Part 4

A most horrible crash was heard, and Goodnow's home was no more. It was now nothing but a burning pile of cinders and it was with great difficulty that friends could induce Goodnow and his daughter to come away from the terrible scene, while Edward himself seemed to want to linger. At last they all went to the nearest neighbor, two miles from Goodnow's place. Later, they tried to find something of the remains of Mrs. Goodnow, but so well bad the fire done its work, that not a trace of the unfortunate woman could be found, nor anything of the old actor, who had failed to save himself from the fire.

Goodnow, with the energy which is characteristic of the western ranchman, decided to rebuild at once, and while doing it, he sent his daughter to Flatville, the nearest city, where one of his brothers was living, and Edward to St. Mary's Hospital in the same city.

Edward did not appear to realize that he was in a new place, and remained the same careless and helpless being, with the difference that he stayed in bed a great part of his time, while at Goodnow's home Grace used to make him take long strolls on the ranch. She was still his faithful friend, and every day she brought him flowers, and now and then she read to him as she used to.

After he had been in the hospital two or three weeks, a new sister came, and took charge of Edward, among her other patients. Her name was Sister Mary, and a sweeter face had never worn a hood. From the first time she came in Edward's room her voice seemed to have a peculiar effect upon him, and while she was near him his eyes always followed her, which fact was rather strange considering that he had, ever since his illness, paid no attention to any one. The doctor noticed this fact and jokingly told Sister Mary that she had come in time to save his patient.

One day, Sister Mary was surprised to hear her patient ask her to sing, and as she looked at him, he said: "Please, Nellie, sing that old song, won't you?"

Sister Mary turned pale and would have fallen to the floor, had the doctor not happened to be coming in.

"Please, Nellie--sing, only once, won't you?" Edward was imploringly repeating.

"Still wanting his old mare Nellie to sing for him," said the doctor, before he noticed Sister Mary; then seeing her reeling and ready to fall, he said:

"What's the matter, sister? Are you sick?" and held her up.

"Please help me out of this room, doctor," was all she said, and to the doctor's questions later, she answered that her name used to be Nellie, and that she used to sing, and she added. "I used to know him."

The doctor saw at once that there was a romance somewhere, and in his anxiety to experiment, he begged sister Mary to come back to the room of his patient and sing for him.

"It may be the key that will open his brain to let in the rays of intelligence," he pleaded, and at last Sister Mary consented to go back and sing.

"Edward, Nellie will sing for you," said the doctor to his patient, watching carefully the expression of his face.

"Good!" said Edward, clapping his poor bony hands together, and showing evidence of great satisfaction upon his face.

At the foot of the bed, facing the invalid, stood Sister Mary. Her face was pale and her lips were trembling, but by a supreme effort she sang:

"Rendez-moi ma patrie, Ou laissez-moi mourrir, Rendez moi mon pays Ou laissez-moi mourrir."

At the first sound of the sweet voice, Edward sat up in bed, and watching eagerly the face of the singer, his eyes filled with tears. When the voice ceased he fell back saying, "My God! Nellie!"

"I have killed him," said Sister Mary.

"No, you have saved him!" answered the doctor, bending over his patient, whose face was covered with cold sweat, and every nerve twitching.

"Sing again," commanded the doctor, and once more the sweet and tender voice of Sister Mary was heard, and Edward opened his eyes. When the song was over, he looked strangely at the doctor, and said, "Where am I? Where is Nellie?"

"You are all right," said the doctor; and Sister Mary walked out of the room, going to the little chapel of the hospital, where she prayed the most fervent prayer of her life. "My God. Give me the strength to keep away from him," she prayed, and her prayer must have been heard, because Edward never saw Sister Mary again.

From this time Edward's recovery was gradual and uninterrupted.

From the time he first lost his reason he remembered nothing. A month later he was in Chicago visiting his friend, the Russian, and from there he went to his home in Canada, where no one ever expected to see him again, except Marie Louise, his first love, who said that she always felt that he would come back.

"Tell me of your life," she asked him.

"It would do you no good," he said, and never told her; but he often asked her to sing, "Rendez-moi ma patrie."