We
all became devotees of the Haley Cult."
"No," said the nurse, "it was herself."
"Isn't that what I have been telling you?" said the doctor impatiently.
"Soul--soul--soul! A soul somehow on fire."
And with that Cameron had to be content.
Yes, a soul it was, at one time dormant and enwrapped within its coarse
integument. Now, touched into life by some divine fire, it had through
its own subtle power transformed that coarse integument into its own
pure gold. What was that fire? What divine touch had kindled it? And,
more important still, was that fire still aglow, or, having done
its work, had it for lack of food flickered and died out? With these
questions Cameron vexed himself for many days, nor found an answer.
CHAPTER IX
"CORPORAL" CAMERON
Jack Green did not die. Every morning for a fortnight Constable
Cameron felt it to be his duty to make enquiry--the Sergeant, it may be
added--performing the same duty with equal diligence in the afternoon,
and every day the balance, which trembled evenly for some time between
hope and fear, continued to dip more and more decidedly toward the
former.
"He's going to live, I believe," said Dr. Martin one day. "And he owes
it to the nurse." The doctor's devotion to and admiration for Nurse
Haley began to appear to Cameron unnecessarily pronounced.
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