Softly the strains ofSimple Aveufloated along the corridor. It came like fairy music, now near, now far, haunting as a dream, woven through and through with the gold of Romance.
Someone was coming along the passage with the easy swing of the born dancer, and pressed against her door-post in the shadows, another born dancer awaited him with a wildly throbbing heart.
The die was cast, and there was no going back. She heard the deep voice humming the magic melody as he came. In a moment the superb figure came into sight, moving with that royal ease of carriage so characteristic and so wonderful.
He drew near. He spied the small white figure lurking in the dimness.With a low laugh he opened his arms to her.
And then there came to Dinah, not for the first time, a strange, wholly indefinable misgiving. It was a warning so insistent that she suddenly and swiftly drew back, as if she would flee into the room behind her.
But he was too quick for her. He caught her on the threshold. "Oh no, no!" he laughed. "That's not playing the game." He drew her to him, holding her two wrists. "Daphne! Daphne!" he said. "Still running away? Do you call that fair?"
She did not resist him, for the moment she felt his touch she knew herself a captive. The magic force of his personality had caught her; but she did not give herself wholly to him. She stood and palpitated in his hold, her head bent low.
"I—I'm not running away," she told him breathlessly. "I was just—just coming. But—but—shan't we be seen? Your brother—"
"What?" He was stooping over her; she felt his breath upon her neck. "Oh, Scott! Surely you're not afraid of Scott, are you? You needn't be. I've sent him off to write some letters. He'll be occupied for an hour at least. Come! Come! You promised. And we're wasting time."
There was a subtle caressing note in his voice. It thrilled her as she stood, and ever the soft music drifted on around them, pulsing with a sweetness almost too intense to be borne.
He held her with the hold of a conqueror. She was quivering from head to foot, but all desire to free herself was gone. Still she would not raise her face.
Panting, she spoke. "Yes, we—we are wasting time. Let us go!"
He laughed above her head—a low laugh of absolute assurance. "Are you too shy to look at me,—Daphne?"
She laughed also very tremulously. "I think I am—just at present. Let us dance first anyway! Must we go down to the salon? Couldn't we dance in the corridor?"
His arm was round her. He led her down the passage. "No, no! We will go down. And afterwards—"
"Afterwards," she broke in breathlessly, "we will just peep at the moonlight on the mountains, and then I must come back."
"I will show you something better than the moonlight on the mountains," said Sir Eustace.
She did not ask him what he meant, though her whole being was strung to a tense expectancy. He had brought her once more to the heights of Olympus, and each moment was full of a vivid life that had to be lived to the utmost. She lacked the strength to look forward; the present was too overwhelming. It was almost more than she could bear.
They reached the head of the stairs. His arm tightened about her. She descended as though upon wings. Passing through the vestibule, her feet did not seem to touch the ground. And then like a golden maze the ballroom received them.
Before she knew it, they were among the dancers and the magic of her dream had merged into reality. She closed her eyes, for the glare of light and moving figures dazzled her, and gave herself up to the rapture of that one splendid dance. Her heart was beating wildly, as though it would choke her. A curious thirst that yet was part of her delight made her throat burn. A weakness that exulted in the man's supporting strength held her bound and entranced by such an ecstasy as she had never known before. She laughed, a gurgling laugh through panting lips. She wondered whether he realized that she was floating through the air, held up by his arm alone above the glitter and the turmoil all around them. She wondered too how soon they would find their way to the heart of that golden maze, and what nameless treasure awaited them there. For that treasure was for them, and them alone, she never doubted. It was the gift of the gods, bestowed upon no others in all that merry crowd.
The magic deepened and grew within her. She felt that the climax was drawing near. He would not dance to a finish, she knew, and already the music was quickening. She was too giddy, too spent had she but known it, to open her eyes. Only by instinct did she know that he was bearing her, sure and swift as a swallow, to the curtained recess whither he had led her twice before. This, she told herself, this was the heart of the maze. All things began and ended here. Her lips quivered and tingled. She would never escape him now. He had her firmly in the net. Nor did she seriously want to escape. Only she felt desperately afraid of him. His strength, his determination, above all, his silence, sent tumultuous fear throbbing through her heart. And when at length the pause came, when she knew that they were alone in the gloom with the music dying away behind them, a last wild dread that was almost anguish made her hide her face deep, deep in his arm while her body hung powerless in his embrace.
He laughed a little—a laugh that thrilled her with its exultation, its passion. And then, whether she would or not, he turned her face upwards to meet his own.
His kisses descended upon her hotly, suffocatingly. He held her pressed to him in such a grip as seemed to drive all the breath out of her quivering frame. His lips were like a fierce flame on face and neck—a flame that grew in intensity, possessing her, consuming her. The mastery of his hold was utterly irresistible.
She gasped and gasped for breath as one suddenly plunged in deep waters. His violence appalled her, well-nigh quenching her rapture. She was more terrified in those moments than she had ever been before. She almost felt as if the godlike being she had so humbly adored from afar had turned upon her with the demand for human sacrifice. Those devouring kisses sent unimagined apprehensions through her heart. They seemed to satisfy him so little while they sapped from her every atom of vitality, leaving her helpless as an infant, her body drawn to his as a needle to the magnet, not of her own volition, but simply by his strength. And ever the fire of his passion grew hotter till she felt as one bound on the edge of a mighty furnace which scorched her mercilessly from head to foot.
She was near to fainting when she felt his arms relax, and suddenly above her upturned face she heard his voice, low and deep, like the growl of an angry beast.
"What have you come here for? Go! You're not wanted."
In a flash she realized that they were no longer alone. She would have disengaged herself, but she was too weak to stand. She could only cling feebly to the supporting arm.
In that moment a great wave of humiliation burst over her, sweeping away her last foothold. For without turning she knew who it was who stood behind her; she knew to whom those furious words had been addressed.
Before her inner sight with overwhelming vividness there arose a vision—the vision of Greatheart in his shining armour with a drawn sword in his hand; and in his eyes—But no, she could not look into his eyes.
She hid her face instead, burning and quivering still from the touch of those passionate lips, hid it low against her lover's breast, too shamed even for speech.
There came a movement, the halting movement of a lame man, and she heard Scott's voice. It pierced her intolerably, perfectly gentle though it was.
"I am sorry to intrude," he said. "But Isabel begged me to come and look for—Dinah." His pause before the name was scarcely perceptible, but that also pierced her through and through. "I don't think she is quite equal to this."
Sir Eustace uttered his faint, contemptuous laugh. "You hear, Dinah?" he said. "This gallant knight has come to your rescue. Look up and tell him if you want to be rescued!"
But she could not look up. She could, only cling to him in voiceless abasement. There was a brief silence, and then she felt his hand upon her head. He spoke again, the sneering note gone from his voice though it still held a faint inflection of sardonic humour.
"You needn't be anxious, most worthy Scott. Leave her to me for five minutes, and I will undertake to return her to Isabel in good condition! You're not wanted for the moment, man. Can't you see it?"
That moved Dinah. She lifted her head from its shelter, and found her voice.
"Oh, don't send him away:" she entreated. "He—he—it was very kind of him to come and look for me."
Eustace's hand caressed her dark hair for a moment. His eyes looked down, into hers, and she saw that the glowing embers of his passion still smouldered there.
She caught her breath with a sob. "Tell him—not to go away!" she begged.
He smiled a little, but electricity lingered in the pressure of his arm."I think it is time we broke up the meeting," he said. "You had betterrun back to Isabel. If you wish to keep this episode a secret, Scott is,I believe, gentleman enough to hold his peace."
She was free, and very slowly she released herself. She turned round toScott, but still she could not—dared not—meet his eyes.
Her limbs were trembling painfully. She felt weak and dizzy. Suddenly she became aware of his hand held out to her, proffering silent assistance.
Thankfully she accepted it, feeling it close firmly, reassuringly, upon her own. "Shall we go upstairs?" he asked, in his quiet, matter-of-fact way. "Isabel is a little anxious about you."
"Oh yes," she whispered tremulously. "Let us go!"
She tottered a little with the words, and he transferred his hold to her elbow. He supported her steadily and sustainingly.
Eustace stepped forward, and lifted the heavy curtain for them with a mask-like ceremony. She glanced up at him as she went through.
"Good night!" he said.
Her lips quivered in response.
He suddenly bent to her. "Good night!" he said again.
There was imperious insistence in his voice. His eyes compelled.
Mutely she responded to the mastery that would not be denied. She lifted her trembling lips to his; and deliberately—in Scott's presence—he kissed her.
"Sleep well!" he said lightly.
She returned his kiss, because she could not do otherwise. She felt as if he had so merged her will into his that she was deprived of all power to resist.
But the hand that held her arm urged her with quiet strength. It led her unfalteringly away.
Ten minutes later Scott descended the stairs alone and returned to the salon.
A dance was in progress. He stood for a space in the doorway, watching. Finally, having satisfied himself that his brother was not among the dancers, he turned away.
With his usual quietness of demeanour, he crossed the vestibule, and looked into the smoking-room. Sir Eustace was not there either, and he was closing the door again when the man himself came up the passage behind him, and clapped a careless hand on his shoulder.
"Are you looking for me, most doughty knight?" he asked.
Scott turned so sharply that the hand fell. "Yes, I am looking for you," he said, and his voice was unusually curt. "Come outside a minute, will you? I want to speak to you."
"I am not going outside," Sir Eustace said, with exasperating coolness."If you want to talk, you can come in here and smoke with me."
"I must be alone with you," Scott said briefly. "There are two or three men in there."
His brother gave him a look of amused curiosity. "Do you want to do something violent then? There's plenty of room for a quiet talk in there without disturbing or being disturbed by anyone."
But Scott stood his ground. "I must see you alone for a minute," he said stubbornly. "You can come to my room, or I will come to yours,—whichever you like."
Sir Eustace shrugged his shoulders. "You are damned persistent. I don't know that I am specially anxious to hear what you have to say. In any case it can keep till the morning. I can't be bothered now."
Scott's hand grasped his arm. A queer gleam shone in his pale eyes."Man," he said, "I think you had better hear me now."
Eustace looked down at him, half-sneering, half-impressed. "What a mule you are, Stumpy! Come along then if you must! But you had better mind how you go. I'm in no mood for trifling."
"Nor I," said Scott, with very unaccustomed bitterness.
He kept his hand upon his brother's arm as they turned. He leaned slightly upon him as they ascended the stairs. Eustace's room was the first they reached, and they turned into that.
Scott was very pale, but there was no lack of resolution about him as he closed the door and faced the elder man.
"Well, what is it?" Eustace demanded.
"Just this." Very steadily Scott made answer. "I want to know how far this matter has gone between you and Miss Bathurst. I want to know—what you are going to do."
"My intentions, eh?" Eustace's sneer became very pronounced as he put the question. He pulled forward a chair and sat down with an arrogant air as though to bring himself thus to Scott's level.
Scott's eyes gleamed again momentarily at the action, but he stood like a rock. "Yes, your intentions," he said briefly.
Sir Eustace's black brows went up, he looked him up and down. "Can you give me any reason at all why I should hold myself answerable to you?" he asked.
Scott's hands clenched as he stood. "I can," he said. "I regard Miss Bathurst as very peculiarly our charge—under our protection. We are both in a great measure responsible for her, though possibly—" he hesitated slightly—"my responsibility is greater than yours, in so far as I take it more seriously. I do not think that either of us is in a position to make love to her under existing circumstances. But that, I admit, is merely a matter of opinion. Most emphatically neither of us has the right to trifle with her. I want to know—and I must know—are you trifling with her, as you have trifled with Miss de Vigne for the past fortnight? Or are you in earnest? Which?"
He spoke sternly, as one delivering an ultimatum. His eyes, steel-bright and unwavering, were fixed upon his brother's face.
Sir Eustace made a sharp gesture, as of one who flings off some stinging insect. "It is not particularly good form on your part to bring another lady's name into the discussion," he said. "At least you have no responsibilities so far as Miss de Vigne is concerned."
"I admit that," Scott answered shortly. "Moreover, she is fully capable of taking care of herself. But Miss Bathurst is not. She is a mere child in many ways, but she takes things hard. If you are merely amusing yourself at her expense—" He stopped.
"Well?" Sir Eustace threw the question with sudden anger. His great, lounging figure stiffened. A blue flame shot up in his eyes.
Scott stood silent for a moment or two; then with a great effort he unclenched his hands and came forward. "I am not going to believe that of you unless you tell me it is so," he said.
Sir Eustace reached out an unexpected hand without rising, and took him by the shoulder. "You may be small of stature, Stumpy," he said, "but you're the biggest fool I know. You're making mountains out of molehills, and you'll get yourself into trouble if you're not careful."
Scott looked at him. "Do you imagine I'm afraid of you, I wonder?" he said, a faint tremor of irony in his quiet voice.
Sir Eustace's hold tightened. His mouth was hard. "I imagine that I could make things highly unpleasant for you if you provoked me too far," he said. "And let me warn you, you have gone quite far enough in a matter in which you have no concern whatever. I never have stood any interference from you and I never will. Let that be understood—once for all!"
He met Scott's look with eyes of smouldering wrath. There was more than warning in his hold; it conveyed menace.
Yet Scott, very pale, supremely dignified, made no motion to retreat."You have not answered me yet," he said. "I must have an answer."
Sir Eustace's brows met in a thick and threatening line. "You will have very much more than you bargain for if you persist," he said.
"Meaning that I am to draw my own conclusions?" Scott asked, unmoved.
The smouldering fire suddenly blazed into flame. He pulled Scott to him with the movement of a giant, and bent him irresistibly downwards. "I will show you what I mean," he said.
Scott made a swift, instinctive effort to free himself, but the next instant he was passive. Only as the relentless hands forced him lower he spoke, his voice quick and breathless.
"You can hammer me to your heart's content, but you'll get nothing out of it. That sort of thing simply doesn't count—with me."
Sir Eustace held him in a vice-like grip. "Are you going to take it lying down then?" he questioned grimly.
"I'm not going to fight you certainly." Scott's voice had a faint quiver of humour in it, as though he jested at his own expense. "Not—that is—in a physical sense. If you choose to resort to brute force, that's your affair. And I fancy you'll be sorry afterwards. But it will make no actual difference to me." He broke off, breathing short and hard, like a man who struggles against odds yet with no thought of yielding.
Sir Eustace held him a few seconds as if irresolute, then abruptly let him go. "I believe you're right," he said. "You wouldn't care a damn. But you're a fool to bait me all the same. Now clear out, and leave me alone for the future!"
"I haven't done with you yet," Scott said. He straightened himself, and returned indomitably to the attack. "I asked you a question, and—so far—you haven't answered it. Are you ashamed to answer it?"
Sir Eustace got up with a movement of exasperation, but very oddly his anger had died down. "Oh, confound you, Stumpy! You're worse than a swarm of mosquitoes!" he said. "I dispute your right to ask that question. It is no affair of yours."
"I maintain that it is," Scott said quietly. "It matters to me—perhaps more than you realize—whether you behave honourably or otherwise."
"Honourably!" His brother caught him up sharply. "You're on dangerous ground, I warn you," he said. "I won't stand that from you or any man."
"I've no intention of insulting you," Scott answered. "But I must know the truth. Are you hoping to marry Miss Bathurst, or are you not?"
Sir Eustace drew himself up with a haughty gesture. "The time has not come to talk of that," he said.
"Not when you are deliberately making love to her?" Scott's voice remained quiet, but the glitter was in his eyes again—a quivering, ominous gleam.
"Oh, that! My dear fellow, you are disquieting yourself in vain. She knows as well as I do that that is a mere game." Eustace spoke scoffingly, looking over his brother's head, ignoring his attitude. "I assure you she is not so green as you imagine," he said. "It has been nothing but a game all through."
"Nothing but a game!" Scott repeated the words slowly as if incredulous."Do you actually mean that?"
Sir Eustace laughed and took out his cigarettes. "What do you take me for, you old duffer? Think I should commit myself at this stage? An old hand like me! Not likely!"
Scott stood up before him, white to the lips. "I take you for an infernal blackguard, if you want to know!" he said, speaking with great distinctness. "You may call yourself a man of honour. I call you a scoundrel!"
"What?" Eustace put back his cigarette-case with a smile that was oddly like a snarl. "It looks to me as if you'll have to have that lesson after all," he said. "What's the matter with you now-a-days? Fallen in love yourself? Is that it?"
He took Scott by the shoulders, not roughly, but with power.
Scott's eyes met his like a sword in a master-hand. "The matter is," he said, "that this precious game of yours has got to end. If you are not man enough to end it—I will."
"Will you indeed?" Eustace shook him to and fro as he stood, but still without violence. "And how?"
"I shall tell her," Scott spoke without the smallest hesitation, "the exact truth. I shall tell her—and she will believe me—precisely what you are."
"Damn you!" said Sir Eustace.
With the words he shifted his grasp, took Scott by the collar, and swung him round.
"Then you may also tell her," he said, his voice low and furious, "that you have had the kicking that a little yapping cur like you deserves."
He kicked him with the words, kicked him thrice, and flung him brutally aside.
Scott went down, grabbing vainly at the bed to save himself. His face was deathly as he turned it, but he said nothing. He had said his say.
Sir Eustace was white also, white and terrible, with eyes of flame. He stood a moment, glaring down at him. Then, as though he could not trust himself, wheeled and strode to the door.
"And when you've done," he said, "you can come to me for another, you beastly little cad!"
He went, leaving the door wide behind him. His feet resounded along the passage and died away. The distant waltz-music came softly in. And Scott pulled himself painfully up and sat on the end of the bed, panting heavily.
Minutes passed ere he moved. Then at last very slowly he got up. He had recovered his breath. His mouth was firm, his eyes resolute and indomitable, his whole bearing composed, as with that dignity that Dinah had so often remarked in him he limped to the door and passed out, closing it quietly behind him.
The dance-music was still floating through the passages with a mocking allurement. The tramp of feet and laughter of many voices rose with it. A flicker of irony passed over his drawn face. He straightened his collar with absolute steadiness, and moved away in the direction of his own room.
Isabel uttered no reproaches to her charge as, quivering with shame, she returned from her escapade. She exchanged no more than a low "Good night!" with Scott, and then turned back into the room with Dinah. But as the latter stood before her, crest-fallen and humiliated, expecting a reprimand, she only laid very gentle hands upon her and began to unfasten her dress.
"I wasn't spying upon you, dear child," she said. "I only looked in to see if you would care for a cup of milk last thing."
That broke Dinah utterly and overwhelmingly. In her contrition, she cast herself literally at Isabel's feet. "Oh, what a beast I am! What a beast!" she sobbed. "Will you ever forgive me? I shall never forgive myself!"
Isabel was very tender with her, checking her wild outburst with loving words. She asked no question as to what had been happening, for which forbearance Dinah's gratitude was great even though it served to intensify her remorse. With all a mother's loving care she soothed her, assuring her of complete forgiveness and understanding.
"I did wild things in my own girlhood," she said. "I know what it means, dear, when temptation comes."
And so at last she calmed her agitation, and helped her to bed, waiting upon her with the utmost gentleness, saying no word of blame or even of admonition.
Not till she had gone, did it dawn upon Dinah that this task had probably been left to Scott, and with the thought a great dread of the morrow came upon her. Though he had betrayed no hint of displeasure, she felt convinced that she had incurred it; and all her new-born shyness in his presence, returned upon her a thousandfold. She did not know how she would face him when the morning came.
He would not be angry she knew. He would not scold her like Colonel de Vigne. But yet she shrank from the thought of his disappointment in her as she had never before shrunk from the Colonel's rebuke. She was sure that she had forfeited his good opinion for ever, and many and bitter were the tears that she shed over her loss.
Her thoughts of Eustace were of too confused a nature to be put into coherent form. The moment they turned in his direction her brain became a flashing whirl in which doubts, fears, and terrible ectasies ran wild riot. She lay and trembled at the memory of his strength, exulting almost in the same moment that he had stooped with such mastery to possess her. His magnificence dazzled her, deprived her of all powers of rational judgment. She only realized that she—and she alone—had been singled out of the crowd for that fiery worship; and it seemed to her that she had been created for that one splendid purpose.
But always the memory of Scott shot her triumph through with a regret so poignant as to deprive it of all lasting rapture. She had hurt him, she had disappointed him; she did not know how she would ever look him in the eyes again.
Her sleep throughout that last night was broken and unrefreshing, and ever the haunting strains ofSimple Aveupulsed through her brain like a low voice calling her perpetually, refusing to be stilled. Only one night more and she would be back in her home; this glittering, Alpine dream would be over, never to return. And again she turned on her pillow and wept. It was so hard, so hard, to go back.
In the morning she arose white-faced and weary, with dark shadows under her eyes, and a head that throbbed tormentingly. She breakfasted with Isabel in the latter's room, and was again deeply grateful to her friend for forbearing to comment upon her subdued manner. She could not make any pretence at cheerfulness that day, being in fact still so near to tears that she could scarcely keep from breaking down.
"Don't wait for me, dear!" Isabel said gently at length. "I see you are not hungry. We are taking some provisions with us; perhaps you will feel more like eating presently."
Dinah escaped very thankfully and returned to her own room.
Here she remained for awhile till more sure of herself; then Biddy came in to finish her packing and she slipped away to avoid the old woman's shrewd observation. She feared to go downstairs lest she should meet Scott; but presently, as she hovered in the passage, she heard his halting tread in the main corridor.
He was evidently on his way to his sister's room, and seizing her opportunity, she ran like a hare in the opposite direction and managed to slip downstairs without adventure.
She was not to escape unnoticed, however. The first person she encountered in the vestibule came forward instantly at sight of her with the promptitude of one who has been lying in wait.
She recoiled with a gasp, but she could not run away. She was caught as surely as she had been the night before.
"Hullo!" smiled Sir Eustace, with extended hand. "Going out for a last look round? May I come too?"
She felt the dominance of his grip. It was coolly, imperially possessive. To answer his request seemed superfluous, even bordering upon presumption. It was obvious that he had every intention of accompanying her.
She gave a confused murmur of assent, and they passed through the vestibule side by side. She was conscious of curious glances from several strangers who were standing about, and Eustace exchanged a few words with a species of regal condescension here and there as they went. And then they were out in the pure sunlight of the mountains, alone for the last time in their paradise of snow.
Almost instinctively Dinah turned up the winding track. They had half an hour before them, and she felt she could not bear to stand still. He strolled beside her, idly smoking, not troubling to make conversation, now as ever sublimely at his ease.
The snow sparkled around them like a thousand gems Dinah's eyes were burning and smarting with the brightness. And still that tender waltz-music ran lilting through her brain, drifting as it were through the mist of her unshed tears.
Suddenly he spoke. They were nearing the pine-wood and quite alone. "Is there anything the matter?"
She choked down a great lump in her throat before she could speak in answer. "No," she murmured then. "I—I am just—rather low about leaving; that's all."
"Quite all?" he said.
His tone was so casual, so normal, that it seemed impossible now to think of last night's happening save as an extravagant dream. She almost felt for the moment as if she had imagined it all. And then he spoke again, and she caught a subtle note of tenderness in his voice that brought it all back upon her in an overwhelming rush.
"That's really all, is it? You're not unhappy about anything else? Scott hasn't been bullying you?"
She gasped at the question. "Oh no! Oh no! He wouldn't! He couldn't!I—haven't even seen him today."
He received the information in silence; but in a moment or two he tossed away his cigarette with the air of a man having come to an abrupt resolution.
"And so you're fretting about going home?" he said.
She nodded mutely. The matter would not bear discussion.
"Poor little Daphne!" he said. "It's been a good game, hasn't it?"
She nodded again. "Just like the dreams that never come true," she managed to say.
"Would you like it to come true?" he asked her unexpectedly.
She glanced up at him with a woeful little smile. "It's no good thinking of that, is it?" she said.
"I have an idea we could make it come true between us," he said.
She shook her head. That brief glimpse of his intent eyes had sent a sudden and overwhelming wave of shyness through her. She remembered again the fiery holding of his arms, and was afraid.
He paused in his walk and turned aside to the railing that bounded the side of the track above the steep, pine-covered descent. "Wish hard enough," he said, "and all dreams come true!"
Dinah went with him as if compelled. She leaned against the railing, glad of the support, while he sat down upon it. His attitude was supremely easy and self-possessed.
"Do you know, Daphne," he said, "I've taken a fancy to that particular dream myself? Now I've caught you, I don't see myself letting you go again."
Her heart throbbed at his words. She bent her head, fixing her eyes upon the rough wood upon which she leaned.
"But it's no good, is it?" she said, almost below her breath. "I've just got to go."
He put his hand on her shoulder, and she was conscious afresh of the electricity of his touch. She shrank a little—a very little; for she was frightened, albeit curiously aware of a magnetism that drew her irresistibly.
"Yes, I suppose you've got to go," he said. "But—there's nothing to prevent me following you, is there?"
She quivered from head to foot. That hand upon her shoulder sent such a tumult of emotions through her that she could not collect her thoughts in any coherent order. "I—I don't know," she whispered, bending her head still lower. "They—I don't know what they would say at home."
"Your people?" His hand was drawing her now with an insistent pressure that would not be denied. "They'd probably dance on their heads with delight," he said, his tone one of slightly supercilious humour. "I assure you I am considered something of a catch by a good many anxious mammas."
She started at that, started and straightened herself, lifting shy eyes to his. "Oh, but we've only been—playing," she said rather uncertainly. "Just—just pretending to flirt, that's all."
He laughed, bending his handsome, imperious face to hers. "It's been a fairly solid pretence, hasn't it?" he said. "But I'm proposing something slightly different now. I'm offering you my hand—as well as my heart."
Dinah was trembling all over. She gasped for breath, drawing back slightly from the nearness of his lips. "Do you mean—you'd like—to marry me?" she whispered tremulously, and hid her face on the instant; for the bald words sounded preposterous.
He laughed again, softly, half-mockingly, and drew her into his arms. "Whatever made you think of that, my elf of the mountains? I'll vow it came into your head first. Ah, you needn't hide your eyes from me. I know you're mine—all mine. I've known it from the first—ever since you began to run away. But I've caught you now. Haven't I? Haven't I?"
She clung to him desperately. It seemed the only way; for she was for the moment swept off her feet, terribly afraid of arousing that storm of passion which had so overwhelmed her the night before. Instinct warned her what to expect if she attempted to withdraw herself. Moreover, the tumult of her feeling was such that she did not want to do so. She wanted only to hide her head for a space, and be still.
He pressed her close, still laughing at her shyness. "What a good thing I'm not shy!" he said. "If I were, to-day would be the end of everything instead of the beginning. Can't you bring yourself to look at your new possession? Did you think you could laugh and run away for all time?"
Then, as in muffled accents she besought him to be patient with her, he softened magically and for the first time spoke of love.
"Don't you know you have wrenched the very heart out of me, you little brown witch? I loved you from the very first moment of our dance together. You've been too much for me all through. I had to have you. I simply had to have you."
She trembled afresh at his words, but she clung closer. If the fear deepened, so also did the fascination. She tried to picture him as hers—hers, and failed. He was so fine, so splendid, so much too big for her.
He went on, dropping his voice lower, his breath warm upon her neck. "Are you going to take all and give—nothing, Daphne? Did they make you without a heart, I wonder? Like a robin that mates afresh a dozen times in a season? Haven't you anything to give me, little sweetheart? Are you going to keep me waiting for a long, long time, and then send me empty away?"
That moved her. That he should stoop to plead with her seemed so amazing, almost a fabulous state of affairs.
With a little sob, she lifted her face at last. "Oh, Apollo!" she said brokenly. "Apollo the magnificent! I am all yours—all yours! But don't—don't take too much—at a time!"
The plea must have touched him, accompanied as it was by that full surrender. He held her a moment, looking down into her eyes with the fiery possessiveness subdued to a half-veiled tenderness in his own.
Then, very gently, even with reverence, he bent his face to hers. "Give me—just what you can spare, then, little sweetheart!" he said. "I can always come again for more now."
She slipped her arms around his neck, and shyly, childishly, she kissed the lips that had devoured her own so mercilessly the night before.
"Yes—yes, I will always give you more!" she said tremulously.
He took her face between his hands and kissed her in return, not violently, but with confidence. "That seals you for my very own," he said. "You will never run away from me again?"
But she would not promise that. The memory of the previous night still scorched her intolerably whenever her thoughts turned that way.
"I shan't want to run away if—if you stay as you are now," she told him confusedly.
He laughed in his easy way. "Oh, Daphne, I shall have a lot to teach you when we are married. How soon do you think you can be ready?"
She started in his hold at the question, and then quickly gave herself fully back to him again. "I don't know a bit. You'll have to ask mother. P'raps—she may not allow it at all."
"Ho! Won't she?" said Sir Eustace. "I think I know better. What about that trip on the yacht in July? Can you be ready in time for that?"
"Oh, I expect I could be ready sooner than that," said Dinah naïvely.
"You could?" He smiled upon her. "Well, next week then! What do you say to next week?"
But she shrank again at that. "Oh no! Not possibly! Not possibly!You—you're laughing!" She looked at him accusingly.
He caught her to him. "You baby! You innocent! Yes, I'm going to kiss you. Where will you have it? Just anywhere?"
He held her and kissed her, still laughing, yet with a heat that made her flinch involuntarily; kissed the pointed chin and quivering lips, the swift-shut eyes and soft cheeks, the little, trembling dimple that came and went.
"Yes, you are mine—all mine," he said. "Remember, I have a right to you now that no one else has. Not all the mammas in the world could come between us now."
She laughed, half-exultantly, half-dubiously, peeping at him through her lowered lashes. "I wonder if you'll still say that when—when you've seen—my mother," she murmured.
He kissed her again, kissed anew the dimples that showed and vanished so alluringly. "You will see presently, my Daphne," he said. "But I'm going to have you, you know. That's quite understood, isn't it?"
"Yes," whispered Dinah, with docility.
"No more running away," he insisted. "That's past and done with."
She gave him a fleeting smile. "I couldn't if—if I wanted to."
"I'm glad you realize that," he said.
She clung to him suddenly with a little movement that was almost convulsive. "Oh, are you sure—quite sure—that you wouldn't rather marry Rose de Vigne?"
He uttered his careless laugh. "My dear child, there are plenty of Roses in the world. There is only one—Daphne—Daphne, the fleet of foot—Daphne, the enchantress!"
She clung to him a little faster. "And there is only one Apollo," she murmured. "Apollo the magnificent!"
"We seem to be quite a unique couple," laughed Eustace, with his lips upon her hair.
When they went down the hill again to the hotel, Dinah felt as if she were treading on air. The whole world had magically changed for her. Fears still lurked in the background, such fears as she did not dare to turn and contemplate; but she herself had stepped into such a blaze of sunshine that she felt literally bathed from head to foot in the glow.
Her dread of returning to the old home-life had dwindled to a mere shadow. Sir Eustace's absolute confidence on the subject of his desirability as a husband had accomplished this. There would be paens of rejoicing, he told her, and she had actually begun to think that he spoke the truth. She was quite convinced that her mother would be pleased. It was Cinderella and the prince indeed. Who could be otherwise?
Her escapade of the night before had also shrunk to a matter of small importance. Eustace in his grand, easy way had justified her, and she was no longer tormented by the thought of the mute reproach she would encounter in Scott's eyes. She was triumphantly vindicated, and no one would dream of reproaching her now. Isabel too—surely Isabel would be glad, would welcome her as a sister, though the realization of this nearness of relationship made her blush in sheer horror at her presumption.
She to be Lady Studley! She—little, insignificant, moneyless Dinah! The thought of Rose's soft patronage flashed through her brain, and she chuckled aloud. Poor dear Rose, waiting for him at the Court, expecting every day to hear of his promised advent! What a shock for them all! Why, she would rank with the County now! Even Lady Grace would scarcely be in a position to patronize her! Again, quite involuntarily, she chuckled.
"What's the joke?" demanded Sir Eustace.
She blushed very deeply, realizing that she had allowed her thoughts to run away with her.
"There isn't a joke really," she told him. "It wasn't important anyhow. I was only thinking how—how surprised the de Vignes would be."
He frowned momentarily; then he laughed. "Proud of your conquest, eh?" he asked.
She blushed still more deeply. "It's easy to laugh now, but I shall never dare to face them," she murmured.
He took her hand as they walked, linking his fingers in hers with a careless air of possession. "When you are Lady Studley," he said, "I shall not allow you to knock under to anyone—except your husband."
She gave a faint laugh. "I—shall have to learn to swagger," she said."But I'm afraid I shall never do it as well as you do."
"What? Swagger?" He frowned again. "How dare you accuse me of that?"
"Oh, I didn't! I don't!" Hastily she sought to avert his displeasure. "No, no! I only meant that you were born to it. I'm not. I—I'm very ordinary; not nearly good enough for you."
His frown melted again. "You are—Daphne," he said. "Ah! Here is Scott, coming to look for us! Who is going to break the news to him?"
She made a small, ineffectual attempt to release her hand. Then, under her breath, "He—saw you kiss me last night," she whispered. "Don't you think he may have guessed already?"
A very cynical look came into Eustace's face. "I wonder," he said briefly.
They went on side by side down the white, shining track; but Dinah was no longer treading on air. She could see the slight, insignificant figure that awaited them close to the hotel-entrance, and her heart felt oddly weighted within her. It was not the memory of the night before that oppressed her. That episode had faded almost into nothingness. But the ordeal of facing him, of telling him of the wonderful thing that had just happened to her, seemed suddenly more than she could bear. Something within her seemed to cry out against it. She had a curious feeling of looking out at him across great billows of seething uncertainty that rolled ever higher and higher between them, threatening to separate them for all time.
Yet when she neared him, the tumult of feeling sank again as the quietness of his presence reached her. Out of the tempest she found herself drifting into a safe harbour of still waters.
He moved to meet them, and she heard his voice greet her as he raised his cap. "So you have been for your farewell stroll!"
She did not answer in words, only she freed her hand from Eustace with a resolute little tug and gave it to him.
Eustace spoke, a species of half-veiled insolence in his tone. "Like the psalmist she went forth weeping and has returned bearing her sheaf with her—in the form of a fairly substantialfiancé."
Dinah ventured to cast a lightning-glance at Scott to see how he took the information and was conscious of an instant's shock. He looked so grey, so ill, like a man who had received a deadly wound.
But the impression passed in a flash as she felt his hand close upon hers.
"My dear," he said simply, "I'm awfully pleased."
The warm grasp did her good. It brought her swiftly back to a normal state of mind. She drew a hard breath and met his eyes, reassuring herself in a moment with the conviction that after all he looked quite as usual. Somehow her imagination had tricked her. His kindly smile seemed to make everything right.
"Oh, it is kind of you not to mind," she said impulsively.
Whereat Sir Eustace laughed. "He is rather magnanimous, isn't he? Well, come along and tell Isabel!"
Scott's eyes came swiftly to him. He released Dinah, and offered his hand to his brother. "Let me congratulate you, old chap!" he said, his voice rather low. "I hope you will both have—all happiness."
"Thanks!" said Eustace. He took the hand, looking at the younger man with keen, hawk-eyes. "We mean to make a bid for it anyway. Dinah is lucky in one thing at least. She will have an ideal brother-in-law."
The words were carelessly spoken, but they were not without meaning. Scott flushed slightly; even while for an instant he smiled. "I shall do my best in that capacity," he said. "But before you go in, I want you to wait a moment. Isabel has had a slight fainting attack. We mustn't take her by surprise."
"A fainting attack!" Sharply Eustace echoed the words. "How did it happen?" he demanded.
Scott raised his shoulders. "We were talking together. I can't tell you exactly what caused it. It came rather suddenly. Biddy and I brought her round almost immediately, and she declares that she will make the journey. She did not wish me to tell you of it, but I thought it better."
"Of coarse." Sir Eustace's voice was short and stern; his face wore a heavy frown. "But something must have caused it. What were you talking about?"
Scott hesitated for a second. "I can't tell you that, old fellow," he said then.
Eustace uttered a brief laugh. "Too personal, eh? Well, how did it happen? Did she suddenly lose consciousness?"
"She suddenly gasped, and said her heart had stopped. She fell across the table. I called to Biddy, and we lifted her and gave her brandy. That brought her to very quickly. I left her lying down in her room. But she says she feels much better, and she is very set upon leaving the arrangements for the journey unaltered."
Scott spoke rather wearily. Dinah's heart went out to him in swift sympathy which she did not know how to express.
"May I—could I—go to her?" she suggested, after a moment timidly.
Scott turned to her instantly. "Please do! I know she would like to see you. We ought to be starting in another quarter of an hour. The sleigh will be here directly."
"May I do as I like about—about telling her?" Dinah asked, pausing.
Scott's eyes shone with a very kindly gleam. "Of course, I know you will not startle her. You always do her good."
The words followed her as she turned away. How good he was to her! How full of understanding and human sympathy! Her heart throbbed with a warmth that filled her with an odd desire to weep. She wished that Eustace did not treat him quite so arrogantly.
And then, looking back, she reproached herself for the thought; for Eustace had linked a hand in his arm, and she saw that they were walking together in complete accord.
"But I will never—no, never—call him Stumpy!" she said to herself, as she passed into the hotel.
She went up the stairs rapidly, and hastened to Isabel's room. That look she had caught in Scott's face—that stricken look—had doubtless been brought there by his sudden anxiety for his sister. That would fully account for it, she was sure.
On the threshold of Isabel's room an overwhelming nervousness assailed her. How was she going to tell her of the wonderful event that had taken place in the last half-hour? On the other hand, how could she possibly suppress so tremendous a matter? And again, the disquieting question arose; could she be ill—really ill? Scott had looked so troubled—so unutterably sad.
With an effort she summoned her courage, and softly knocked.
Instantly a low voice answered her, bidding her enter. She opened the door and went in, feeling as though she were treading sacred ground.
But Isabel's voice spoke again instantly, greeting her; and in a moment all her doubts, all her forebodings, were gone.
"Come in, little sweetheart!" Isabel said.
And she advanced with quickened steps to find Isabel lying propped on the sofa, looking at her, smiling up at her, with such a glory on her wasted face as made it "as it had been the face of an angel."
In an instant Dinah was on her knees beside her, with loving arms clasping her close. "Oh, darling, I've only just heard. Are you better? Are you better?" she said yearningly.
Isabel held her, and fondly kissed the upturned lips. "Why, I believe Scott has been frightening you," she said. "Silly fellow! Yes, dear. I am well—quite well."
"You are sure?" Dinah insisted. "You are really not ill?"
Isabel's smile had in it—had she but known it—a gleam of the Divine. "My dearest, all is well with me," she said. "I lay down for a little to please Scott. But I am going to get up now. Where have you been sincedèjeuner? I missed you."
Dinah clung closer, hiding her face.
Instantly Isabel's arms tightened. The passionate tenderness of them thrilled her through and through. "Why, child, what has happened?" she whispered. "Tell me! Tell me!"
But Dinah only hid her face a little deeper. "I don't know how," she murmured.
There fell a silence. Then, under her breath, Isabel spoke. "My darling, whisper—just whisper! Who—is it?"
And very, very faintly, at last Dinah made answer. "It—it is—SirEustace."
There fell another silence, longer, deeper, than the first. Then Isabel uttered a short, hard sigh, and, stooping, kissed the bowed, curly head. "God bless and keep you always, dearest!" she said.
Something in the words—or was it the tone?—pierced Dinah. She turned her face slightly upwards. "I—I was afraid you wouldn't be pleased," she faltered. "Do—do forgive me—if you can!"
"Forgive you!" All the wealth of Isabel's love was in the words. "Why, darling, I have been wanting you for my own little sister ever since I first saw you."
"Oh, have you?" Eagerly Dinah lifted her head. Her eyes were shining, her cheeks very flushed. "Then you are pleased?" she said earnestly. "You really are pleased?"
Isabel smiled at her very sadly, very fondly. "My darling, if you are happy, I am more than pleased," she said.
Yet Dinah was puzzled, not wholly satisfied. She received Isabel's kiss with a certain wistfulness. "I feel—somehow—as if I've done wrong," she said. "Yet—yet—Scott—" she halted over the name, uttering it shyly—"said he was—awfully pleased."
"Ah! You have told Scott!" There was a sharp, almost a wrung, sound in Isabel's voice; but the next moment she controlled it, and spoke with steady resolution. "Then, my dear, you needn't have any misgivings. If you love Eustace and he loves you, it is the best thing possible for you both." She held Dinah to her again and kissed her; then very tenderly released her. "You must run and get ready, dear child. It is getting late."
Dinah went obediently, still with that bewildered feeling of having somehow taken a wrong turning. She was convinced in her own mind that the news had not been welcome to Isabel, disguise it how she would. And suddenly through her mind there ran the memory of those words she had uttered a few weeks before. "Never prefer the tinsel to the true gold!" She had not fully understood their meaning then. Now very vividly it flashed upon her. Isabel had compared her two brothers in that brief sentence. Isabel's estimate of the one was as low as that of the other was high. Isabel did not love Eustace—the handsome, debonair brother who had once been all the world to her.
A little, sick feeling of doubt went through Dinah! Had she—by any evil chance—had she made a mistake?
And then the man's overwhelming personality swung suddenly through her consciousness, filling all her being, possessing her, dominating her. She flung the doubt from her, as one flings away a poisonous insect. He was her own—her very own; her lover, the first, the best,—Apollo the Magnificent!
In Isabel's room old Biddy Maloney stood, gazing down at her mistress with eyes of burning devotion.
"And is it yourself that's feeling better now?" she questioned fondly.
Isabel raised herself, smiling her sad smile. "Oh, Biddy," she said, "for myself I feel that all is well—all will be well. The dawn draws nearer—every hour."
Biddy shook her head with pursed lips. "Ye shouldn't talk so, mavourneen. It's the Almighty who has the ruling. Ye wouldn't wish to go before your time?"
"Before my time! Oh, Biddy! When I have lingered in the prison-house so long!" Slowly Isabel rose to her feet. She looked at Biddy almost whimsically. "I think He will take that into the reckoning," she said. "Do you know, Biddy, this is the second summons that has come to me? And I think—I think," her face was glorified again as the face of one who sees a vision—"I think the third will be the last."
Biddy's black eyes screwed up suddenly. She turned her face away.
"Will we be getting ready to go now, Miss Isabel?" she asked after a moment, in a voice that shook.
The glory died out of Isabel's face, though the reflection of it still lingered in her eyes. "I am very selfish, Biddy," she said. "Can you guess what Miss Dinah has just told me?"
"Arrah thin, I can," said Biddy, with a touch of aggressiveness. "I've seen it coming for a long time past. And ye didn't ought to allow it at all, Miss Isabel. It's a mistake, that's what it is. It's just a bad mistake."
"Not if he loves her, Biddy." Isabel spoke gently, but there was a hint of reproof in her voice.
Biddy, however, remained quite unabashed. "He love her!" she snorted. "As if he ever loved anybody besides himself! Talk about the lion and the lamb, Miss Isabel! It's a cruel shame to let her go to such as him. And what'll poor Master Scott do at all? And he worshipping the little fairy feet of her!"
"Hush, Biddy, hush!" Isabel spoke with decision. "I hope—I trust—that he isn't very grievously disappointed. But if he is, it is the one thing that neither you nor I must ever seem to suspect."
"Ah!" grumbled Biddy mutinously. "And isn't that just like Sir Eustace, with all the world to pick from, to choose the one thing—the one little wild rose—as Master Scott had set his heart on? He's done it from his cradle. Always the one thing someone else wanted he must grab for himself. But is it too late, Miss Isabel darlint?" Sudden hope shone in the old woman's eyes. "Is it really too late? Couldn't ye drop a hint to the dear lamb? Sure and she's fond of Master Scott! Maybe she'd turn to him after all if she knew."
Isabel shook her head almost sternly. "Biddy, no! This is no affair of ours. If Master Scott suspected for a moment what you have just said to me, he would never forgive you."
"May I come in?" said Scott's voice at the door. "My dear, you are looking better. Are you well enough to start?"
"Yes, of course." Isabel moved towards him, her hands extended in mute affection.
He took and held them. "Dinah has told you? I am sure you are glad.Eustace is waiting downstairs. Come and tell him how glad you are!"
His eyes, very straight and steadfast, met hers.
Isabel tried to speak in answer, but caught her breath in a sudden sob.
He waited a second. Then, "Isabel!" he said gently.
Sharply she controlled herself. "Yes. Yes. Let us go!" she said. "I must—congratulate Eustace."
They went; and old Biddy was left alone.
She looked after them with a piteous expression on her wrinkled face; then suddenly, with a wistful gesture, she clasped her old worn hands.
"I pray the Almighty," she said, with great earnestness, "to open the dear young lady's eyes, before it is too late. And if He wants anyone to help Him—sure it's meself that'll be only too pleased."
It was the most impressive prayer that Biddy had ever uttered.