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Glory Of The Conquered

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<h2 id="id01619" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXXV</h2> <h4 id="id01620" style="margin-top: 2em">"OH, HURRY—HURRY!"</h4> That train!—She would go mad if it kept stopping like that. She kept leaning forward in her seat, every muscle tense, fairly pushing the train on with every nerve that was in her. Never once did she relax—on—on—it must go on! She would make it go faster! When it stopped she clenched her hands, her nails digging into the flesh—and then when it started again that same feeling that she, from within herself, must push it on. At times she looked from the window. Now this field was past—they were so much nearer. Soon they would be over there where the track curved—that was a long way ahead. They were going faster now. She would lean forward again—pushing on, trying through the straining of her own nerves to make the train go faster. Mrs. Rolfe had wanted to come with her, but she said no. It seemed she could get there faster by herself. There had been an hour's wait for the train; it made her sick, even now, to think back to that hour. At least this was doing something, getting somewhere. She had telegraphed to every one she could think of, but no reply had come up to the time the train started. She reasoned that out with herself, now for good, now for bad. And then—if he were better, if there were anything good to tell— Her temples were thumping more loudly than the train thumped. Her heart was choking her. Her throat was so tight she could not breathe. Again and again she went over it to herself. Dr. Parkman had operated on Karl. Of course Dr. Parkman would do it right. He would not dare to operate on him without her being there unless he was absolutely sure it would be all right. And then close upon that—he would have waited for her if— Appendicitis—that was what those quick operations were. And most of them—especially with Dr. Parkman—came out all right. And Karl was the doctor's best friend! Would not a man save his best friend when he could save every one else? And Karl himself—his will, his power, his love for her—why Karl would know that nothing must happen while she was away! But close upon that came awful visions—Oh why had Dr. Parkman sent her away and then done this thing? She would tell him when she got there—she would tell him— It would all be right when she got there. If only the train would hurry! There was smoke off there. Was it?—It was the smoke of Chicago! Nothing had ever looked so beautiful before. Very soon now! Why, perhaps within a few hours she and Karl would be laughing at this! "Isn't it great the way I got on, liebchen?" he would say. "Isn't Parkman a dandy?" They were passing those houses on the outskirts. Oh why was Chicago so big! But she must be calm—very calm; she must not excite Karl in the least. How sorry he would be that she had been frightened like this! They were passing larger buildings, coming closer to the city. She gritted her teeth hard, clenched her hands. Karl was at the hospital—the telegram told that. She would get off at the stop just this side of the main station—that was a little nearer the hospital, she believed. She would take a cab—if only there were an automobile!—but the cabman would surely go very fast if she told him why she had to hurry like this. Long before the train came to its stop she was standing at the door. She would not have waited for the standstill if the porter had not held her back. Oh how she must hurry now! She ran to the nearest cabman. Would he hurry very fast?—faster than he ever had before? It was life and death, it was—"Yes—yes, lady," he said, putting her in. "Yes, I understand. I'll hurry." "But faster," she kept saying to him—"oh please, faster!" She saw nothing either to the right or left. She saw only the straight line ahead which they must travel. And still everything from within her was pushing her on—oh if the man would only hurry! A big building at last—the hospital. Only two blocks now, then one, and then the man had slowed up. She was out before he stopped, running up the steps—somebody in the hospital would pay—and up the stairs. The elevator was there—but her own feet would take her faster. "Dr. Hubers?—Where is he?" she said in choked voice to a nurse in the hall. The nurse started to speak, but Ernestine, looking ahead, saw Dr. Parkman standing in the door of a room. She rushed to him with outstretched hand, white, questioning, pleading face. Her lips refused to move. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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