CHAPTER XXVI
THE LAST SUMMONS
There is nought in life more solemn than the waiting hush that fallsbefore the coming of that great Change which men call Death. And it is tothe watchers rather than to the passing soul itself that the wonder seemsto draw most close. To stand before the veil, to know that very soon itmust be lifted for the loved one to pass beyond, to wait for the glimpseof that spirit-world from which only the frail wall of mortality divideseven the least spiritual, to watch as it were for the Gate of Death toopen and the great Revelation to flash for one blinding moment upon thedazzled eyes that may not grasp the meaning of what they see; this is tostand for a space within the very Sanctuary of God.
The awe of it and the wonder hung night and day over the littlerose-covered house on the heath above the sea where Isabel was breathingforth the last of her broken earthly life. Dinah moved in that strangeatmosphere as one in a dream. She spent most of her time with Scott in asilent companionship in which no worldly thoughts seemed to have anypart. The things of earth, all worry, all distress, were in abeyance, hadsunk to such infinitesimal proportions that she was scarcely aware ofthem at all. It was as though they had climbed the steep mountain withIsabel, and not till they turned again to descend could they be aware ofthose things which lay so far below.
Without Scott, both doubts and fears would have been her portion, butwith him all terrors fell shadow-like away before her. She hardlyrealized all that his presence meant to her during those days of waiting,but she leaned upon him instinctively as upon a sure support. He neverfailed her.
Of Eustace she saw but little. From the very first it was evident thathis place was nearer to Isabel than Scott's had ever been. He did notshoulder Scott aside, but somehow as a matter of course he occupied theposition that the younger brother had sought to fill for the past sevenyears. It was natural, it was inevitable. Dinah could have resented thissuperseding at the outset had she not seen how gladly Scott gave place.Later she realized that the ground on which they stood was too holy forsuch considerations to have any weight with either brother. They wereunited in the one supreme effort to make the way smooth for the sisterwho meant so much to them both; and during all those days of waitingDinah never heard a harsh or impatient word upon the elder's lips. Allarrogance, all hardness, seemed to have fallen away from him as he trodwith them that mountain-path. Even old Biddy realized the change andrelented somewhat towards him though she never wholly brought herself tolook upon him as an ally.
It was on a stormy evening at the beginning of July that Dinah wassitting alone in the little creeper-grown verandah watching the wonderfulgreens and purples of the sea when Eustace came soft-footed through thewindow behind her and sat down in a chair close by, which Scott hadvacated a few minutes before.
Scott had just gone to the village post-office with some letters,but she had refused to accompany him, for it was the hour when sheusually sat with Isabel. She glanced at Eustace swiftly as he sat down,half-expecting a message from the sick-room. But he said nothing, merelyleaning back in the wicker-chair, and fixing his eyes upon the sombresplendour of endless waters upon which hers had been resting. There was amassive look about him, as of a strong man deliberately bent to somegigantic task. A little tremor went through her as furtively she watchedhim. His silence, unlike the silences of Scott, was disquieting. Shecould never feel wholly at ease in his presence.
He turned his head towards her after a few seconds of absolute stillness,and in a moment her eyes sank. She sat in palpitating silence, as onecaught in some disgraceful act.
But still he did not speak, and the painful colour flooded her face underhis mute scrutiny till in sheer distress she found herself forced to takethe initiative.
"Is--Isabel expecting me?" she faltered. "Ought I to go?"
"No," he said quietly. "She is dozing. Old Biddy is with her."
It seemed as if the intolerable silence were about to fall again. Shecast about desperately for a means of escape. "Biddy was up and downduring the night. I think I will relieve her for a little while and lether rest."
She would have risen with the words, but unexpectedly he reached forth adetaining hand. "Do you mind waiting a minute?" he said. "I will notsay--or do--anything to frighten you."
He spoke with a faint smile that somehow hurt her almost unbearably. Sheremained as she was, leaning forward in her chair. "I--am not afraid,"she murmured almost inaudibly.
His hand seemed to plead for hers, and in a moment she laid her ownwithin it. "That's right," he said. "Dinah, will you try and treat me asif I were a friend--just for a few minutes?"
The tone of his voice--like his smile--pierced her with a poignancy thatsent the quick tears to her eyes. She forced them back with all herstrength.
"I would like to--always," she whispered.
"Thank you," he said. "You are kinder than I deserve. I have done nothingto win your confidence, so it is all the more generous of you to bestowit. On the strength of your generosity I am going to ask you a questionwhich only a friend could ask. Dinah, is there any understanding of anysort--apart from friendship--between you and Scott?"
She started slightly at the question, and in a moment firmly, with acertain authority, his hand closed upon hers.
"You needn't be afraid to speak on Scott's account," he said, with thatrather grim humility that seemed so foreign to his proud nature thatevery sign of it stabbed her afresh. "I am not such a dog in the mangeras that and he knows it."
"Oh no!" Dinah said, and her words came with a rush. "But--I told youbefore, didn't I?--he doesn't care for me like that. He never has--neverwill."
"I wonder why you say that," Eustace said.
"Because it's true!" With a species of feverish insistence she answeredhim. "How could I help knowing? Of course I know! Oh, please don't let ustalk about it! It--it hurts me."
"I want you to bear with me," he said gently, "just for a few minutes.Dinah, what if you are making a mistake? Mistakes happen, you know. Scottis a shy sort of chap, and immensely reserved. Doesn't it occur to youthat he may care for you and yet be afraid--just as you are afraid--tolet you know?"
"No," Dinah said. "He doesn't. I know he doesn't!"
She spoke with her eyes upon the ground, her voice sunk very low. Shefelt as if she were being drawn down from the heights she desired totread. She did not want to contemplate the problems that she knew verysurely awaited her upon the lower level. She did not want to quit hersanctuary before the time.
Sir Eustace received her assurance in silence, but he kept her hand inhis, and the power of his personality seemed to penetrate to the verycentre of her being.
He spoke at last almost under his breath, still closely watching herdowncast face. "Are you quite sure you still care for him--in that way?"
She made a quick, appealing gesture. "Oh, need I answer that? I feelso--ashamed."
"No, you needn't answer," he made steady reply. "But you've nothing to beashamed about. Stumpy's an awful ass, you know,--always has been. He'sbeen head over heels in love with you ever since he met you. No, youneedn't let that shock you. He's such a bashful knight he'll never tellyou so. You'll have to do that part of it." He smiled with faint irony."But you may take my word for it, it is so. He has thought of nothing butyou and your happiness from the very beginning of things. And--unlikesomeone else we know--he has had the decency always to put your happinessfirst."
He paused. Dinah's eyes had flashed up to his, green, eager, intenselyalive, and behind those eyes her soul seemed to be straining like a thingin leash. "Oh, I knew he had cared for someone," she breathed, "But itcouldn't--it couldn't have been me!"
"Yes," Sir Eustace said slowly. "You and none other. You wonder if it'strue--how I know. He's an awful ass, as I said before, one of the fewsupreme fools who never think of themselves. I knew that he was caughtall right ages back in Switzerland, and--being a low hound of meaninstincts--I set to work to cut him out."
"Oh!" murmured Dinah. "That was just what I di
d with Rose de Vigne."
His mouth twisted a little. "It's a funny world, Dinah," he said. "Ourlittle game has cost us both something. I got too near the candle myself,and the scorch was pretty sharp while it lasted. Well, to get back to mystory. Scott saw that I was beginning to give you indigestion, and--beingas I mentioned before several sorts of a fool--he tackled me upon thesubject and swore that if I didn't put an end to the game, he would putyou on your guard against me, tell you in fact the precise species ofrotter that I chanced to be. I was naturally annoyed by his interference.Anyone would have been. I gave him the kicking he deserved. That was lowof me, wasn't it?" as she made a quick movement of shrinking. "You won'tforgive me for that, or for what came after. The very next day--to spitethe little beast--I proposed to you."
Dinah's eyes were fiercely bright. "I wish I'd known!" she said.
"I wish to heaven you had, my dear," Eustace spoke with a grim hint ofhumour. "It would have saved us both a good deal of unnecessary troubleand humiliation. However, Scott was too big a fool to tell you. There isa martyrlike sort of cussedness about him that is several degrees worsethan any pride. So he let things be, still cheating himself into thebelief that the arrangement was for your happiness, till, as you areaware, it turned out so manifestly otherwise that he found himselfobliged once more to come to the rescue of his lady love. But hisexasperating humility was such that he never suspected the real reasonfor your change of mind, and when I accused him of cutting me out, he wasas scandalized as only a righteous man knows how to be. You can't do muchwith a fellow like that, you know,--a fool who won't believe the evidenceof his own senses. Besides, it was not for me to enlighten him,particularly as you didn't want him to know the real state of things justthen. So I left him alone. The next day--only the next day, mind you--thesilent knight opened his heart; to whom, do you think? You'll be horriblyfurious when I tell you."
He looked into the hot eyes with an expression half-tender in his own.
"Tell me!" breathed Dinah.
"Really? Well, prepare for a nasty shock! To Rose de Vigne!"
"To Rose!" Indignation gave place to bewilderment in Dinah's eyes.
"Even so; to Rose. She guessed the truth, and he frankly admitted she wasright, but gave her to understand that as he hadn't a chance in theworld, you were never to know. I am telling you the truth, Dinah. Youneedn't look so incredulous. She naturally considered that he was nottreating you very fairly and said so. But--" he raised his shouldersslightly--"you know Scott. Mules can't compete with him when he has madeup his mind to a thing. He gracefully put an end to the discussion anddoubtless he has buried the whole subject in a neat little corner of hisheart where no one can ever tumble over it, and resigned himself to alonely old age. Now, Dinah, I am going to give you the soundest piece ofadvice I have ever given anyone. If you are wise, you will dig it upbefore the moss grows, bring it into the air and call it back to life. Itis the greatest desire of Isabel's heart to see you two happy together.She told me so only to-day. And I am beginning to think that I wish ittoo."
His look was wholly kind as he uttered the last words. He held her handin the close grip of a friend.
"Don't let that insane humility of his be his ruin!" he urged. "He's afool. I've always said so. But his foolishness is the sort that attacksonly the great. Once let him know you care, and he'll be falling overhimself to propose."
"Oh, don't!" Dinah begged, and her voice sounded chill and yet somehowpiteous. "I couldn't--ever--marry him. I told him so--only the otherday."
"What? He proposed, did he?" Sheer amazement sounded in Eustace's voice.
Dinah was not looking at him any longer. She sat rather huddled in herchair, as if a cold wind had caught her.
"Yes," she said in the same small, uneven voice. "He proposed. He didn'tmake love to me. In fact he--promised that he never would. But hethought--yes, that was it--he thought that presently I should be lonely,and he wanted me to know that he was willing to protect me."
"What a fool!" Eustace said. "And so you refused him! I don't wonder. Ishould have pitched something at him if I'd been you."
"Oh no! That wasn't why I refused. I had another reason." Dinah's headwas bent low; he saw the hot colour she sought to hide. "I didn't know hecared," she whispered. "But even if--if I had known, I couldn't have saidYes. I never can say Yes now."
"Good heavens above!" he said. "Why not?"
"It's a reason I can't tell anyone," faltered Dinah.
"Nonsense!" he said, with a quick touch of his old imperiousness. "Youcan tell me."
She shook her head. "No. Not you. Not anyone."
"That is absurd," he said, with brief decision. "What is the reason? Outwith it--quick, like a good child! If you could marry me, you can marryhim."
"But I couldn't have married you," she protested, "if I'd known."
"It's something that's cropped up lately, is it?" He bent towards her,watching her keenly. "It can't be so very terrible."
"It is," she told him in distress.
He was silent a moment; then very suddenly he moved, put his arm aroundher, drew her close. "What is it, my elf? Tell me!" he whispered.
She hid her face against him with a little sob. It was odd, but at thatmoment she felt no fear of the man. He, whose fiery caresses had onceappalled her, had by some means unknown possessed himself of herconfidence so that she could not keep him at a distance. She did not evenwish to do so.
After a few seconds, quiveringly she began to speak. "I don't know how totell you. It's an awful thing to tell. You know, I--I've never been happyat home. My mother never liked me,--was often cruel to me." She shudderedsuddenly and violently. "I never knew why--till that awful night--thelast time I saw her. And then--and then she told me." She drew a littlecloser to him like a frightened child.
He held her against his breast. She was trembling all over. "Well?" hesaid gently.
Desperately she forced herself to continue. "I don't belong to--to myfather--at all; only--only--to her."
"What?" he said.
She buried her shamed face a little deeper. "That was why--she married,"she whispered.
"Your mother herself told you that?" Sir Eustace's voice was very low,but there was in it a danger-note that made her quail.
Someone was coming along the garden-path, but neither of them heard.Dinah was crying with piteous, long-drawn sobs. The telling of thattragic secret had wrung her very soul.
"Oh, don't be angry! You won't be angry?" she pleaded brokenly.
His hand was on her head. "My child, I am not angry with you," he said."You were not to blame. There, dear! There! Don't cry! Isabel will bedistressed if she finds out. We mustn't let her know of this."
"Or Scott either!" She lifted her face appealingly. "Eustace,please--please--you won't tell Scott? I--I couldn't bear him to know."
He looked into her beseeching eyes, and his own softened. "It may be hewill have to know some day," he said. "But--not yet."
The halting steps drew nearer, uneven, yet somehow purposeful.
Abruptly Eustace became aware of them. He looked up sharply. "You hadbetter go, dear," he whispered to the girl in his arms. "Isabel may bewanting you at any time. We must think of her first now. Run in quicklyand dry your eyes before anyone sees! Come along!"
He rose, supporting her, turned her towards the window, and gently buturgently pushed her within.
She went swiftly, enough as he released her, went with her hands over herface and not a backward glance. And Eustace wheeled back with a movementthat was almost fierce and met his brother as he set foot upon theverandah.
Scott's face was pale as death, and there was that in his eyes that couldnot be ignored. Eustace answered it on the instant, briefly, with arestraint that obviously cost him an effort. "It's all right, Dinah is abit upset this evening. But she will be all right directly if we leaveher alone."
Scott did not so much as pause. "Let me pass!" he said.
His voice was perfectly quiet, but the command of
it was such thatEustace, taken unawares, gave ground as it were instinctively. But thenext moment impulsively he caught Scott's arm.
"I say,--Stumpy!" An odd embarrassment possessed him; he shook it offhalf-angrily. "You needn't go making mistakes--jumping to idioticconclusions. I'm not cutting you out this time."
Scott looked at him. His light eyes held contempt. "Oh, I know that," hesaid, and there was in his slow voice a note of bitter humour that cutlike a whip. "You are never in earnest. You were always the sort to makesport for yourself out of suffering, and then to toss the dregs of youramusement to those who are not--sportsmen."
Eustace was as white as he was himself. He held him in a grip of iron."What the--devil do you mean?" he said, his voice husky with the strongeffort he made to control it.
The younger brother was absolutely controlled, but his eyes shone like adazzling white flame. "Ask yourself that question!" he said, and hiswords, though low, had a burning quality, almost as if some force apartfrom the man himself inspired them. "You know the answer as well as I do.You have studied the damnable game so long, offered so many victims uponthe altar of your accursed sport. There is nothing to prevent your goingon with it. You will go on no doubt till you tire of the chase. And thenyour turn will come. You will find yourself alone among the ruins, andyou will pay the price. You may repent then--but repentance sometimescomes too late."
He was gone with the words, gone as if an inner force compelled, shakingoff the hand that had detained him, and passing scatheless within.
He went up the stairs as calmly as if he had entered the house withoutinterruption. Someone was sobbing piteously behind a closed door, but hedid not turn in that direction. He moved straight to the door of Isabel'sroom, as if a voice had called him.
And on the threshold Biddy met him, her black eyes darkly mysterious, herwrinkled face drawn with awe rather than grief.
"Ah, Master Scott, and is it yourself?" she whispered. "I was coming tofetch ye--coming to tell ye. It's the call; she's had her last summons.Faith, and I almost heard it meself. She'll be gone by morning, theblessed lamb. There'll be no holding her after this."
Scott passed her by without a word. He went straight to his sister'sbedside.
She was lying with her face turned up to the evening sky, but on theinstant her eyes met his, and in them was that look of a greatexpectation which many term the Shadow of Death.
"Oh, Stumpy, is it you?" she said. Her breathing was quick and irregular,but it did not seem to hurt her. "I've had--such a wonderful--dream. Orcould it have been--a vision?"
He bent and took her hand in his. His eyes were infinitely tender. Allthe passion had been wiped out of his face.
"It may have been a vision, dear," he said.
Her look brightened; she smiled. "He was here--in this room--with me,"she said. "He was standing there--at the foot of the bed. And--and--Iheld out my arms to him. Oh, Stumpy, I almost thought--I was going withhim then. But--I think he heard you coming, for he laughed and drew back.'We shall meet in the morning,' he said. And while I was still looking,he was gone."
She began to pant. He stooped and raised her. She clung to him with allher waning strength. "Stumpy! Stumpy! You will help me--through thenight?"
"My darling, yes," he said.
She clung to him still. "It won't be--good-bye," she urged softly. "Youwill be coming too--very soon."
"God grant it!" he said, under his breath.
Her look dwelt upon him. Again faintly she smiled. "Ah, Stumpy," shesaid, "but you are going to be very happy first, my dear,--my dear."
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