Hospital Corridors Read Online Free PDF Page A

river. So that almost before the midday sun was streaking the waters of the St. Lawrence with gold, the high peak of Mount Royal, the mountain which dominates and gives the name to Montreal, appeared on the horizon.
    As the last stages of the long journey slowly unfolded, Madeline was more moved and excited than she would have believed possible. Montreal might not perhaps have quite the story-book beauty of Quebec—it might not even have quite such a dramatic history—but it was, Madeline knew, one of the greatest cities of the Empire, glorying in its piquant Anglo-French character, and known proudly throughout the New World as the Paris of North America.
    In addition to all this, it was to be her home for at least a year.
    During the last hours on board, Mrs. Sanders, who was still inclined to confuse the duties of a nurse and a personal maid, found so much for Madeline to do that she missed some of the actual drama of arrival. But presently the great ship docked, the formalities of disembarkation were complete, and, trembling with excitement, Madeline walked down the gangway in the wake of Morton Sanders and his mother.
    There followed a long and rather wearisome wait in the big Customs shed, while baggage was checked and examined. And then at last they were free to drive away from the docks into the crowded streets of Montreal.
    It had been arranged that they should go first to the hotel where Morton and his mother were to stay, and that the taxi should then take Madeline on to her final destination.
    As they neared the centre of the city and the moment of parting was evidently approaching, Mrs. Sanders roused herself to give Madeline the attractive melancholy smile which she usually reserved for her son, and to say,
    “Has Morton told you that I shall probably be coming to the Dominion myself?—as soon as we can arrange things through our doctor here.”
    “Yes, Mrs. Sanders.” Even at this point Madeline’s air of sympathetic attention did not flag. “I do hope they’ll be able to make you quite fit again.”
    Mrs. Sanders said quickly that she thought that was too much to hope, but that possibly they would be able to help her a little.
    Then they arrived at the hotel, five-sixths of the luggage was taken off the taxi, and good-byes had to be said. Unexpectedly, at this juncture, Mrs. Sanders took Madeline’s hand in hers and said,
    “Thank you, my dear. You’ve been such a comfort to me.” Bravely resisting the desire to retort that Mrs. Sanders had been small comfort to her, Madeline said a friendly good-bye. And then for a moment her hand rested in Morton’s. He smiled down at her, and those lazy, attractive eyes seemed to appraise her all over again.
    “Don’t forget to keep some of that off-duty time for me,” he whispered mischievously.
    “I’ll try,” she whispered back again, and then wondered why she had been so ill-advised as to permit an air of friendly conspiracy between them.
    However, at least Mrs. Sanders did not appear to have noticed anything, and the next moment the door was closed upon her and the taxi started once more.
    Again Madeline leaned forward with interest and, as she did so, the driver turned his head to enquire in French if she had just come over from England. The few foreign words did more than anything else to make Madeline realize that she was really abroad, in a city that boasted a distinctly foreign character.
    Her own French, though not much used of late years, was reasonably fluent, and she explained that she came from the north of England and that she had never been in Canada before. At that—still speaking French, though with an odd English word or phrase thrown in here and there—the driver proceeded to describe the layout of Montreal, gesturing frequently to make himself clear, with a fine disregard for any confusion of traffic signals.
    It was all very interesting. Madeline gathered that they were driving up West Mount, the smaller of the two mountains round