Greatheart

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER X

  THE HOURS OF DARKNESS

  Dinah could not sleep that night. For the first time in all her healthyyoung life she lay awake with grim care for a bed-fellow. When in troubleshe had always wept herself to sleep before, but to-night she did notweep. She lay wide-eyed, feeling hot and cold by turns as the memory ofher lover's devouring passion and Biddy's sinister words alternated inher brain. What was the warning that Biddy had meant to convey? Andhow--oh, how--would she ever face the morrow and its fierce, prolongedcourtship, from the bare thought of which every fibre of her being shrankin shamed dismay?

  "There won't be any of me left by night," she told herself, as she soughtto cool her burning face against the pillow. "Oh, I wish he didn't loveme quite so terribly."

  It was no good attempting to bridle wish or fears. They were far tooinsistent. She was immured in the very dungeons of Doubting Castle, andno star shone in her darkness.

  Towards morning her restlessness became unendurable. She arose andtremblingly paced the room, sick with a nameless apprehension that seemedto deprive her alike of the strength to walk or to be still.

  Her whole body was in a fever as though it had been scourged with thongs;in fact, she still seemed to feel the scourge, goading her on.

  To and fro, to and fro, she wandered, scarcely knowing what she wanted,only urged by that unbearable restlessness that gave her no respite. Ofthe future ahead of her she did not definitely think. Her marriage stillseemed too intangible a matter for serious contemplation. She still inher child's heart believed that marriage would make a difference. Hewould not make such ardent love to her when they were married. They wouldboth have so many other things to think about. It was the present that soweighed upon her, her lover's almost appalling intensity of worship andher own utter inadequacy and futility.

  Again, as often before, the question arose within her, How would Rosehave met the situation? Would she have been dismayed? Would she haveshrunk from those fiery kisses? Or could she--could she possibly--haveremained calm and complacent and dignified in the midst of those surgingtempests of love? But yet again she failed completely to picture Rose somastered, so possessed, by any man; Rose the queen whom all menworshipped with reverence from afar. She wondered again how Sir Eustacehad managed to elude the subtle charm she cast upon all about her. He hadactually declared that her perfection bored him. It was evident that sheleft him cold. Dinah marvelled at the fact, so certain was she that hadhe humbled himself to ask for Rose's favour it would have been instantlyand graciously accorded to him.

  It would have saved a lot of trouble if he had fallen in love with Rose,she reflected; and then the old thrill of triumph went through her,temporarily buoying her up. She had been preferred to Rose. She hadbeaten Rose on her own ground, she the little, insignificant adjunct ofthe de Vigne party! She was glad--oh, she was very glad!--that Rose wasto have so close a view of her final conquest.

  She began to take comfort in the thought of her approaching wedding andall its attendant glories, picturing every detail with girlish zest. Tobe the queen of such a brilliant ceremony as that! To be received intothe County as one entering a new world! To belong to that Society fromwhich her mother had been excluded! To be in short--her ladyship.

  A new excitement began to urge Dinah. She picked up a towel and draped itabout her head and shoulders like a bridal veil. Her mother would haverated her for such vanity, but for the moment vanity was her onlycomfort, and the thought of her mother did not trouble her. This washow she would look on her wedding-day. There would be a wreath oforange-blossoms of course; Isabel would see to that. And--yes, Isabel hadsaid that her bouquet should be composed of lilies-of-the-valley. Sheeven began to wish it were her wedding morning.

  The glamour spread like a rosy dawning; she forgot the clouds that loomedimmediately ahead. Standing there in her night attire, poised like abrown wood-nymph on the edge of a pool, she asked herself for the firsttime if it were possible that she could have any pretensions to beauty.It was not in the least likely, of course. Her mother had always railedat her for the plainness of her looks. Did Eustace--did Scott--think herplain? She wondered. She wondered.

  A slight sound, the opening of a window, in the room next to hers, madeher start. That was Isabel's room. What was happening? It was threeo'clock in the morning. Could Isabel be ill?

  Very softly she opened her own window and leaned forth. It was one ofthose warm spring nights that come in the midst of March gales. There wasa scent of violets on the air. She thought again for a fleeting second ofScott and their walk through fairyland that morning. And then she heard avoice, pitched very low but throbbing with an eagerness unutterable, andat once her thoughts were centred upon Isabel.

  "Did you call me, my beloved? I am waiting! I am waiting!" said thevoice.

  It went forth into the sighing darkness of the night, and Dinah held herbreath to listen, almost as if she expected to hear an answer.

  There fell a long, long silence, and then there came a sound that struckstraight to her warm heart. It seemed to her that Isabel was weeping.

  She left her window with the impetuosity of one actuated by an impulseirresistible; she crossed her own room, and slipped out into the darkpassage just as she was. A moment or two she fumbled feeling her way; andthen her hand found Isabel's door. Softly she turned the handle, opened,and peeped in.

  Isabel was on her knees by the low window-sill. Her head with its crownof silver hair was bowed upon her arm and they rested upon the bundle ofletters which Dinah had seen on the very first night that she had seenIsabel. Old Biddy hovered shadow-like in the background. She made a signto Dinah as she entered, but Dinah was too intent upon her friend tonotice.

  Fleet-footed she drew near, and as she approached a long bitter sighbroke from Isabel and, following it, low-toned entreaties that piercedher anew with the utter abandonment of their supplication.

  "Oh God," she prayed brokenly. "I am so tired--so tired--of waiting. Openthe door for me! Let me out of my prison! Let me find my beloved in thedawning--in the dawning!"

  Her voice sank, went into piteous sobbing. She crouched lower in thedepth of her woe.

  Dinah stooped over her with a little crooning murmur of pity, andgathered her close in her arms.

  Isabel gave a great start. "Child!" she said, and then she clasped Dinahto her, leaning her face against her bosom.

  Dinah was crying softly, but she saw that Isabel had no tears. Thatsobbing came from her broken heart, but it brought no relief. The darkeyes burned with a misery that found no vent, save possibly in thepassionate holding of her arms.

  "My darling," she whispered presently, "did I wake you?"

  "No, dearest, no!" Dinah was tenderly caressing the snowy hair; she spokewith an almost motherly fondness. "I happened to be awake, and I heardyou at the window."

  "Why were you awake, darling? Aren't you happy?"

  Quick anxiety was in the words. Dinah flushed with a sense of guilt.

  "Of course I am happy," she made answer. "What more could I have to wishfor? But, Isabel, you--you!"

  "Ah, never mind me!" Isabel said. She rose with the movement of one whowould shield another from harm. "You ought to be in bed, sweetheart.Shall I come and tuck you up?"

  "Come and finish the night with me!" whispered Dinah. "We shall both behappy then."

  She scarcely expected that Isabel would accede to her desire, but itseemed that Isabel could refuse her nothing. She turned, holding Dinahclosely to her.

  "My good angel!" she murmured tenderly. "What should I do without you? Itis always you who come to lift me out of my inferno."

  She left the letters forgotten on the window-sill. By the simpleoutpouring of her love, Dinah had drawn her out of her place of torment;and she led her now, leaning heavily upon her, through the passage to herown room.

  Biddy crept after them like a wise old cat alert for danger. "She'llsleep now, Miss Dinah darlint," she murmured. "Ye won't be anxious atall, at all? It's meself that
'll be within call."

  "No, no! Go to your own room and sleep, Biddy!" Isabel said. "We are bothgoing to do the same."

  She sank into the great double bed that Dinah had found almost alarminglycapacious, with a sigh of exhaustion, and Dinah slipped in beside her.They clasped each other, each with a separate sense of comfort.

  Biddy tucked up first one side, then the other, with a whispered blessingfor each.

  "Ah, the poor lambs!" she murmured, as she went away.

  But Isabel's voice had reassured her; she did not linger even outside thedoor.

  Mumbling still below her breath her inarticulate benisons, Biddy passedthrough her mistress's room into her own. She was very tired, for she hadbeen watching without intermission for nearly five hours. She almostdropped on to her bed and lay as she fell, deeply sleeping.

  The letters on the window-sill were forgotten for the rest of that night.