Greatheart

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER XX

  THE COMING OF GREATHEART

  It was soon after nine on the following morning that Scott presentedhimself on horseback at the gate of Dinah's home. It had been hisintention to tie up his animal and enter, but he was met in the entranceby Billy coming out on a bicycle, and the boy at once frustrated hisintention.

  "Good morning, sir! Pleased to see you, but it's no good your coming in.The pater's still in bed, and the mater's doing the house-work."

  "And Dinah?" said Scott. The question leapt from him almostinvoluntarily. He had not meant to display any eagerness, and he soughtto cover it by his next words which were uttered with his usual carefuldeliberation. "It's Dinah I have come to see. I have a message for herfrom my sister."

  Billy's freckled face crumpled into troubled lines. "Dinah has clearedout," he said briefly. "I'm just off to the station to try and get newsof her."

  "What?" Scott said, startled.

  The boy looked at him, his green eyes shrewdly confiding. "There's beenthe devil of a row," he said. "The mater is furious with her. She gaveher a fearful licking last night to judge by the sounds. Dinah wassquealing like a rat. Of course girls always do squeal when they're hurt,but I fancy the mater must have hit a bit harder than usual. And she'sburnt the whole of the trousseau too. Dinah was so mighty proud of allher fine things. She'd feel that, you know, pretty badly."

  "Damnation!" Scott said, and for the second time he spoke without his ownvolition. He looked at Billy with that intense hot light in his eyes thathad in it the whiteness of molten metal. "Do you mean that?" he said."Do you actually mean that your mother flogged her--flogged Dinah?"

  Billy nodded. "It's just her way," he explained half-apologetically."The mater is like that. She's rough and ready. She's always done it toDinah, had a sort of down on her for some reason. I guessed she meantbusiness last night when I saw the dog-whip had gone out of the hall. Iwished afterwards I'd thought to hide it, for it's rather a beastlyimplement. But the mater's a difficult woman to baulk. And when she's inthat mood, it's almost better to let her have her own way. She's sure toget it sooner or later, and a thing of that sort doesn't improve withkeeping."

  So spoke Billy with the philosophy of middle-aged youth, while the manbeside him sat with clenched hands and faced the hateful vision of Dinah,the fairy-footed and gay of heart, writhing under that horrible andhumiliating punishment.

  He spoke at length, and some electricity within him made the animal underhim fidget and prance, for he stirred neither hand nor foot. "And youtell me Dinah has run away?"

  "Yes, cleared out," said Billy tersely. "It was an idiotic thing to do,for the mater is downright savage this morning, and she'll only give heranother hiding for her pains. She stayed away all day once before, yearsago when she was a little kid, and, my eye, didn't she catch it when shecame back! She never did it again--till now."

  "And you are going to the station to look for her?" Scott's voice wasdead level. He calmed the restive horse with a firm hand.

  "Yes; just to find out if she's gone by train. I don't believe she has,you know. She's nowhere to go to. I expect she's hiding up in the woodssomewhere. I shall scour the country afterwards; for the longer she staysaway the worse it'll be for her. I'm sure of that," said Billy uneasily."When the mater lays hands on her again, she'll simply flay her."

  "She will not do anything of the sort," said Scott, and turned hishorse's head with resolution. "Come along and find her first! I will dealwith your mother afterwards."

  Billy mounted his bicycle and accompanied him. Though he did not see howScott was to prevent any further vengeance on his mother's part, it was aconsiderable relief to feel that he had enlisted a champion on hissister's behalf. For he was genuinely troubled about her, although thecruel discipline to which she had been subjected all her life had soaccustomed him to seeing her in trouble that it affected him less than ifit had been a matter of less frequent occurrence.

  Scott's reception of his information had somewhat awed him. Like Dinah,he had long ceased to look upon this man as insignificant. He rode besidehim in respectful silence.

  The country lane they followed crossed the railway by a bridge ere it raninto the station road. There was a steep embankment on each side of theline surmounted by woods, and as they reached the bridge Billy dismountedto gaze searchingly into the trees.

  "She might be anywhere" he said. "This is a favourite place of hersbecause the wind-flowers grow here. Somehow I've got a sort offeeling--" He stopped short. "Why, there she is!" he exclaimed.

  Scott looked sharply in the same direction. Had he been alone, he wouldnot have perceived her, for she was crouched low against a thicket ofbrambles and stunted trees midway down the embankment. She was clad in anold brown mackintosh that so toned with her surroundings as to render heralmost invisible. Her chin was resting on her knees, and her face wasturned from them. She seemed to be gazing up the line.

  As they watched her, a signal near the bridge went down with a thud, andit seemed to Scott that the little huddled figure started and stiffenedlike a frightened doe. But she did not change her position, and shecontinued to gaze up the long stretch of line as though waiting forsomething.

  "What on earth is she doing?" whispered Billy. "There are no wind-flowersthere."

  Scott slipped quietly to the ground. "You wait here!" he said. "Hold myanimal, will you?"

  He left the bridge, retracing his steps, and climbed a railing thatfenced the wood. In a moment he disappeared among the trees, and Billywas left to watch and listen in unaccountable suspense.

  The morning was dull, and a desolate wind moaned among the baretree-tops. He shivered a little. There was something uncanny in theatmosphere, something that was evil. He kept his eyes upon Dinah, but shewas a considerable distance away, and he could not see that she stirredso much as a finger. He wondered how long it would take Scott to reachher, and began to wish ardently that he had been allowed to go instead.The man was lame and he was sure that he could have covered the distancein half the time.

  And then while he waited and watched, suddenly there came a distantdrumming that told of an approaching train.

  "The Northern express!" he said aloud.

  Many a time had he stood on the bridge to see it flash and thunder belowhim. The sound of its approach had always filled him with a kind ofecstasy before, but now--to-day--it sent another feeling through him,--asudden, wild dart of unutterable dread.

  "What rot!" he told himself, with an angry shake. "Oh, what rot!"

  But the dread remained coiled like a snake about his heart.

  The animal he held became restless, and he backed it off the bridge, buthe could not bring himself to go out of sight of that small, tragicfigure in the old mackintosh that sat so still, so still, there upon thegrassy slope. He watched it with a terrible fascination. Would Scottnever make his appearance?

  A white tuft of smoke showed against the grey of the sky. The throbbingof the engine grew louder, grew insistent. A couple of seconds more andit was within sight, still far away but rapidly drawing near. Where onearth was Scott? Did he realize the danger? Ought he to shout? Butsomething seemed to grip his throat, holding him silent. He was powerlessto do anything but watch.

  Nearer came the train and nearer. Billy's eyes were starting out of hishead. He had never been so scared in all his life before. There wassomething fateful in the pose of that waiting figure.

  The rush of the oncoming express dinned in his ears. It was close now,and suddenly--suddenly as a darting bird--Dinah was on her feet. Billyfound his voice in a hoarse, croaking cry, but almost ere it left hislips he saw Scott leap into view and run down the bank.

  By what force of will he made his presence known Billy never afterwardscould conjecture. No sound could have been audible above the clamour ofthe train. Yet by some means--some electric battery of the mind--he madethe girl below aware of him. On the very verge of the precipice shestopped, stood poised for a moment, then turned herself back and saw
him....

  The train thundered by, shaking the ground beneath their feet, and rushedunder the bridge. The whole embankment was blotted out in white smoke,and Billy reeled back against the horse he held.

  "By Jove!" he whispered shakily. "By--Jove! What a ghastly fright!"

  He wiped his forehead with a trembling hand, and led the animal away fromthe bridge. Somehow he was feeling very sick--too sick to look anylonger, albeit the danger was past.

  The smoke cleared from the embankment, and two figures were left facingone another on the grassy slope. Neither of them spoke a word. It was asif they were waiting for some sign. Scott was panting, but Dinah did notseem to be breathing at all. She stood there tense and silent, terriblywhite, her eyes burning like stars.

  The last sound of the train died away in the distance, and then, such wastheir utter stillness, from the thorn-bush close to them a thrushsuddenly thrilled into song. The soft notes fell balmlike into that awfulsilence and turned it into sweetest music.

  Scott moved at last, and at once the bird ceased. It was as if an angelhad flown across the heaven with a silver flute of purest melody andpassed again into the unknown.

  He came to Dinah. "My dear," he said, and his voice was slightly shaky,"you shouldn't be here."

  She stood before him, pillar-like, her two hands clenched against hersides. Her lips were quite livid. They moved soundlessly for severalseconds before she spoke. "I--was waiting--for the express."

  Her voice was flat and emotionless. It sounded almost as if she weretalking in her sleep. And strangely it was that that shocked Scott evenmore than her appearance. Dinah's voice had always held countlessinflections, little notes gay or sad like the trill of a robin. This wasthe voice of a woman in whom the very last spark of hope was quenched.

  It pierced him with an intolerable pain. "Dinah--Dinah!" he said. "ForGod's sake, child, you don't mean--that!"

  Her white, pinched face twisted in a dreadful smile. "Why not?" she said."There was no other way." And then a sudden quiver as of returning lifewent through her. "Why did you stop me?" she said. "If you hadn't, itwould have been--all over by now."

  He put out a quick hand. "Don't say it,--in heaven's name! You are notyourself. Come--come into the wood, and we will talk!"

  She did not take his hand. "Can't we talk here?" she said.

  He composed himself with an effort. "No, certainly not. Come into thewood!"

  He spoke with quiet insistence. She gave him an inscrutable look.

  "You think you are going to help me,--Mr. Greatheart," she said, "but Iam past help. Nothing you can do will make any difference to me now."

  "Come with me nevertheless!" he said.

  He laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder, and she winced with a sharpnessthat tore his heart. But in a moment she turned beside him and began theascent, slowly, labouringly, as if every step gave her pain. He movedbeside her, supporting her elbow when she faltered, steadily helping heron.

  They entered the wood, and the desolate sighing of the wind encompassedthem. Dinah looked at her companion with the first sign of feeling shehad shown.

  "I must sit down," she said.

  "There is a fallen tree over there," he said, and guided her towards it.

  She leaned upon him, very near to collapse. He spread his coat upon thetree and helped her down.

  "Now how long is it since you had anything to eat?" he said.

  She shook her head slightly. "I don't remember. But it doesn't matter.I'm not hungry."

  He took one of her icy hands and began to rub it. "Poor child!" he said."You ought to be given some hot bread and milk and tucked up in bed withhot bottles."

  Her face began to work. "That," she said, "is the last thing that willhappen to me."

  "Haven't you been to bed at all?" he questioned.

  Her throat was moving spasmodically; she bowed her head to hide her facefrom him. "Yes," she said in a whisper. "My mother--my mother put methere." And then as if the words burst from her against her will, "Shethrashed me first with a dog-whip; but dogs have got hair to protectthem, and I--had nothing. She only stopped because--I fainted. She hasn'tfinished with me now. When I go back--when I go back--" She broke off."But I'm not going," she said, and her voice was flat and hard again."Even you can't make me do that. There'll be another express thisafternoon."

  Scott knelt down beside her, and took her bowed head on to his shoulder."Listen to me, Dinah!" he said. "I am going to help you, and you mustn'ttry to prevent me. If you had only allowed me, I would have gone homeagain with you yesterday, and this might have been avoided. My dear,don't draw yourself away from me! Don't you know I am a friend you cantrust?"

  The pitiful tenderness of his voice reached her, overwhelming her firstinstinctive effort to draw back. She leaned against him with painful,long-drawn sobs.

  He held her closely to him with all a woman's understanding. "Oh, don'tcry any more, child!" he said. "You're worn out with crying."

  "I feel--so bad--so bad!" sobbed Dinah.

  "Yes, yes. I know. Of course you do. But it's over, it's over. No oneshall hurt you any more."

  "You don't--understand," breathed Dinah. "It never will be over--while Ilive. I'm hurt inside--inside."

  "I know," he said again. "But it will get better presently. Isabel and Iare going to take you away from it all."

  "Oh no!" she said quickly. "No--no--no!" She lifted her head from hisshoulder and turned her poor, stained face upwards. "I couldn't do that!"she said. "I couldn't! I couldn't!"

  "Wait!" he said gently. "Let me do what I can to help you now--before wetalk of that! Will you sit here quietly for a little, while I go and getyou some milk from that farm down the road?"

  "I don't want it," she said.

  "But I want you to have it," he made grave reply. "You will stay here?Promise me!"

  "Very well," she assented miserably.

  He got up. "I shan't be gone long. Sit quite still till I come back!"

  He touched her dark head comfortingly and turned away.

  When he had gone a little distance he looked back, and saw that she wascrouched upon the ground again and crying with bitter, straining sobsthat convulsed her as though they would rend her from head to foot. Withtightened lips he hastened on his way.

  She had suffered a cruel punishment it was evident, and she was utterlyworn out in body and spirit. But was it only the ordeal of yesterday andthe physical penalty that she had been made to pay that had broken herthus?

  He could not tell, but his heart bled for her misery and desolation.

  "Who is the other fellow?" he asked himself. "I wonder if Billy knows."

  He found Billy awaiting him in the road, anxious and somewhatreproachful. "You've been such a deuce of a time," he said. "Is she allright?"

  "She is very upset," he made answer. "And she is faint too for want offood."

  "That's not surprising," commented Billy. "She can't have had anythingsince lunch yesterday. What shall I do? Run home and get something? Themater can't want her to starve."

  "No." Scott's voice rang on a hard note. "She probably doesn't. But youneedn't go home for it. Run back to that farm we passed just now, and seeif you can get some hot milk! Be quick like a good chap! Here's themoney! I'll wait here."

  Billy seized his bicycle and departed on his errand.

  Scott began to walk his horse up and down, for inactivity was unbearable.Every moment he spent away from poor, broken Dinah was torturing. Thosedreadful, hopeless tears of hers filled him with foreboding. He yearnedto return.

  Billy's absence lasted for nearly a quarter of an hour, and he wasbeginning to get desperate over the delay when at last the boy returnedcarrying a can of milk and a mug.

  "I had rather a bother to get it," he explained. "People are so mightydifficult to stir, and I didn't want to tell 'em too much. I've promisedto take these things back again. I say, can't I come along with you now?"

  "I'd rather you didn't," Scott said. "I can manage best alone. Besid
es,I'm going to ask you to do something more."

  "Anything!" said Billy readily.

  "Thanks. Well, will you ride this animal into Great Mallowes, hire aclosed car, and send it to the bridge here to pick me up? Then take himback to the Court, and if anyone asks any questions, say I've met afriend and I'm coming back on foot, but I may not be in to luncheon. Yes,that'll do, I think. I'll see about returning these things. Much obliged,Billy. Good-bye!"

  Billy looked somewhat disappointed at this dismissal, but the prospect ofa ride was dear to his boyish heart, and in a moment he nodded cheerily."All right, I'll do that. I'll hide my bicycle in the wood and fetch itafterwards. But where are you going to take her to?"

  Scott smiled also faintly and enigmatically. "Leave that to me, my goodfellow! I shan't run away with her."

  "But I shall see her again some time?" urged Billy, as he dumped hislong-suffering machine over the railing and propped it out of sightbehind the hedge.

  "No doubt you will." Scott's tone was kindly and reassuring. "But I thinkI can help her better just now than you can, so I'll be getting back toher. Good-bye, boy! And thanks again!"

  "So long!" said Billy, vaulting back and thrusting his foot into thestirrup. "You might let me hear how you get on."

  "I will," promised Scott.