Chapter Twenty Nine.

Chapter Twenty Nine.The Explosion.There was joy in the little cottage by the swiftly running river one day about a fortnight later, when a shadow was cast across the window; and with a cry of delight Dinah looked up from her work and saw that Clive Reed had approached silently, and was gazing in.The next moment she was nestling in his strong arms, responding to his kisses, and feeling once more safe, protected, and that there was nothing more to fear or wish for in life.“Don’t laugh at me,” she whispered, as she drew him farther in with the blood flushing in her cheeks, and her hands trembling, lest her abandonment in her ecstasy of delight had been seen.“Why not?” cried Clive. “I feel as if I could melt away into smiles and laughter—there’s a beautiful idea, pet—in the joy I feel at being back—at holding you in these great rough arms, at feeling safe, and that you had not forgotten me and run away with some fine handsome fellow while I was gone.”“Clive!”“Well, I do. I’m quite boyish—childish—oh, my darling, have I got you here in my arms once more?”There was no doubt of it, for timid and shrinking now, Dinah kissed him gravely upon the forehead, and then gently and firmly shrank from his strong embrace.“Where is the Major?” he cried.“He has taken his satchel and geological hammer, and gone for a long walk.”“Without you?”“Yes; that is why I said, don’t laugh at me, and you stopped me from saying more. Clive—I felt that you would come this morning.”“Ah, and how much sooner I should have been, but for the miserable worry of the company’s affairs. There, I will not worry you about that, and I am glad to say that I found Sturgess rapidly getting well. But he had a nasty accident. And how’s dear old Martha?”“Quite well. She has been talking about you and longing to see you every day.”“Bless her. And you. Oh, my darling, you look more beautiful than ever!”“Clive!”“You do. More sweet, more lovable. Oh, Dinah, there was never such a happy fellow before. This place is a paradise after grimy old London, and—oh, here is the Major, I can hear his step.”Dinah turned pale.“That is not his step,” she said, as she looked excitedly toward the window.Clive rose, went to it, and looked out.“Why, it’s Robson,” he cried. “Hang it! I hope there is nothing wrong. I’ll go and meet him.” Before he was outside Dinah was after him, and she hurriedly placed her hand upon his arm.“Eh? Well, come with me then, pet. I have no secrets from you.—Well, Robson, what’s the matter? Sturgess worse?”“No, sir, but you are wanted over yonder directly.”“Wanted?”“Yes, sir, there’s a party of gentlemen come down.”“What—visitors? Oh, hang them; they want to see the mine, I suppose?”“No, sir. They say they’ve come to take possession.”“What?”“I suppose they’re bailiffs, sir.”“And I suppose you’re a confounded fool!” cried Clive angrily. “That mine does not owe a penny!”“One of the gentlemen said he was a shareholder, sir, the principal shareholder, and he gave me his card.”Clive snatched it, and Dinah read the name thereon—“Mr Wrigley, New Inn, Strand.”“Wrigley?” cried Clive excitedly.“Yes, sir; and he said he must see you at once.”“All right; I’ll come. Wait for me yonder at the corner, Robson; and I beg your pardon for speaking so roughly just now.”“That’s nothing, sir. You were cross,” said the clerk, smiling; and he walked back down the garden to go and stand watching the trout in the river.“Don’t look so scared, dearest,” said Clive tenderly; “there is nothing wrong. I’ll tell you briefly what it is. You know there was a scare about the mine—a panic.”“Yes, dear.”“Well, a lot of foolish old friends were frightened—oh, dear me! I’m accusing the Major. Well, there, I can’t help it. He did act foolishly. A lot of them, I say, instead of coming to me went and sold their shares, and these were bought up by speculators who have since then been interfering at our board meetings, and wanting to meddle over the management of things. In fact, I was so wroth that I would not go to yesterday’s meeting, but determined to come down here and see how things were, and—you know why I came. Now I must go on. I suppose they had their meeting yesterday, and passed some resolution or another; but I’m too big a shareholder to be trifled with, and I’m going to meet these people now and have a row. For they shall have their big dividends, but I’m not going to have any meddlesome fools down here.”“But you will keep your temper, dear, and be calm.”“I’ll take your sweet face with me, love, and—why, here’s the Major. Ah, my dear old dad, how are you? Good-bye, Dinah. Come over to the mine with me, sir, and help me to keep my temper; well talk as we go.”“Of course,” cried the Major. “But look here, my boy—so glad to see you down—I saw a party going to the mine, and I hurried back trusting that one of them might be you.”“Come along,” cried Clive; and after a quick, tender farewell, he hurried away along the path to the mine, explaining matters to the Major as he went.On reaching the gate in the hill side, and entering the busy little hive of industry, it was plain that something important was on the way; for the men were all up from the workings, and were evidently listening to one of a party of well-dressed men, who was addressing them, and a buzz of voices arose as Clive, looking very stern now, walked up to the front of the office with his two companions.“Oh, good morning, Mr Reed,” said the speaker, getting down from a pile of lead pigs.“Good morning, Mr Wrigley. Well, Jessop, you here?”The latter gentleman nodded, and Sturgess, who had his arm in a sling, stood close behind him.“I have been telling the men, Mr Reed, that in consonance with the resolution passed at the board yesterday—”“In my absence, Mr Wrigley.”“You had the proper notices, sir,” said the lawyer coldly. “I say in accordance with the resolution passed yesterday, it was determined, in the interests of the ‘White Virgin Mine,’ to have a complete change of management.”“Indeed!” said Clive. “But I, as the greatest shareholder, object.”“You cannot, sir. I and my friends are greater shareholders, and have the majority with us. Out of respect to your late father’s memory we have made a concession to your brother.”“Jessop!” cried Clive.“Yes, sir. You will give up everything into his hands, for he will reside here and take the management, helped and counselled by Mr Sturgess, who now becomes co-manager of the property.”“And I?” said Clive, who was perfectly aghast at the petard sprung beneath his feet.“Will clear out at once.”It was Jessop Reed who said these words brutally; and, as the brother’s eyes met in a long piercing gaze, Clive Reed knew that his enemies had him firmly by the hip, and that the next minute he must fall.

There was joy in the little cottage by the swiftly running river one day about a fortnight later, when a shadow was cast across the window; and with a cry of delight Dinah looked up from her work and saw that Clive Reed had approached silently, and was gazing in.

The next moment she was nestling in his strong arms, responding to his kisses, and feeling once more safe, protected, and that there was nothing more to fear or wish for in life.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she whispered, as she drew him farther in with the blood flushing in her cheeks, and her hands trembling, lest her abandonment in her ecstasy of delight had been seen.

“Why not?” cried Clive. “I feel as if I could melt away into smiles and laughter—there’s a beautiful idea, pet—in the joy I feel at being back—at holding you in these great rough arms, at feeling safe, and that you had not forgotten me and run away with some fine handsome fellow while I was gone.”

“Clive!”

“Well, I do. I’m quite boyish—childish—oh, my darling, have I got you here in my arms once more?”

There was no doubt of it, for timid and shrinking now, Dinah kissed him gravely upon the forehead, and then gently and firmly shrank from his strong embrace.

“Where is the Major?” he cried.

“He has taken his satchel and geological hammer, and gone for a long walk.”

“Without you?”

“Yes; that is why I said, don’t laugh at me, and you stopped me from saying more. Clive—I felt that you would come this morning.”

“Ah, and how much sooner I should have been, but for the miserable worry of the company’s affairs. There, I will not worry you about that, and I am glad to say that I found Sturgess rapidly getting well. But he had a nasty accident. And how’s dear old Martha?”

“Quite well. She has been talking about you and longing to see you every day.”

“Bless her. And you. Oh, my darling, you look more beautiful than ever!”

“Clive!”

“You do. More sweet, more lovable. Oh, Dinah, there was never such a happy fellow before. This place is a paradise after grimy old London, and—oh, here is the Major, I can hear his step.”

Dinah turned pale.

“That is not his step,” she said, as she looked excitedly toward the window.

Clive rose, went to it, and looked out.

“Why, it’s Robson,” he cried. “Hang it! I hope there is nothing wrong. I’ll go and meet him.” Before he was outside Dinah was after him, and she hurriedly placed her hand upon his arm.

“Eh? Well, come with me then, pet. I have no secrets from you.—Well, Robson, what’s the matter? Sturgess worse?”

“No, sir, but you are wanted over yonder directly.”

“Wanted?”

“Yes, sir, there’s a party of gentlemen come down.”

“What—visitors? Oh, hang them; they want to see the mine, I suppose?”

“No, sir. They say they’ve come to take possession.”

“What?”

“I suppose they’re bailiffs, sir.”

“And I suppose you’re a confounded fool!” cried Clive angrily. “That mine does not owe a penny!”

“One of the gentlemen said he was a shareholder, sir, the principal shareholder, and he gave me his card.”

Clive snatched it, and Dinah read the name thereon—

“Mr Wrigley, New Inn, Strand.”

“Wrigley?” cried Clive excitedly.

“Yes, sir; and he said he must see you at once.”

“All right; I’ll come. Wait for me yonder at the corner, Robson; and I beg your pardon for speaking so roughly just now.”

“That’s nothing, sir. You were cross,” said the clerk, smiling; and he walked back down the garden to go and stand watching the trout in the river.

“Don’t look so scared, dearest,” said Clive tenderly; “there is nothing wrong. I’ll tell you briefly what it is. You know there was a scare about the mine—a panic.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Well, a lot of foolish old friends were frightened—oh, dear me! I’m accusing the Major. Well, there, I can’t help it. He did act foolishly. A lot of them, I say, instead of coming to me went and sold their shares, and these were bought up by speculators who have since then been interfering at our board meetings, and wanting to meddle over the management of things. In fact, I was so wroth that I would not go to yesterday’s meeting, but determined to come down here and see how things were, and—you know why I came. Now I must go on. I suppose they had their meeting yesterday, and passed some resolution or another; but I’m too big a shareholder to be trifled with, and I’m going to meet these people now and have a row. For they shall have their big dividends, but I’m not going to have any meddlesome fools down here.”

“But you will keep your temper, dear, and be calm.”

“I’ll take your sweet face with me, love, and—why, here’s the Major. Ah, my dear old dad, how are you? Good-bye, Dinah. Come over to the mine with me, sir, and help me to keep my temper; well talk as we go.”

“Of course,” cried the Major. “But look here, my boy—so glad to see you down—I saw a party going to the mine, and I hurried back trusting that one of them might be you.”

“Come along,” cried Clive; and after a quick, tender farewell, he hurried away along the path to the mine, explaining matters to the Major as he went.

On reaching the gate in the hill side, and entering the busy little hive of industry, it was plain that something important was on the way; for the men were all up from the workings, and were evidently listening to one of a party of well-dressed men, who was addressing them, and a buzz of voices arose as Clive, looking very stern now, walked up to the front of the office with his two companions.

“Oh, good morning, Mr Reed,” said the speaker, getting down from a pile of lead pigs.

“Good morning, Mr Wrigley. Well, Jessop, you here?”

The latter gentleman nodded, and Sturgess, who had his arm in a sling, stood close behind him.

“I have been telling the men, Mr Reed, that in consonance with the resolution passed at the board yesterday—”

“In my absence, Mr Wrigley.”

“You had the proper notices, sir,” said the lawyer coldly. “I say in accordance with the resolution passed yesterday, it was determined, in the interests of the ‘White Virgin Mine,’ to have a complete change of management.”

“Indeed!” said Clive. “But I, as the greatest shareholder, object.”

“You cannot, sir. I and my friends are greater shareholders, and have the majority with us. Out of respect to your late father’s memory we have made a concession to your brother.”

“Jessop!” cried Clive.

“Yes, sir. You will give up everything into his hands, for he will reside here and take the management, helped and counselled by Mr Sturgess, who now becomes co-manager of the property.”

“And I?” said Clive, who was perfectly aghast at the petard sprung beneath his feet.

“Will clear out at once.”

It was Jessop Reed who said these words brutally; and, as the brother’s eyes met in a long piercing gaze, Clive Reed knew that his enemies had him firmly by the hip, and that the next minute he must fall.

Chapter Thirty.After the Encounter.“But, my dear boy, why not have made a fight for it?” cried the Major, as he perspired profusely in his efforts to keep up with Clive, who was striding about the garden.“I’m going to fight for it, sir,” cried Clive impatiently; “but these matters are not settled by brute force and bayonets.”“Well, well, no,” cried the Major; “but you gave up almost without a word.”“Everything was against me, sir. Come: you, as a soldier, know that I was beaten by a clever bit of strategy, and that I must meet the position by something of the same kind.”“Yes, but you were in possession.”“I was, sir, but a majority of the shareholders decided that my management was bad, and appointed another man, so I am bound to give up.”“But not without a struggle.”“I am going to struggle, sir, but carefully. I cannot afford to fight against what is partly my own property.”“But you had a great number of shares, my dear boy.”“I did hold nearly half, sir, and I felt it my duty to help friends who had lost, and—”“You have ruined yourself to help me!” cried the Major passionately.“Nonsense! there is no question of ruin in this case, sir. It is only a business of the management. I ought to have known that my brother would never sit down quietly under his disappointment; but I never thought he would be partner in such a scheme as this.”“Then you think it was your brother who was the man that set the rumour afloat?” cried the Major.“From his connection with, and knowledge of stocks, I now feel convinced it was.”“The man whom I made my guest.”“Yes,” said Clive. “He was down here, evidently as a spy, and this fellow—this solicitor, Wrigley, seems to be an old friend of his. Nice way to speak of my own brother, sir.”“Your own brother!” cried the Major, in a towering passion; “he is a scoundrel, sir; I’d disown him, sir. He’s my enemy, sir. He has ruined me as well as you.”“No, no, no, my dear sir. I tell you there is no question of ruin in the matter. There is the mine, and it is so enormously rich that the shareholders cannot suffer. The annoyance is, being kicked out of one’s position in the management; but, as we school-boys used to say,—‘two can play at that game;’ and perhaps at the next board meeting I shall be able to overset Mr Jessop. Why, the scoundrel must have been in league with Sturgess, and that accounts for this fellow’s insolence to me on several occasions.”“Of course; and a nice diabolical scheme they have hatched between them. But you shall overthrow them, Clive, my boy, that you shall. Oh, I see it all now, unbusiness-like as I am. They had that report spread, frightened the shareholders into a panic, and then bought up everything.”“Yes, sir, that was theirmodus operandi.”“And they caught all the fools, including my stupid old self,” growled the Major. “But wait a bit. I daresay I shall have a settlement with Master Jessop Reed one of these days, and when that day does come, let him look out.”“No, Major, you will leave this to me,” said Clive quietly. “Now, then, I’m going to throw over this piece of worry, and have a calm quiet day with our darling. As I tell you, it does not interfere with my monetary position in the least, and it will save me a great deal of hard work; but to-morrow morning I must go back to town and see the other shareholders, for this state of affairs ought not to continue, though I must own that Sturgess is a clever manager, and does his work well.”The Major unslung a satchel from his shoulder at the door.“Why, you have been carrying that heavy lot of specimens all the time,” said Clive, smiling.“Yes, I forgot all about them,” said the Major; and he tossed the contents out into a basket in the tiny hall.“Lead ore,” said Clive, looking curiously at a little block of dull grey stone.“Yes, there’s plenty of that stuff on my wild bit of mountain land. It all interests me, and of course much more since I have been a shareholder in the mine—I mean,” said the Major hastily, “since I was once.”“You are, Major. Once for all, no more words about that. A certain number more shares have been transferred to you, and they stand as yours in the company’s books. Not another word. Ah, Dinah! I seem to have neglected you sadly. Now, no more business; the whole day is ours. To-morrow morning I must be off back to town.”The parting was sad enough the next morning quite early, for, to Dinah, it was as if she were losing her protector for many days to come, and she could not drive away the forebodings of looming troubles as she clung to Clive after accompanying him with the Major for some distance along the mountain track leading to Blinkdale. But Clive was cheerful and bright, and at last he tore himself away, insisting upon their returning, as he would have to hasten on.“Take care of her, Major,” he cried, “and I’ll send you plenty of letters. Keep a good heart—it will all come right in the end. Now—goodbye.”He sprang away, and they stood watching him as he stopped from time to time to wave his hand before plunging down into a hollow, and disappearing from their sight.They turned then, and walked back in silence to the cottage, each too much occupied with painful thoughts to attempt to speak, for a shadow seemed to have fallen over their lives which was gradually darkening; and there were moments when Dinah looked forward, and then clung spasmodically to her father’s arm, for he broke out into angry mutterings from time to time, and as she looked in his face she could see that it was black with suppressed passion.At last they reached the river path, and the Major broke out:“I see it all plainly enough,” he cried. “Clive was right; that scoundrel of a brother was down here as a spy, and, curse him, I entertained him for his sake. He has won round that fellow Sturgess, and they think they are going to do as they like; but if I am to be a shareholder, confound them! they shall find that I can be a sharp one too, so let them beware.”

“But, my dear boy, why not have made a fight for it?” cried the Major, as he perspired profusely in his efforts to keep up with Clive, who was striding about the garden.

“I’m going to fight for it, sir,” cried Clive impatiently; “but these matters are not settled by brute force and bayonets.”

“Well, well, no,” cried the Major; “but you gave up almost without a word.”

“Everything was against me, sir. Come: you, as a soldier, know that I was beaten by a clever bit of strategy, and that I must meet the position by something of the same kind.”

“Yes, but you were in possession.”

“I was, sir, but a majority of the shareholders decided that my management was bad, and appointed another man, so I am bound to give up.”

“But not without a struggle.”

“I am going to struggle, sir, but carefully. I cannot afford to fight against what is partly my own property.”

“But you had a great number of shares, my dear boy.”

“I did hold nearly half, sir, and I felt it my duty to help friends who had lost, and—”

“You have ruined yourself to help me!” cried the Major passionately.

“Nonsense! there is no question of ruin in this case, sir. It is only a business of the management. I ought to have known that my brother would never sit down quietly under his disappointment; but I never thought he would be partner in such a scheme as this.”

“Then you think it was your brother who was the man that set the rumour afloat?” cried the Major.

“From his connection with, and knowledge of stocks, I now feel convinced it was.”

“The man whom I made my guest.”

“Yes,” said Clive. “He was down here, evidently as a spy, and this fellow—this solicitor, Wrigley, seems to be an old friend of his. Nice way to speak of my own brother, sir.”

“Your own brother!” cried the Major, in a towering passion; “he is a scoundrel, sir; I’d disown him, sir. He’s my enemy, sir. He has ruined me as well as you.”

“No, no, no, my dear sir. I tell you there is no question of ruin in the matter. There is the mine, and it is so enormously rich that the shareholders cannot suffer. The annoyance is, being kicked out of one’s position in the management; but, as we school-boys used to say,—‘two can play at that game;’ and perhaps at the next board meeting I shall be able to overset Mr Jessop. Why, the scoundrel must have been in league with Sturgess, and that accounts for this fellow’s insolence to me on several occasions.”

“Of course; and a nice diabolical scheme they have hatched between them. But you shall overthrow them, Clive, my boy, that you shall. Oh, I see it all now, unbusiness-like as I am. They had that report spread, frightened the shareholders into a panic, and then bought up everything.”

“Yes, sir, that was theirmodus operandi.”

“And they caught all the fools, including my stupid old self,” growled the Major. “But wait a bit. I daresay I shall have a settlement with Master Jessop Reed one of these days, and when that day does come, let him look out.”

“No, Major, you will leave this to me,” said Clive quietly. “Now, then, I’m going to throw over this piece of worry, and have a calm quiet day with our darling. As I tell you, it does not interfere with my monetary position in the least, and it will save me a great deal of hard work; but to-morrow morning I must go back to town and see the other shareholders, for this state of affairs ought not to continue, though I must own that Sturgess is a clever manager, and does his work well.”

The Major unslung a satchel from his shoulder at the door.

“Why, you have been carrying that heavy lot of specimens all the time,” said Clive, smiling.

“Yes, I forgot all about them,” said the Major; and he tossed the contents out into a basket in the tiny hall.

“Lead ore,” said Clive, looking curiously at a little block of dull grey stone.

“Yes, there’s plenty of that stuff on my wild bit of mountain land. It all interests me, and of course much more since I have been a shareholder in the mine—I mean,” said the Major hastily, “since I was once.”

“You are, Major. Once for all, no more words about that. A certain number more shares have been transferred to you, and they stand as yours in the company’s books. Not another word. Ah, Dinah! I seem to have neglected you sadly. Now, no more business; the whole day is ours. To-morrow morning I must be off back to town.”

The parting was sad enough the next morning quite early, for, to Dinah, it was as if she were losing her protector for many days to come, and she could not drive away the forebodings of looming troubles as she clung to Clive after accompanying him with the Major for some distance along the mountain track leading to Blinkdale. But Clive was cheerful and bright, and at last he tore himself away, insisting upon their returning, as he would have to hasten on.

“Take care of her, Major,” he cried, “and I’ll send you plenty of letters. Keep a good heart—it will all come right in the end. Now—goodbye.”

He sprang away, and they stood watching him as he stopped from time to time to wave his hand before plunging down into a hollow, and disappearing from their sight.

They turned then, and walked back in silence to the cottage, each too much occupied with painful thoughts to attempt to speak, for a shadow seemed to have fallen over their lives which was gradually darkening; and there were moments when Dinah looked forward, and then clung spasmodically to her father’s arm, for he broke out into angry mutterings from time to time, and as she looked in his face she could see that it was black with suppressed passion.

At last they reached the river path, and the Major broke out:

“I see it all plainly enough,” he cried. “Clive was right; that scoundrel of a brother was down here as a spy, and, curse him, I entertained him for his sake. He has won round that fellow Sturgess, and they think they are going to do as they like; but if I am to be a shareholder, confound them! they shall find that I can be a sharp one too, so let them beware.”

Chapter Thirty One.Fox and Wolf.The days went by slowly and sadly. Letters came regularly enough, but they were not hopeful, for Clive told how he was hemmed in by difficulties which prevented his stirring: and, as he said, it would be madness to do anything which would involve legal proceedings and injure the prospects of the mine. There was nothing for it but to wait: for Wrigley had laid his plans only too well, and he and Jessop had everything in their own hands.To the Major he said emphatically that as far as money matters were concerned there was nothing to mind, for the new management was bound for their own sake to do their best, as any lapse and falling off of the returns would be fatal to their position.To Dinah there were tender breathings of devotion, and the assurance that though absent he was with her always in spirit; and at the first opportunity he would run down.Ten days had passed, and one afternoon the Major had encountered Robson, whom he was passing with a short nod; but, after glancing round to see whether they were observed, the young man followed the Major and said quickly—“I’m kept on at the mine, sir, because I know so much of the books, and they can’t very well get along without me; but you looked at me so differently to what you used, sir, that I thought I’d speak.”“Yes, sir: you belong to the enemy’s camp,” said the Major sharply.“No, I don’t, sir, though I’m there, and I wish to goodness Mr Clive Reed was back, for Sturgess is unbearable with his bullying ways; and as for Mr Jessop, he’s no more like his brother than chalk’s like cheese. Think there’s any chance of Mr Clive coming back?”“Yes, my lad, every chance, if we’re true to him,” cried the Major; “and I beg your pardon, Mr Robson, I thought you were one of the scoundrels. I’m very glad to find you are not.”“I thank you, sir,” cried the young man; “and if you write to Mr Clive Reed, please tell him so long as I’m in the mine office the books shall be kept just as he wished, so that any one can see at a glance how matters stand.”“And I thank you too, Mr Robson. I, as a shareholder, am very glad that we have so good a man in your administrative post. But tell me, how are the returns?”“Wonderful, sir. They increase every day. The profits will be enormous.”“And is this man Sturgess doing his duty?”“Oh! yes, sir, splendidly,” said Robson, laughing. “By his new agreement he is to get a percentage upon the metal smelted. I don’t like him, but there’s no mistake in his working.”“Humph, that’s right,” growled the Major.“And now, sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go, for if it was known that I talked about the mine affairs, I should be packed off; and for Mr Clive Reed’s sake I want to stay.”“Right: good day. I daresay we shall run up against each other again.”They parted, and none too soon, for, hammer in hand, the Major had just plunged down into a gully when Robson caught sight of a tiny cloud of smoke rising above a ridge before him.Quick as thought he threw himself down among the heather, and lay peering between two tufts, till Jessop came into sight directly after, puffing away at a big cigar as he walked sharply along the track, passing the spot where the clerk lay, and evidently going in the direction of the cottage.Robson looked uneasy, and his forehead began to wrinkle with the thoughts which entered his brain. He was puzzled at first; then suspicious; and at last determined.He waited until Jessop was well out of sight, and with his mind made up, he was about to scramble to his feet, but he dropped down again, feeling sure he must have been seen, for he was conscious of a figure higher up the slope, coming slowly towards him; and soon after Sturgess, with his arm still in a sling, came close by, went down to the shelf-track, and there seated himself in a nook amongst some ferns. This forced the young clerk to slowly worm himself along among the heath and whortleberry tufts for a couple of hundred yards before the rising ground was well between them, when he went off at a sharp walk in the direction taken by the Major.Meanwhile Jessop had gone on smoking heavily till he reached the river side, where he stopped gazing down into the sparkling water, evidently thinking deeply, and drawing hard at his cigar, till it was nearly done, when he threw it to fall with a loud hiss into the stream.Then, with a quiet, satisfied aspect he went on for a few steps, and turned up the tiny gully hard by the Major’s garden.Fortune favoured him, for Dinah was seated in the shady porch working; and she started up in alarm as he came close up.“Don’t be frightened,” he said, with a smile, and holding out his hand. “Surely you have not forgotten me?”“No,” said Dinah, recovering herself, though her heart beat heavily from apprehension. “You called here once before.”“To be sure I did; but you will shake hands?”“As a friend of Mr Clive Reed, under the present circumstances, surely, sir, it is better not,” she replied with dignity.“Sir—under the present circumstances,” he cried bitterly. “The old story. Blackguard again. Ah,” he said, with a stamp of the foot, “is that man to go through the whole of his life spreading malicious slanders about his brother?”Dinah was silent.“Then you will not shake hands with one who spared no effort to get himself appointed to stay down here—whose sole thought has been of her whom he met once—only once—but whose impression was fixed so deeply upon his heart that ever since he has thought of her night and day.”Dinah rose and drew back into the doorway, looking at him with contempt.“Is this part of some melodrama, Mr Jessop Reed?” she said, “or do you imagine that you are speaking to a weak rustic girl?”“I am speaking the truth—blunderingly, perhaps,” he cried excitedly, “but in the best way I can. I wonder that I am not dumb before you. How can you be so cruel. You must have seen how you impressed me when I was down here before. That feeling has grown into an overpowering passion. Dinah Gurdon,” he cried, catching her hand, “I came down hereto live—to love you. I cannot help it.”“And you know that I am your brother’s betrothed,” she said wildly.“I know that without doubt he has taken advantage of his position here to try and delude you, as he has deluded other poor girls again and again; but you must know the truth. He is not fit to touch your hand—no, not even to stand in your presence. Hush! let me speak. I know all this is cruelly sudden, but you would forgive me if you knew what I have suffered since I saw you last. Dinah, dearest Dinah, give me some little ray of hope to take away with me. You are too beautiful to be cruel—too gentle to send me away despairing. Ah, you are relenting! A word only, and I will go away patiently, and ready to wait till you know me better.”“I never could know you better than I do at present,” said Dinah firmly, and quietly withdrawing her hand.“Ah, then I may hope?” he cried.“For what, sir?—an increase in my feeling of contempt? Your brother spared you, but I formed my own estimate of your nature, and it is true.”“I—I don’t understand you,” he whispered, “only that your words give me intense pain.”“I know, too, my father’s estimate of your character. Shall I tell you what he said?”“If you will. It is joy to hear you speak,” he cried, as he tried to catch her hand again.“He said, sir, that you were a scoundrel.”“Of course,” cried Jessop, with a bitter laugh, “from my brother’s slanders.”“Did your brother slander you when he told me that you married his betrothed?” cried Dinah indignantly, her eyes speaking her disgust. “Should I slander you, sir, if I told you that your words to me—words from a married man, to one whom you know to be his promised wife, are an insult? Have the goodness to go, sir, before my father returns, or I will not be answerable for the consequences. Ah!”She rushed past Jessop, forcing him on one side, for the Major, warned by Robson, had hurried back, and was coming up the path with his stick quivering in his grasp.“Don’t—don’t, father,” she panted in her excitement, “for my sake. I have said enough.”The Major’s face was purple with anger, but he did not speak, only raised his quivering stick, and pointed down toward the pathway, while Dinah clung to his arm.Jessop shrugged his shoulders, uttered a contemptuous laugh, and calmly took out his case, selected and lit a cigar, closed the case with a snap, pocketed it, and walked by them smoking, insultingly contriving to send a puff of tobacco into the Major’s face as he passed.The next minute he was on the shelf path with his face convulsed with fury; and he walked on backward toward the mine, biting off pieces of the cigar, and spitting them out savagely.“That’s it, is it?” he snarled. “Well, we can soon tame all that. He won’t come back here, and all that is vapour. Pretty indignation; but a woman is weak. She knows I want her, and she’ll dream about it, and grow softer till the siege comes to an end. For it shall come to an end, and in my way, my lady. I never fairly attacked a girl yet without winning; and my pretty, sweet darling shall go on her knees to me yet, and what do you mean by that?”“I want to talk to you, guv’nor,” said Sturgess, who had suddenly clapped him roughly on the shoulder.“What is it, then? And, confound you, don’t you forget your place, sir.”“No fear. I’ve done your dirty work, and helped you to get your position here.”“And your own,” cried Jessop, with a sneer.“Oh yes, that’s all right; but I’m not going to have you ride roughshod over me in every way.”“What do you mean, sir?”“That you’ve got to keep away from the cottage yonder. I’m not going to have you poaching on my preserves.”“What do you mean?”“That Dinah Gurdon’s mine—my lass; and that I’d break the neck of any man who came between us two.”Jessop looked at the man in astonishment for a few minutes, and then burst into a mocking laugh.“You!” he cried. “Oh, this is too rich.”“What!” cried Sturgess, who was black with fury.“You be damned!” cried Jessop; and rudely thrusting the man aside, making him wince as he touched his wounded arm, strode away.

The days went by slowly and sadly. Letters came regularly enough, but they were not hopeful, for Clive told how he was hemmed in by difficulties which prevented his stirring: and, as he said, it would be madness to do anything which would involve legal proceedings and injure the prospects of the mine. There was nothing for it but to wait: for Wrigley had laid his plans only too well, and he and Jessop had everything in their own hands.

To the Major he said emphatically that as far as money matters were concerned there was nothing to mind, for the new management was bound for their own sake to do their best, as any lapse and falling off of the returns would be fatal to their position.

To Dinah there were tender breathings of devotion, and the assurance that though absent he was with her always in spirit; and at the first opportunity he would run down.

Ten days had passed, and one afternoon the Major had encountered Robson, whom he was passing with a short nod; but, after glancing round to see whether they were observed, the young man followed the Major and said quickly—

“I’m kept on at the mine, sir, because I know so much of the books, and they can’t very well get along without me; but you looked at me so differently to what you used, sir, that I thought I’d speak.”

“Yes, sir: you belong to the enemy’s camp,” said the Major sharply.

“No, I don’t, sir, though I’m there, and I wish to goodness Mr Clive Reed was back, for Sturgess is unbearable with his bullying ways; and as for Mr Jessop, he’s no more like his brother than chalk’s like cheese. Think there’s any chance of Mr Clive coming back?”

“Yes, my lad, every chance, if we’re true to him,” cried the Major; “and I beg your pardon, Mr Robson, I thought you were one of the scoundrels. I’m very glad to find you are not.”

“I thank you, sir,” cried the young man; “and if you write to Mr Clive Reed, please tell him so long as I’m in the mine office the books shall be kept just as he wished, so that any one can see at a glance how matters stand.”

“And I thank you too, Mr Robson. I, as a shareholder, am very glad that we have so good a man in your administrative post. But tell me, how are the returns?”

“Wonderful, sir. They increase every day. The profits will be enormous.”

“And is this man Sturgess doing his duty?”

“Oh! yes, sir, splendidly,” said Robson, laughing. “By his new agreement he is to get a percentage upon the metal smelted. I don’t like him, but there’s no mistake in his working.”

“Humph, that’s right,” growled the Major.

“And now, sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go, for if it was known that I talked about the mine affairs, I should be packed off; and for Mr Clive Reed’s sake I want to stay.”

“Right: good day. I daresay we shall run up against each other again.”

They parted, and none too soon, for, hammer in hand, the Major had just plunged down into a gully when Robson caught sight of a tiny cloud of smoke rising above a ridge before him.

Quick as thought he threw himself down among the heather, and lay peering between two tufts, till Jessop came into sight directly after, puffing away at a big cigar as he walked sharply along the track, passing the spot where the clerk lay, and evidently going in the direction of the cottage.

Robson looked uneasy, and his forehead began to wrinkle with the thoughts which entered his brain. He was puzzled at first; then suspicious; and at last determined.

He waited until Jessop was well out of sight, and with his mind made up, he was about to scramble to his feet, but he dropped down again, feeling sure he must have been seen, for he was conscious of a figure higher up the slope, coming slowly towards him; and soon after Sturgess, with his arm still in a sling, came close by, went down to the shelf-track, and there seated himself in a nook amongst some ferns. This forced the young clerk to slowly worm himself along among the heath and whortleberry tufts for a couple of hundred yards before the rising ground was well between them, when he went off at a sharp walk in the direction taken by the Major.

Meanwhile Jessop had gone on smoking heavily till he reached the river side, where he stopped gazing down into the sparkling water, evidently thinking deeply, and drawing hard at his cigar, till it was nearly done, when he threw it to fall with a loud hiss into the stream.

Then, with a quiet, satisfied aspect he went on for a few steps, and turned up the tiny gully hard by the Major’s garden.

Fortune favoured him, for Dinah was seated in the shady porch working; and she started up in alarm as he came close up.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said, with a smile, and holding out his hand. “Surely you have not forgotten me?”

“No,” said Dinah, recovering herself, though her heart beat heavily from apprehension. “You called here once before.”

“To be sure I did; but you will shake hands?”

“As a friend of Mr Clive Reed, under the present circumstances, surely, sir, it is better not,” she replied with dignity.

“Sir—under the present circumstances,” he cried bitterly. “The old story. Blackguard again. Ah,” he said, with a stamp of the foot, “is that man to go through the whole of his life spreading malicious slanders about his brother?”

Dinah was silent.

“Then you will not shake hands with one who spared no effort to get himself appointed to stay down here—whose sole thought has been of her whom he met once—only once—but whose impression was fixed so deeply upon his heart that ever since he has thought of her night and day.”

Dinah rose and drew back into the doorway, looking at him with contempt.

“Is this part of some melodrama, Mr Jessop Reed?” she said, “or do you imagine that you are speaking to a weak rustic girl?”

“I am speaking the truth—blunderingly, perhaps,” he cried excitedly, “but in the best way I can. I wonder that I am not dumb before you. How can you be so cruel. You must have seen how you impressed me when I was down here before. That feeling has grown into an overpowering passion. Dinah Gurdon,” he cried, catching her hand, “I came down hereto live—to love you. I cannot help it.”

“And you know that I am your brother’s betrothed,” she said wildly.

“I know that without doubt he has taken advantage of his position here to try and delude you, as he has deluded other poor girls again and again; but you must know the truth. He is not fit to touch your hand—no, not even to stand in your presence. Hush! let me speak. I know all this is cruelly sudden, but you would forgive me if you knew what I have suffered since I saw you last. Dinah, dearest Dinah, give me some little ray of hope to take away with me. You are too beautiful to be cruel—too gentle to send me away despairing. Ah, you are relenting! A word only, and I will go away patiently, and ready to wait till you know me better.”

“I never could know you better than I do at present,” said Dinah firmly, and quietly withdrawing her hand.

“Ah, then I may hope?” he cried.

“For what, sir?—an increase in my feeling of contempt? Your brother spared you, but I formed my own estimate of your nature, and it is true.”

“I—I don’t understand you,” he whispered, “only that your words give me intense pain.”

“I know, too, my father’s estimate of your character. Shall I tell you what he said?”

“If you will. It is joy to hear you speak,” he cried, as he tried to catch her hand again.

“He said, sir, that you were a scoundrel.”

“Of course,” cried Jessop, with a bitter laugh, “from my brother’s slanders.”

“Did your brother slander you when he told me that you married his betrothed?” cried Dinah indignantly, her eyes speaking her disgust. “Should I slander you, sir, if I told you that your words to me—words from a married man, to one whom you know to be his promised wife, are an insult? Have the goodness to go, sir, before my father returns, or I will not be answerable for the consequences. Ah!”

She rushed past Jessop, forcing him on one side, for the Major, warned by Robson, had hurried back, and was coming up the path with his stick quivering in his grasp.

“Don’t—don’t, father,” she panted in her excitement, “for my sake. I have said enough.”

The Major’s face was purple with anger, but he did not speak, only raised his quivering stick, and pointed down toward the pathway, while Dinah clung to his arm.

Jessop shrugged his shoulders, uttered a contemptuous laugh, and calmly took out his case, selected and lit a cigar, closed the case with a snap, pocketed it, and walked by them smoking, insultingly contriving to send a puff of tobacco into the Major’s face as he passed.

The next minute he was on the shelf path with his face convulsed with fury; and he walked on backward toward the mine, biting off pieces of the cigar, and spitting them out savagely.

“That’s it, is it?” he snarled. “Well, we can soon tame all that. He won’t come back here, and all that is vapour. Pretty indignation; but a woman is weak. She knows I want her, and she’ll dream about it, and grow softer till the siege comes to an end. For it shall come to an end, and in my way, my lady. I never fairly attacked a girl yet without winning; and my pretty, sweet darling shall go on her knees to me yet, and what do you mean by that?”

“I want to talk to you, guv’nor,” said Sturgess, who had suddenly clapped him roughly on the shoulder.

“What is it, then? And, confound you, don’t you forget your place, sir.”

“No fear. I’ve done your dirty work, and helped you to get your position here.”

“And your own,” cried Jessop, with a sneer.

“Oh yes, that’s all right; but I’m not going to have you ride roughshod over me in every way.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“That you’ve got to keep away from the cottage yonder. I’m not going to have you poaching on my preserves.”

“What do you mean?”

“That Dinah Gurdon’s mine—my lass; and that I’d break the neck of any man who came between us two.”

Jessop looked at the man in astonishment for a few minutes, and then burst into a mocking laugh.

“You!” he cried. “Oh, this is too rich.”

“What!” cried Sturgess, who was black with fury.

“You be damned!” cried Jessop; and rudely thrusting the man aside, making him wince as he touched his wounded arm, strode away.

Chapter Thirty Two.In a Flash.It was a curious blending of the bitter and the sweet when Clive Reed came down to the Blinkdale Moor. To a man of his temperament, it was maddening to find himself completely supplanted at the mine—where Jessop reigned supreme, when Wrigley did not come down; and in spite of the past the young engineer would have insisted upon frequent inspection of the place and statements as to the proceedings, but he dared not go, for at his next visit the Major had excitedly told him of all that had taken place with Jessop, and also of Dinah’s complaint of insult received from Sturgess.“I promised her that I would leave it to her to tell, my dear boy, but it’s like going into action—one does not care to begin, but the moment one’s blood is up, one doesn’t know where to stop.”“No,” said Clive, with his brow contracting. “The scoundrel, the scoundrel!”“And that brother of yours is the worst. Why, good heavens, is he mad with conceit as well as brazen wickedness? What does he take my darling for—some silly country wench to whom he has only to throw the handkerchief for her to fall on her knees at his feet?”“Don’t talk about it, please, sir!” cried Clive huskily. “I find that my bad passions are stronger than I thought, for I dare not go over to the mine for fear of the scene which would be sure to follow.”“No: you mustn’t go, Clive, or you’d half kill him—though he’s your own brother. If I had known all when I came back that day, thanks to that young fellow, Robson, I’d have thrashed him till he couldn’t stand. Thirty years older, my boy, but I’m a better man than he is: a miserable, flushed-faced sot! He drinks. I know he does, and he must have been half drunk when he came here that day.”“He will not dare to come again.”“No. Let him take the consequences if he does—him or that black-haired scoundrel, I’ll give either of them a charge of shot, I swear.”Still there was the sweet as well as the bitter, during his stays at the cottage; and Clive often asked himself why he, with the large property left to him by his father, should trouble about the mine, when there was a dreamy life of simple, idyllic happiness and joy. No allusion was made to Jessop or Sturgess by either Dinah or her lover, for it was enough that they could be together in that little paradise the Major had in the course of years contrived, wandering hand in hand beside the clear sparkling river which ran on laughing in the sunshine, so stern and calm in the deep shades beneath the rocks. They said little save in the language of the eye, and though Dinah had again and again determined to speak and tell Clive everything—some day when he was seated at her feet holding her hand in his, and say to him, “I dared not tell you lest you should despise me,” those words never passed her lips. “I cannot tell him now,” she sighed to herself. “I am so happy—he looks at me so full of joy and trust. Some day I will, some day when he is holding me tightly in his arms, and I feel so safe. I will tell him then. How can I make him unhappy now?”So she went on dreaming; happy in the present. The little river valley had never looked so beautiful before, nor her father so restful and content. It was life’s summer, a golden time with nothing to wish for more. The storms were hushed to sleep, and like the beautiful streamlet, they two were gliding onward in that mystic peace that softens down the passion of a strong first genuine love.“Bah! I wish there was no London, my boy. No work, no worry, no struggle,” cried the Major, one evening, when he was alone with Clive, who had been looking curiously at Martha, and recalling that night when he had first slept at the cottage. He was wondering how it all was. Whether the sturdy elderly woman had some love affair. Then he had, in spite of himself, thought of Sturgess, whom he had that day seen crossing one of the hills at a distance. He recalled the Major’s words and asked himself whether he, as a man, ought not in his resentment to have taken some step to punish the scoundrel. But with the idea within his mental grasp, he had let it slide again. For why, he asked himself, should he strike and jar the gentle, harmonious life of her who was so happy.Though the mine was so near, he had only seen his brother and the new deputy manager from time to time, at a distance, and his knowledge of the progress there came either from London or from Robson, who wrote occasionally, always to say that things were miserable, for Jessop and Sturgess were at daggers drawn, but the profits of the mine still rose.And now a letter had come down from the old lawyer—Mr Belton—endorsing the clerk’s announcements, and saying that an extraordinary meeting was to be held through a movement on the part of Wrigley, and in connection with the advance of the mine under the new management.“I don’t know what plans the man is going to propose, but you had better come up, my dear boy, and be present. I daresay you will do more good here than by staying down there watching and keeping those people up to their work.”So wrote the old family solicitor, and Clive’s conscience smote him, as he recalled how little he had done, and how very small was the credit he deserved. For his days had been spent in that dreamy pleasure at the cottage, and for the most part the mine was forgotten.But this letter had roused him to a sense of his duties, and, commending Dinah to her father’s care, Clive departed once more for town, in happy unconsciousness of the fact that his every step was watched; while as his figure grew less and less as she watched him along the moorland track, Dinah’s heart sank, and the old dread crept back at first like a faint mist, then growing more and more dense, until it was a black shadow between her and the sunshine of her life.“But it will not be long—he will not be long, he said,” she whispered to herself. “He will come back to-day.”That was on the following morning. But there was no Clive, and on the second morning she rose hopeful, saying the same words—“He will come to-day;” and she waited eagerly till toward evening, when the Major said suddenly—“No message from Clive, pet. I thought we should have a telegram.”Dinah looked at him wistfully, and then her face brightened up.“That means,” said the Major, “that he is coming back to-night. Look here, my dear, I’ll take the rod and get a brace or two of trout for his supper. There are four or five fine fellows in the lower pool, where I haven’t been for months. You had better stop in case Clive comes.”Dinah’s face clouded over again.“Nothing to mind, my dear. I saw Robson this morning, and he told me that Jessop and that black scoundrel went up to town to the meeting the same day as Clive. I suppose they didn’t meet in the train. If they did, I hope my dear boy turned them both out in the first tunnel they went through. There, I’m off.”The autumn evenings were upon them, and the sun dipped behind the crags of the millstone grit earlier now; and that evening, to prove the truth of the Major’s prophecy, Clive Reed trudged over the hill track leading from Blinkdale past the ‘White Virgin’ mine, where the roadway had been widened and fresh tram-lines laid, to meet the necessities of the vastly increased traffic. He frowned when he saw all this, for it jarred upon him that so much advance should have been made under other management; but the cloud passed away, for he met a group of men returning from their work, to the cottages down in the valley—men for whom there was not room in the new buildings, or who preferred their old homes. These were for the most part known to him, and they greeted him with a friendly smile or touch of the cap as they passed.Clive longed to stop them and ask questions, but he felt that he could not stoop to a meanness, and he went on in the soft evening glow watching the golden-edged purple clouds in the west, across which the boldly marked rays of the sun struck up, growing fainter till they died away high up towards the zenith. There was a pleasant scent of dry thyme from the banks, and the familiar odour of the bracken as he crushed it beneath his feet, or brushed through it and the heather and gorse. Only a couple of miles farther and he would be passing the spoil bank, and going along the rock shelf in the tunnel-like cutting, along by the perpendicular buttress which stood out from the lead hills like a bold fortification. Then half a mile down and down to the river, where the lights from the cottage would strike out suddenly from the ravine garden, and he could steal up, and announce his coming.He knew he would see the light, for it would be dark before he passed the spoil bank, almost before he reached the entrance to the gap—the natural gateway to the ‘White Virgin’ mine.And how prosperous the place had proved! How correct the dear old dad had been! But how bitterly he would have resented Jessop’s interference!Clive laughed almost mockingly, as he thought of the vote of thanks to Mr Jessop Reed, carried at the meeting with acclaim, for the vast improvements he had made, and the increasing prosperity, all of which were, of course, the natural growth of his own beginnings.“Never mind,” he said directly after; “let the poor wretch enjoy the satisfaction of having tricked me. Better be Esau than Jacob, after all. But I knew that lode must prove of enormous value, and I get my share of the prosperity.”He walked on more rapidly, but with a free, easy swing, enjoying the fresh mountain air, so bracing after the stuffy heat of the sun-baked London streets. The heavens had grown grey in the west, and it was as if a soft dark veil were being drawn over the sky, where from time to time a pale star twinkled, disappeared, and came into sight again.Then the gap was reached, and a strong desire came over him to go down and look about to see how the place appeared, for the chances were that he would not be heeded. But no: he resisted the desire. His brother and Sturgess might be back, and staying late at the office, when a meeting would probably lead to a fierce quarrel.“Just when I want to be calm and happy, ready to take my darling in my arms,” he said softly. “Poor Janet! I thought I loved you very dearly, but I did not know then that my fancy for the poor, weak, unhappy girl was not love.”He walked faster, for it was as if there was a magnet at the cottage, and its attractive power was growing stronger as he went along the shelf path, round by the spoil bank, and on in the darkness to the path notched in the perpendicular side of the rugged hill.“Just the time for a cigarette,” he said; and he took one, replaced his case, and then taking advantage of the sheltered tunnel close by the cavernous part where Sturgess had watched and waited for his return, he prepared to light up in the still calm air away from the brisk breeze outside.The box was in his hand; he had taken out a little wax match to strike, when he stopped short as if turned to stone, for there, close by him, he heard in a low murmur—“Yes, I knew that you would come.”Dinah’s voice; and as he struck the match and it flashed out into a vivid glare, there, within two yards, she stood clasped tightly in his brother Jessop’s arms.

It was a curious blending of the bitter and the sweet when Clive Reed came down to the Blinkdale Moor. To a man of his temperament, it was maddening to find himself completely supplanted at the mine—where Jessop reigned supreme, when Wrigley did not come down; and in spite of the past the young engineer would have insisted upon frequent inspection of the place and statements as to the proceedings, but he dared not go, for at his next visit the Major had excitedly told him of all that had taken place with Jessop, and also of Dinah’s complaint of insult received from Sturgess.

“I promised her that I would leave it to her to tell, my dear boy, but it’s like going into action—one does not care to begin, but the moment one’s blood is up, one doesn’t know where to stop.”

“No,” said Clive, with his brow contracting. “The scoundrel, the scoundrel!”

“And that brother of yours is the worst. Why, good heavens, is he mad with conceit as well as brazen wickedness? What does he take my darling for—some silly country wench to whom he has only to throw the handkerchief for her to fall on her knees at his feet?”

“Don’t talk about it, please, sir!” cried Clive huskily. “I find that my bad passions are stronger than I thought, for I dare not go over to the mine for fear of the scene which would be sure to follow.”

“No: you mustn’t go, Clive, or you’d half kill him—though he’s your own brother. If I had known all when I came back that day, thanks to that young fellow, Robson, I’d have thrashed him till he couldn’t stand. Thirty years older, my boy, but I’m a better man than he is: a miserable, flushed-faced sot! He drinks. I know he does, and he must have been half drunk when he came here that day.”

“He will not dare to come again.”

“No. Let him take the consequences if he does—him or that black-haired scoundrel, I’ll give either of them a charge of shot, I swear.”

Still there was the sweet as well as the bitter, during his stays at the cottage; and Clive often asked himself why he, with the large property left to him by his father, should trouble about the mine, when there was a dreamy life of simple, idyllic happiness and joy. No allusion was made to Jessop or Sturgess by either Dinah or her lover, for it was enough that they could be together in that little paradise the Major had in the course of years contrived, wandering hand in hand beside the clear sparkling river which ran on laughing in the sunshine, so stern and calm in the deep shades beneath the rocks. They said little save in the language of the eye, and though Dinah had again and again determined to speak and tell Clive everything—some day when he was seated at her feet holding her hand in his, and say to him, “I dared not tell you lest you should despise me,” those words never passed her lips. “I cannot tell him now,” she sighed to herself. “I am so happy—he looks at me so full of joy and trust. Some day I will, some day when he is holding me tightly in his arms, and I feel so safe. I will tell him then. How can I make him unhappy now?”

So she went on dreaming; happy in the present. The little river valley had never looked so beautiful before, nor her father so restful and content. It was life’s summer, a golden time with nothing to wish for more. The storms were hushed to sleep, and like the beautiful streamlet, they two were gliding onward in that mystic peace that softens down the passion of a strong first genuine love.

“Bah! I wish there was no London, my boy. No work, no worry, no struggle,” cried the Major, one evening, when he was alone with Clive, who had been looking curiously at Martha, and recalling that night when he had first slept at the cottage. He was wondering how it all was. Whether the sturdy elderly woman had some love affair. Then he had, in spite of himself, thought of Sturgess, whom he had that day seen crossing one of the hills at a distance. He recalled the Major’s words and asked himself whether he, as a man, ought not in his resentment to have taken some step to punish the scoundrel. But with the idea within his mental grasp, he had let it slide again. For why, he asked himself, should he strike and jar the gentle, harmonious life of her who was so happy.

Though the mine was so near, he had only seen his brother and the new deputy manager from time to time, at a distance, and his knowledge of the progress there came either from London or from Robson, who wrote occasionally, always to say that things were miserable, for Jessop and Sturgess were at daggers drawn, but the profits of the mine still rose.

And now a letter had come down from the old lawyer—Mr Belton—endorsing the clerk’s announcements, and saying that an extraordinary meeting was to be held through a movement on the part of Wrigley, and in connection with the advance of the mine under the new management.

“I don’t know what plans the man is going to propose, but you had better come up, my dear boy, and be present. I daresay you will do more good here than by staying down there watching and keeping those people up to their work.”

So wrote the old family solicitor, and Clive’s conscience smote him, as he recalled how little he had done, and how very small was the credit he deserved. For his days had been spent in that dreamy pleasure at the cottage, and for the most part the mine was forgotten.

But this letter had roused him to a sense of his duties, and, commending Dinah to her father’s care, Clive departed once more for town, in happy unconsciousness of the fact that his every step was watched; while as his figure grew less and less as she watched him along the moorland track, Dinah’s heart sank, and the old dread crept back at first like a faint mist, then growing more and more dense, until it was a black shadow between her and the sunshine of her life.

“But it will not be long—he will not be long, he said,” she whispered to herself. “He will come back to-day.”

That was on the following morning. But there was no Clive, and on the second morning she rose hopeful, saying the same words—“He will come to-day;” and she waited eagerly till toward evening, when the Major said suddenly—

“No message from Clive, pet. I thought we should have a telegram.”

Dinah looked at him wistfully, and then her face brightened up.

“That means,” said the Major, “that he is coming back to-night. Look here, my dear, I’ll take the rod and get a brace or two of trout for his supper. There are four or five fine fellows in the lower pool, where I haven’t been for months. You had better stop in case Clive comes.”

Dinah’s face clouded over again.

“Nothing to mind, my dear. I saw Robson this morning, and he told me that Jessop and that black scoundrel went up to town to the meeting the same day as Clive. I suppose they didn’t meet in the train. If they did, I hope my dear boy turned them both out in the first tunnel they went through. There, I’m off.”

The autumn evenings were upon them, and the sun dipped behind the crags of the millstone grit earlier now; and that evening, to prove the truth of the Major’s prophecy, Clive Reed trudged over the hill track leading from Blinkdale past the ‘White Virgin’ mine, where the roadway had been widened and fresh tram-lines laid, to meet the necessities of the vastly increased traffic. He frowned when he saw all this, for it jarred upon him that so much advance should have been made under other management; but the cloud passed away, for he met a group of men returning from their work, to the cottages down in the valley—men for whom there was not room in the new buildings, or who preferred their old homes. These were for the most part known to him, and they greeted him with a friendly smile or touch of the cap as they passed.

Clive longed to stop them and ask questions, but he felt that he could not stoop to a meanness, and he went on in the soft evening glow watching the golden-edged purple clouds in the west, across which the boldly marked rays of the sun struck up, growing fainter till they died away high up towards the zenith. There was a pleasant scent of dry thyme from the banks, and the familiar odour of the bracken as he crushed it beneath his feet, or brushed through it and the heather and gorse. Only a couple of miles farther and he would be passing the spoil bank, and going along the rock shelf in the tunnel-like cutting, along by the perpendicular buttress which stood out from the lead hills like a bold fortification. Then half a mile down and down to the river, where the lights from the cottage would strike out suddenly from the ravine garden, and he could steal up, and announce his coming.

He knew he would see the light, for it would be dark before he passed the spoil bank, almost before he reached the entrance to the gap—the natural gateway to the ‘White Virgin’ mine.

And how prosperous the place had proved! How correct the dear old dad had been! But how bitterly he would have resented Jessop’s interference!

Clive laughed almost mockingly, as he thought of the vote of thanks to Mr Jessop Reed, carried at the meeting with acclaim, for the vast improvements he had made, and the increasing prosperity, all of which were, of course, the natural growth of his own beginnings.

“Never mind,” he said directly after; “let the poor wretch enjoy the satisfaction of having tricked me. Better be Esau than Jacob, after all. But I knew that lode must prove of enormous value, and I get my share of the prosperity.”

He walked on more rapidly, but with a free, easy swing, enjoying the fresh mountain air, so bracing after the stuffy heat of the sun-baked London streets. The heavens had grown grey in the west, and it was as if a soft dark veil were being drawn over the sky, where from time to time a pale star twinkled, disappeared, and came into sight again.

Then the gap was reached, and a strong desire came over him to go down and look about to see how the place appeared, for the chances were that he would not be heeded. But no: he resisted the desire. His brother and Sturgess might be back, and staying late at the office, when a meeting would probably lead to a fierce quarrel.

“Just when I want to be calm and happy, ready to take my darling in my arms,” he said softly. “Poor Janet! I thought I loved you very dearly, but I did not know then that my fancy for the poor, weak, unhappy girl was not love.”

He walked faster, for it was as if there was a magnet at the cottage, and its attractive power was growing stronger as he went along the shelf path, round by the spoil bank, and on in the darkness to the path notched in the perpendicular side of the rugged hill.

“Just the time for a cigarette,” he said; and he took one, replaced his case, and then taking advantage of the sheltered tunnel close by the cavernous part where Sturgess had watched and waited for his return, he prepared to light up in the still calm air away from the brisk breeze outside.

The box was in his hand; he had taken out a little wax match to strike, when he stopped short as if turned to stone, for there, close by him, he heard in a low murmur—

“Yes, I knew that you would come.”

Dinah’s voice; and as he struck the match and it flashed out into a vivid glare, there, within two yards, she stood clasped tightly in his brother Jessop’s arms.

Chapter Thirty Three.Divided.Jessop started aside in abject fear, and made a rush to escape by passing his brother in the narrow path, but, with a cry of rage, Clive struck at him.The blow was ineffective to a certain extent, but was sufficient to make Jessop stumble and fall forward heavily. Before, however, his brother could seize him, he had scrambled up and ran along that shelf-like path as if for his life, while, as Clive started in pursuit, mad almost with despair and rage, a low, piteous, sobbing cry arrested him, and he turned back into the dark tunnel with his temples throbbing, his eyes feeling as if on fire, and a strange mad desire to kill thrilling every nerve.“Clive, Clive! what have I done!” came out of the darkness; and quick as lightning his arms went out, and he caught the speaker savagely by the shoulders, his hands closing violently upon the soft yielding muscles, and then falling helplessly to his sides, as if that touch had discharged every particle of force with which he was throbbing.“Clive,” she cried; “I thought—your message—oh, speak to me.”“Silence!” he cried, in a low harsh voice, which made her tremble. But the next moment, wild with excitement—and as they stood there in the darkness, face to face, but invisible one to the other—she stepped towards him, and caught his arm in turn.“Clive, dear,” she cried wildly. “Oh, for God’s sake, speak to me! You don’t think—”“Think!” he cried, with a furious, mocking laugh. “Yes, I think all women are alike—a curse to the man who is idiot enough to believe.”She drew a long, sobbing breath as she shrank from him now, the words of explanation which had leaped to her lips checked on the instant by the shame and indignation with which she was filled; and the next moment she was like stone in her despair.“I am sorry that I returned so soon,” he said, in a bitter, sneering tone; “but I have some respect for the poor old Major—even now. Come back.”She did not speak, but he could hear her breath come in a short, quick, catching way.“You hear me?” he said harshly. “Come back to your father now; but don’t speak to me, or the mad feeling may rise again. I cannot answer for myself.”“Take me home,” she said, in tones that he did not recognise as hers, and once more the furious rage within him flashed up like fire, as in his wild, jealous indignation he cried—“And him of all men. Quick! Back to the cottage first.”He caught her wrist now so fiercely that the pain was almost unbearable, but she did not shrink. The suffering seemed to clear her brain, and in a flash she saw a horror that made her tremble.“Clive,” she cried excitedly, “what are you going to do?”He laughed bitterly.“Perhaps what you think,” he said. “Likely enough. What should the man do to one who robs him twice. Why not? There is not room for two such brothers upon earth.”She panted to speak, but no words came for a time, as with her wrist prisoned with a grasp of iron, she let him lead her back toward the cottage half a mile away—out now from the rock cutting, to where the stars shone down upon them with their calm, peaceful glimmer, as if there were no such thing as human passion upon earth.At last she spoke.“Clive, you will not hear me,” she pleaded now, as her womanly indignation was swept away by the great horror she saw looming up before her.“No,” he said, “I will not hear you. I know enough. Are you trembling for your lover’s life?”“Oh!” she ejaculated, and she made an effort to snatch away her wrist; but the ring around it grew tighter as they walked on now in silence, till in her dread, as the icy perspiration gathered upon her forehead, she stopped short and faced him.“I would not speak,” she said, in a low hurried voice. “You should go on thinking me everything that was false and bad. I would not say a word to show how you are misjudging me.”He laughed scornfully.“But I will not have you go in your mad anger and ignorance to commit some act for which you would repent to your dying day.”“Only a short time of suffering, perhaps,” he said mockingly.“Oh, Clive! you of all men to misjudge me so,” she moaned. “Let me tell you all.”“Hah!” he ejaculated, as he fiercely swung her round and continued his walk, half dragging her beside him as if she were a prisoner.“You do not know, dear—there: I call you dear,” she whispered, in her sweet, soft, caressing voice. “You are hurting me terribly with your cruel grasp, but it is nothing to the agony you make me suffer by believing I could be so deceitful and base.”He laughed mockingly again, and she drew in her breath with a low sigh, as a wave of hot indignation mastered her once more, and closed her lips.But love prevailed once more. She stopped, and tried to fling herself upon his breast, clinging wildly to him with the arm that was free.“No, no; Clive, my own love, my hero, I would rather that you killed me than believed all this.”He repulsed her with a cry of disgust, and again there was the low sighing sound of her breath, but she went on again—“I forgive you, dear,” she said hurriedly. “You are my own; I am yours. I gave myself heart and soul to you, Clive, and you shall hear me.”He tried to drag her onward along the path, but she would not stir, and nothing but the most cruel violence would have moved her then, as she went on.“Something tries to make me say ‘Go on in your disbelief, for you are cruel, and do not deserve my love!’ but I must, I will speak. Kill me, then, if you will not believe. It would be so easy. There,” she cried; and she took a step before him right to the edge of the path where the precipice went perpendicularly down to the rough stones among which the river gurgled three hundred feet below.He made a snatch to drag her back, but she resisted him and stood firm.“I was sitting at home—alone,” she said hurriedly, “when the man brought your message.”“My message!” he cried, with a mocking laugh.“Yes; your telegram with its few words which sent joy to my weary heart, as I waited for news of him I loved.”“My telegram!” he said, with the same low, harsh laugh. “There, back home to your father, woman. I believed, but I am awake now, and can be fooled no more.”She struggled with herself again, and panted wildly.“You must, you shall believe me, dear. I forgive you all this because I know it is your great love for me, and you think I have deceived you. Yes; I know what you must feel, dear, and so I beat down all my cruel anger, and humble myself like this in my pity for you and despair. I read your dear words.”“My words! I sent no telegram. I came down hurrying to be once more at the side of the woman who in my folly I believed to be a saint. I come and I find her clasped in the arms of my greatest enemy—my own brother—and you talk to me like this.”She uttered a low, piteous wail, and the struggle within her was intense.“Yes, it is true; you sent me that message—‘Coming down by the three six train to Blinkdale. Meet me along the high path.’”“It is false,” he cried hastily.“No, no,” she cried, as her hand went to the bosom of her dress, and she snatched out a crumpled-up piece of paper. “Take it and read.”He made a fierce clutch at the paper she held out in the darkness, half to take it, half to strike it from her hand, as only part of some miserable deceit, and the latter act was successful, for it fell down the side of the precipice—down toward the river surging on its way.She muttered a wild cry, and then went on quickly.“It was late—my father had gone out, but I would not disappoint you, Clive; and I came on, shivering as I found it would soon be dark; but I knew that your strong arms would soon be round me to protect me, and I hurried on, till there in the darkest part I felt that you were waiting for me, and—that is all.”Her hurried, passionate words ceased, and she ended her explanation with those three feeble, lame, to him inconclusive, words. Then yielding herself to his pressure, she walked on by his side, broken, exhausted by her emotion, dumb now, as she waited for him to speak. She waited in vain till the river side was reached, and from lower down in the darkness there came a cheery whistle as the Major was returning from the long walk into which he had been drawn by his ill success.Clive Reed’s nerves twitched, but he turned rapidly through the garden with Dinah half fainting, and ready to cling to one of the supports of the porch as he at last set her free.“What—Clive—dearest,” she whispered faintly—“tell me—what are you going to do?”He bent down with his lips close to her ear, and whispered sharply—“Kill him—or he shall me.”Then, with a hurried step he sprang up through the higher part of the garden in and out among the shrubs and bushes, climbed on to the very top, and struck out over the mountain slopes.Dinah listened till the rustling sounds he made died away, and then, hot and trembling, she went up slowly to her room, and sat down with her face buried in her hands; but there was no relief—the source of her tears was dry.Clive took a short cut across the rugged moorland, and twice over he narrowly escaped death. The first time he was pulled up short by coming violently in the darkness against the rough, unmortared wall built up round an ancient shaft on the mine land; and as he checked himself by grasping the loose stones, one of them fell over and went down and down, striking once against the side, and sending a chill through him as a reverberating roar came up, followed at a short interval by a dull echoing splash, after which he could hear the water hiss and suck against the sides, sending up strange whisperings, which sounded to his disturbed imagination like demoniacal confidences about Dinah Gurdon and his brother.He hurried away, as another stone was dislodged, and the sullen plunge came to his ear when he was yards distant, tearing along in the most reckless way, to trip at last over a stone and fall headlong down one of the deep gully-like ravines with which the mountain land was scored.He caught at a rough projection, against which he struck, and held on while a little avalanche of stones continued falling; then half-stunned and trembling from the shock, crept back again to proceed more cautiously along the edge of the gully, making for the path once more, fully awake now to the fact that it was utter madness to attempt to cross that region in the darkness.“Not yet,” he muttered, with a savage laugh, “I must square accounts with brother Jessop first.”Then he laughed as he wiped away the blood which had trickled down like perspiration from a cut in the forehead, and which came like a blessing in disguise, relieving, as it bled freely, the tension upon his overcharged brain; for if ever man was on the border-line which stretches between sanity and utter madness, Clive Reed was then.“Of course,” he said, “I am a fool, a pitiful, childlike fool, ever to imagine that a light-hearted girl would care for such a dreamy student as I—a man whose whole conversation is about mines and shares, and money. I had my lesson with Janet, who tolerated me, as long as she could, for her father’s sake; but I would not take it, and went on in my folly once more. Jessop again! Of course: the good-looking, well-dressed, plausible scoundrel. They always said he was a ladies’ man, and the more infidelities proved against such a one, the more attractive he becomes, I suppose.”“Ah!” he ejaculated savagely, “what is it to me? It shall not be for that, but for the money. If I want an idol, it shall be gold, and he is trying to rob me of it.”He struggled on, stumbling in the darkness over stones and tufts of heather, till he reached a rift which led sloping to the pathway close by the tunnel-like notch, and as he let himself down on to the firm, level way, he ran through the dark part with his hands holding his head as if to keep it from bursting with the agonising memories of what he had witnessed that night, a scene photographed upon his brain by that sharp flash of light before all was black darkness—a darkness which now enshrouded his soul.“But I must be cool and strong,” he muttered, as he subsided into a walk once more, and went steadily on toward the entrance to the mine gap with a confused idea in his head that he would hunt down his brother, bring him to bay, and then—Yes—and then? His brain carried him no farther. Something was to happen then to one of them; and he only muttered an insane, mocking laugh, and either could not or would not try to plunge into the future.

Jessop started aside in abject fear, and made a rush to escape by passing his brother in the narrow path, but, with a cry of rage, Clive struck at him.

The blow was ineffective to a certain extent, but was sufficient to make Jessop stumble and fall forward heavily. Before, however, his brother could seize him, he had scrambled up and ran along that shelf-like path as if for his life, while, as Clive started in pursuit, mad almost with despair and rage, a low, piteous, sobbing cry arrested him, and he turned back into the dark tunnel with his temples throbbing, his eyes feeling as if on fire, and a strange mad desire to kill thrilling every nerve.

“Clive, Clive! what have I done!” came out of the darkness; and quick as lightning his arms went out, and he caught the speaker savagely by the shoulders, his hands closing violently upon the soft yielding muscles, and then falling helplessly to his sides, as if that touch had discharged every particle of force with which he was throbbing.

“Clive,” she cried; “I thought—your message—oh, speak to me.”

“Silence!” he cried, in a low harsh voice, which made her tremble. But the next moment, wild with excitement—and as they stood there in the darkness, face to face, but invisible one to the other—she stepped towards him, and caught his arm in turn.

“Clive, dear,” she cried wildly. “Oh, for God’s sake, speak to me! You don’t think—”

“Think!” he cried, with a furious, mocking laugh. “Yes, I think all women are alike—a curse to the man who is idiot enough to believe.”

She drew a long, sobbing breath as she shrank from him now, the words of explanation which had leaped to her lips checked on the instant by the shame and indignation with which she was filled; and the next moment she was like stone in her despair.

“I am sorry that I returned so soon,” he said, in a bitter, sneering tone; “but I have some respect for the poor old Major—even now. Come back.”

She did not speak, but he could hear her breath come in a short, quick, catching way.

“You hear me?” he said harshly. “Come back to your father now; but don’t speak to me, or the mad feeling may rise again. I cannot answer for myself.”

“Take me home,” she said, in tones that he did not recognise as hers, and once more the furious rage within him flashed up like fire, as in his wild, jealous indignation he cried—

“And him of all men. Quick! Back to the cottage first.”

He caught her wrist now so fiercely that the pain was almost unbearable, but she did not shrink. The suffering seemed to clear her brain, and in a flash she saw a horror that made her tremble.

“Clive,” she cried excitedly, “what are you going to do?”

He laughed bitterly.

“Perhaps what you think,” he said. “Likely enough. What should the man do to one who robs him twice. Why not? There is not room for two such brothers upon earth.”

She panted to speak, but no words came for a time, as with her wrist prisoned with a grasp of iron, she let him lead her back toward the cottage half a mile away—out now from the rock cutting, to where the stars shone down upon them with their calm, peaceful glimmer, as if there were no such thing as human passion upon earth.

At last she spoke.

“Clive, you will not hear me,” she pleaded now, as her womanly indignation was swept away by the great horror she saw looming up before her.

“No,” he said, “I will not hear you. I know enough. Are you trembling for your lover’s life?”

“Oh!” she ejaculated, and she made an effort to snatch away her wrist; but the ring around it grew tighter as they walked on now in silence, till in her dread, as the icy perspiration gathered upon her forehead, she stopped short and faced him.

“I would not speak,” she said, in a low hurried voice. “You should go on thinking me everything that was false and bad. I would not say a word to show how you are misjudging me.”

He laughed scornfully.

“But I will not have you go in your mad anger and ignorance to commit some act for which you would repent to your dying day.”

“Only a short time of suffering, perhaps,” he said mockingly.

“Oh, Clive! you of all men to misjudge me so,” she moaned. “Let me tell you all.”

“Hah!” he ejaculated, as he fiercely swung her round and continued his walk, half dragging her beside him as if she were a prisoner.

“You do not know, dear—there: I call you dear,” she whispered, in her sweet, soft, caressing voice. “You are hurting me terribly with your cruel grasp, but it is nothing to the agony you make me suffer by believing I could be so deceitful and base.”

He laughed mockingly again, and she drew in her breath with a low sigh, as a wave of hot indignation mastered her once more, and closed her lips.

But love prevailed once more. She stopped, and tried to fling herself upon his breast, clinging wildly to him with the arm that was free.

“No, no; Clive, my own love, my hero, I would rather that you killed me than believed all this.”

He repulsed her with a cry of disgust, and again there was the low sighing sound of her breath, but she went on again—

“I forgive you, dear,” she said hurriedly. “You are my own; I am yours. I gave myself heart and soul to you, Clive, and you shall hear me.”

He tried to drag her onward along the path, but she would not stir, and nothing but the most cruel violence would have moved her then, as she went on.

“Something tries to make me say ‘Go on in your disbelief, for you are cruel, and do not deserve my love!’ but I must, I will speak. Kill me, then, if you will not believe. It would be so easy. There,” she cried; and she took a step before him right to the edge of the path where the precipice went perpendicularly down to the rough stones among which the river gurgled three hundred feet below.

He made a snatch to drag her back, but she resisted him and stood firm.

“I was sitting at home—alone,” she said hurriedly, “when the man brought your message.”

“My message!” he cried, with a mocking laugh.

“Yes; your telegram with its few words which sent joy to my weary heart, as I waited for news of him I loved.”

“My telegram!” he said, with the same low, harsh laugh. “There, back home to your father, woman. I believed, but I am awake now, and can be fooled no more.”

She struggled with herself again, and panted wildly.

“You must, you shall believe me, dear. I forgive you all this because I know it is your great love for me, and you think I have deceived you. Yes; I know what you must feel, dear, and so I beat down all my cruel anger, and humble myself like this in my pity for you and despair. I read your dear words.”

“My words! I sent no telegram. I came down hurrying to be once more at the side of the woman who in my folly I believed to be a saint. I come and I find her clasped in the arms of my greatest enemy—my own brother—and you talk to me like this.”

She uttered a low, piteous wail, and the struggle within her was intense.

“Yes, it is true; you sent me that message—‘Coming down by the three six train to Blinkdale. Meet me along the high path.’”

“It is false,” he cried hastily.

“No, no,” she cried, as her hand went to the bosom of her dress, and she snatched out a crumpled-up piece of paper. “Take it and read.”

He made a fierce clutch at the paper she held out in the darkness, half to take it, half to strike it from her hand, as only part of some miserable deceit, and the latter act was successful, for it fell down the side of the precipice—down toward the river surging on its way.

She muttered a wild cry, and then went on quickly.

“It was late—my father had gone out, but I would not disappoint you, Clive; and I came on, shivering as I found it would soon be dark; but I knew that your strong arms would soon be round me to protect me, and I hurried on, till there in the darkest part I felt that you were waiting for me, and—that is all.”

Her hurried, passionate words ceased, and she ended her explanation with those three feeble, lame, to him inconclusive, words. Then yielding herself to his pressure, she walked on by his side, broken, exhausted by her emotion, dumb now, as she waited for him to speak. She waited in vain till the river side was reached, and from lower down in the darkness there came a cheery whistle as the Major was returning from the long walk into which he had been drawn by his ill success.

Clive Reed’s nerves twitched, but he turned rapidly through the garden with Dinah half fainting, and ready to cling to one of the supports of the porch as he at last set her free.

“What—Clive—dearest,” she whispered faintly—“tell me—what are you going to do?”

He bent down with his lips close to her ear, and whispered sharply—

“Kill him—or he shall me.”

Then, with a hurried step he sprang up through the higher part of the garden in and out among the shrubs and bushes, climbed on to the very top, and struck out over the mountain slopes.

Dinah listened till the rustling sounds he made died away, and then, hot and trembling, she went up slowly to her room, and sat down with her face buried in her hands; but there was no relief—the source of her tears was dry.

Clive took a short cut across the rugged moorland, and twice over he narrowly escaped death. The first time he was pulled up short by coming violently in the darkness against the rough, unmortared wall built up round an ancient shaft on the mine land; and as he checked himself by grasping the loose stones, one of them fell over and went down and down, striking once against the side, and sending a chill through him as a reverberating roar came up, followed at a short interval by a dull echoing splash, after which he could hear the water hiss and suck against the sides, sending up strange whisperings, which sounded to his disturbed imagination like demoniacal confidences about Dinah Gurdon and his brother.

He hurried away, as another stone was dislodged, and the sullen plunge came to his ear when he was yards distant, tearing along in the most reckless way, to trip at last over a stone and fall headlong down one of the deep gully-like ravines with which the mountain land was scored.

He caught at a rough projection, against which he struck, and held on while a little avalanche of stones continued falling; then half-stunned and trembling from the shock, crept back again to proceed more cautiously along the edge of the gully, making for the path once more, fully awake now to the fact that it was utter madness to attempt to cross that region in the darkness.

“Not yet,” he muttered, with a savage laugh, “I must square accounts with brother Jessop first.”

Then he laughed as he wiped away the blood which had trickled down like perspiration from a cut in the forehead, and which came like a blessing in disguise, relieving, as it bled freely, the tension upon his overcharged brain; for if ever man was on the border-line which stretches between sanity and utter madness, Clive Reed was then.

“Of course,” he said, “I am a fool, a pitiful, childlike fool, ever to imagine that a light-hearted girl would care for such a dreamy student as I—a man whose whole conversation is about mines and shares, and money. I had my lesson with Janet, who tolerated me, as long as she could, for her father’s sake; but I would not take it, and went on in my folly once more. Jessop again! Of course: the good-looking, well-dressed, plausible scoundrel. They always said he was a ladies’ man, and the more infidelities proved against such a one, the more attractive he becomes, I suppose.”

“Ah!” he ejaculated savagely, “what is it to me? It shall not be for that, but for the money. If I want an idol, it shall be gold, and he is trying to rob me of it.”

He struggled on, stumbling in the darkness over stones and tufts of heather, till he reached a rift which led sloping to the pathway close by the tunnel-like notch, and as he let himself down on to the firm, level way, he ran through the dark part with his hands holding his head as if to keep it from bursting with the agonising memories of what he had witnessed that night, a scene photographed upon his brain by that sharp flash of light before all was black darkness—a darkness which now enshrouded his soul.

“But I must be cool and strong,” he muttered, as he subsided into a walk once more, and went steadily on toward the entrance to the mine gap with a confused idea in his head that he would hunt down his brother, bring him to bay, and then—

Yes—and then? His brain carried him no farther. Something was to happen then to one of them; and he only muttered an insane, mocking laugh, and either could not or would not try to plunge into the future.

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