and joined the group where Zaidos and Lord Craycourt, who answered willingly to the nickname “Sister Anne” were swapping school yarns and the others were in gales of laughter.
And at that moment, without warning, in the arm of the trench where Velo had just been sitting, a great shell dropped and exploded with the noise of pandemonium. A wave of dirt and splinters were pushed towards them. As the air cleared, there was the sound of a feeble moan or two, then silence. “John Smith,” rather white, stood looking at the fresh mound of earth.
“There were six fellows in there when I came away,” he said. “Get to work, everybody!”
With sabers and pieces of wood and hands, they cleared away the wreckage. One by one they came to the pitiful fragments that had been men. One by one, they laid them reverently aside. It was only just as they had reached the angle leading to the cook house that they found a crumpled body that moved slightly as they touched it.
“We can’t hurt him much; he’s too far gone,” said “John Smith.” “Lift him up, and get him over to the First Aid!”
They kicked a rough way into the cook house, hurried through it and the connecting tunnel to the First Aid. There they laid the shattered body on the table, and with the exception of Zaidos and Velo, all went back to repair the trench.
Never again during his experience with the Red Cross did Zaidos find time to watch the marvelous skill of a field surgeon. The soldier, a large and muscular man, was almost in ribbons. His flesh was actually tattered, and the dirt had been driven into the wounds. A leg had been blown off, and both arms were broken. Yet he lived. There was quick and silent work for awhile. When the doctor finally stood up and looked critically at his finished task lying there bandaged like a mummy and breathing with the heavy slowness of insensibility, he nodded in satisfaction.
“I only wish all the other poor fellows who come in here had your luck, my boy,” he said, nodding at the insensible patient. “If I could get you one at a time, it would be an easy matter; but when you come at us by the dozen, it is a different affair entirely. He’s ready,” he added to Zaidos. “Get a couple of bearers, and take him to the rear. Don’t lift him yourself. There are plenty to do it to-night, and your leg is not too strong yet.”
Zaidos called a couple of privates from the trench, and went with them back to the main hospital. The man on the stretcher lay like dead. Nurse Helen received him.
“I’m coming your way to-morrow, John,” she said. “I have been detailed to the First Aid shelter.”
“I’m sorry,” said Zaidos. “It is too near the firing line in there for a woman.”
“For a woman perhaps,” said Helen with a little smile, “but not for a nurse. That is a different thing, John.”
“I can’t see it,” said Zaidos.
As he spoke, another dull roar marked the falling of a second shell.
“I don’t see why they start up to-night,” said Zaidos. “I wonder if that did any damage.”
“They want to worry us enough so that the men will lose sleep,” said a soldier standing near. “But no one will bother about a few shells. The men will get into the bomb proof shelters until daylight. It is a waste of ammunition as it is.”
An orderly entered with a written call for a nurse for the First Aid Station. Nurse Helen was called to the Head Nurse and in a moment came hurrying back to Zaidos.
“They have sent for me now,” she said. “I suppose some other cases have come in.”
“I’ll go back with you,” offered Zaidos, and together they stumbled along through the rapidly gathering dusk.
Three more men had been hurt, and when they had finally been sent back to the hospital, it was almost midnight.
Zaidos found Helen sitting at the opening of the shelter, looking up at the stars. She made room for him on the plank.
“I’m thinking hard about home, John,” she said. “One’s viewpoint changes so. I wish I knew that I have done right to come here and leave my parents and little sister. I’m just so lonely and troubled to-night that I have half a mind to tell you my story.”
“I wish you would,” said Zaidos, “if you feel like telling me. I told you all about myself, and it would make me feel sort as if I was really an old friend of yours if you told me things, too.”
“Of course,” said Helen. “I know how you feel. Well, John, you know, don’t you, that we are certainly in for an attack as soon as it is daylight? Perhaps before, because the enemy has searchlights that make it easy for them to bother us in the dark. I know they are expecting a big battle because this is a much coveted position. A great number of fresh troops are on the way here. I learned that to-night, and that looks serious, because we have our full quota of men here now. They are going to change shifts all night. So there will doubtless be heavy work for the Red Cross people, and much of that may be field work. And, John, it may be that never again will you and I sit talking together.”
“Nonsense!” said Zaidos. “Don’t talk like that! You are too sweet and pretty to die, and I can’t die because I have got such a lot to do.”
Helen shook her head. “I don’t say that we will,” she said. “But boys as busy as you, and women nicer than I could ever dream of being, have gone out into the dark—crowds of them, in this war.”
Zaidos saw that she was deep in one of the black moods that sometimes comes over the sunniest natures.
“Well, never mind,” he said. “You are going to tell me who you are, and all about things, and we are going to have the nicest sort of a visit, if we sit up all night.”
“I shall have to sit up anyway,” said Helen. “I’m on night duty.”
“Well, then so am I,” said Zaidos, “so begin!”
“Our home is in Devonshire,” said Helen. “My father is rector of a large parish there. Everything for miles and miles around belongs to the Earl of Hazelden. He has three children, a girl and two boys, and we grew up together. We liked the same sports, and enjoyed the same pleasures. The daughter, Marion, who is only a year younger than I am, went to school with me near London, and afterwards to France where we were perfected in languages. My sister is four years younger than I, so in those days she did not really count. I forgot to say that my mother was well born, and had a large fortune in her own name, so we were able to live better and have more luxuries than a clergyman can usually provide. Of course we lived simply, but we could afford the best and most exclusive schools, and I had horses to ride that were exactly as good as the Hazelden children’s.
“At last Marion and I returned from school, our education finished. Ellston Hazelden, the eldest son, was in the army, of course, and Frank, the second, was in London studying law. At Christmas Ellston came home on leave, and Frank came down from London. Oh, John, I wish you knew Ellston! He is the finest—there is no one like him! Of course any girl would have fallen in love with him. I did. Oh, I did indeed! I shall never see him again, John, and I am not ashamed to tell you how I loved him and how I will always love him.”
“Well, then—” interrupted Zaidos.
She silenced him. “Let me tell you the rest. I loved him, and when he told me that he loved me and wanted me to marry him, it seemed the sweetest, most natural thing in the world. I suppose here you think will come in the dark plot of the simple rector’s daughter, and the haughty Earl who thinks she is not good enough for his son and heir. It was not a bit like that. Lord and Lady Hazelden were adorable. They came and welcomed me with open arms, and Lord Hazelden said he had been planning it ever since we were little tots!
“John, it just seemed as though they could not do enough for us. Lady Hazelden was in deep mourning for her mother, so we decided not to announce our engagement for six months. Then in three months more we would marry. Every day the Hazeldens drove over with some beautiful plan for our happiness. They had one entire wing of the castle done over for us. Ellston came down often as he could.”
Helen lapsed into silence, and sat staring into the night.
“Well, what then?” asked Zaidos, staring at the lovely, sorrowful face beside him. “Did he die?”
“No,” said Helen haltingly. “We quarreled.”
“Quarreled?” echoed Zaidos. “Quarreled after all that? I don’t see how you could!”
“I don’t see now, either,” said Helen. “It was my fault. I should have made him make up with me.”
“What was the fuss about?” asked Zaidos. He was intensely interested. He had never been so close to a real love affair before. Of course he had met a girl at one of the hops; the one he gave the collar emblem to. Zaidos couldn’t think of her name, but he remembered that he had been pretty hard hit. He knew she was a pretty girl; funny he couldn’t think of her name! It occurred to Zaidos that a fellow ought to know a girl’s name anyhow if he was crazy over her. And he had been quite crazy over her for a whole evening. Had it bad! Anyhow, he was sure she was a blonde. That was proof that he remembered and suffered! But Helen was speaking.
“I hate to tell you,” she said. “It seems so trivial now.”
“Well, let’s hear about it,” said Zaidos. “Perhaps we can get hold of the chap and fix things up.”
“Not now,” said Helen sadly. “It is too late. There always comes a time when it is too late, John. Don’t forget that. I have found it out.”
She paused again, and Zaidos was afraid she was never going on, but finally she took up her story.
“There is actually nothing to it. It commenced with the color of a dress I wore. Tony said it was the most unbecoming thing I had ever had on. I had just been visiting a friend in London, a very advanced girl, and she had been telling me what a mistake it was when one gave up to the prejudices of a man. She said do it once and you would do it always. So when Tony said quite calmly, ‘Do please throw the thing away, or burn it up,’ I thought I ought to take a firm stand. I said, ‘I shall do neither. This is a perfectly new dress, and I mean to wear it all summer.’ Tony laughed. He said, ‘Well, I’m blessed if I take any leave until winter then!’ Of course he was joking, and a girl with the least common sense would have known it; but I retorted, ‘That is an excellent plan!’ He said, ‘Why, Helen, you don’t mean that, do you?’ and I said I certainly did. We parted rather stiffly. It was his last evening at home, and I had put on the frock in honor of it. He wrote as soon as he reached London, and referred to the dress again. He said such trivial things should never be permitted to come between two people who loved each other. I returned that it was not trivial, but a matter of principle, which I should support. John, it actually parted us. Actually parted us! Just think of it!”
“Well, I never heard such bosh!” Zaidos said. “Why didn’t you write and tell him it was perfect nonsense, and that you were sorry?”
“That is the worst of it,” said Helen. “I did just that, and told him how I loved him, and that it didn’t matter what I wore, so long as he liked it. Oh, I said everything, John, that a silly and repentant and loving girl could say, and sent the letter to his quarters in London. I even put my return address on the envelope.”
“What did he say?” said Zaidos.
“Not a word!” said Helen sadly. “Not one word! I waited for two weeks, and then he was ordered to the front. Still he did not write. I sent him back his ring; it was all I could do, and left home for awhile. He came down for a day, but did not come to our house. Not a very exciting affair is it, John?”
“Perfect bosh!” declared Zaidos. “I’ll bet anything, anything that he never received your letter at all, or else he answered and you did not get his letter. Why didn’t you telephone him? Letters are no good.”
“I asked him to telephone me,” said Helen. “I watched that telephone for three days all the time.”
“Didn’t you leave it at all?” said Zaidos.
“Only once for an hour,” said Helen, “and then I had my own maid sit right beside it.
“That is all there is to my poor little story, John boy. Tony is somewhere in France, if he still lives, and I came out here when I could stand it no longer at home. You see I am not afraid of death because I don’t in the least care to live without Tony.”
“Well, it’s too bad,” said Zaidos. “Wish I had been there. I just know he never got your letter. I just know it!”
“The story is ended now, at any rate,” said Helen. “If Tony lives he will go back home and marry some woman who has common sense to appreciate him, and as for me, to the end of my days, I shall be just Nurse Helen.” She sighed softly, and for a moment looked into the night.
“Do you want to see him?” she asked. She drew from her uniform a slender chain with a big gold locket swinging on it. A crest was on it set with diamonds that flashed in the dim light. Zaidos looked at the open, handsome face.
“Look like him?” he asked.
“Exactly like him!” she replied.
“Well, when I meet him,” promised Zaidos, “I’ll tell him a few things!”
Helen smiled. “You will never meet,” she said. “But if ever anything happens to me, John, take this and send it to him. You’ll remember the name, won’t you?”
“Oh, yes!” said Zaidos, “I’ll remember! But just you take notice, he never got that letter!”
“What a stubborn boy you are!” exclaimed Helen.
“Not stubborn at all,” declared Zaidos, looking at the lovely face. “I’m merely a man myself, if I am young.”