Greatheart, Ethel May Dell [children's books read aloud TXT] 📗

My father had died six years before, my mother at my birth. Eustace was the head of the family, and he and Isabel had been all in all to each other. He felt her going more than I can possibly tell you, and scarcely a week after the news came he got his things together and went off in the yacht to South America to get over it by himself. I stayed on at Oxford, but I made up my mind to go out to her in the vacation. A few days after his going, I had a cable to say they were married. A week after that, there came another cable to say that Everard was dead."

"Oh!" Dinah drew a short, hard breath. "Poor Isabel!" she whispered.

"Yes." Scott's pale eyes were gazing straight ahead. "He was killed two days after the marriage. They had gone up to the Hills, to a place he knew of right in the wilds on the side of a mountain, and pitched camp there. There were only themselves, a handful of Pathan coolies with mules, and a shikari. The day after they got there, he took her up the mountain to show her some of the beauties of the place, and they lunched on a ledge about a couple of hundred feet above a great lonely tarn. It was a wonderful place but very savage, horribly desolate. They rested after the meal, and then, Isabel being still tired, he left her to bask in the sunshine while he went a little further. He told her to wait for him. He was only going round the corner. There was a great bastion of rock jutting on to the ledge. He wanted to have a look round the other side of it. He went,—and he never came back."

"He fell?" Dinah turned a shocked face upon him. "Oh, how dreadful!"

"He must have fallen. The ledge dwindled on the other side of the rock to little more than four feet in width for about six yards. There was a sheer drop below into the pool. A man of steady nerve, accustomed to mountaineering, would make nothing of it; and, from what Isabel has told me of him, I gather he was that sort of man. But on that particular afternoon something must have happened. Perhaps his happiness had unsteadied him a bit, for they were absolutely happy together. Or it may have been the heat. Anyhow he fell, he must have fallen. And no one ever knew any more than that."

"How dreadful!" Dinah whispered again. "And she was left—all alone?"

"Quite alone except for the natives, and they didn't find her till the day after. She was pacing up and down the ledge then, up and down, up and down eternally, and she refused—flatly refused—to leave it till he should come back. She had spent the whole night there alone, waiting, getting more and more distraught, and they could do nothing with her. They were afraid of her. Never from that day to this has she admitted for a moment that he must have been killed, though in her heart she knows it, poor girl, just as she knew it from the very beginning."

"But what happened?" breathed Dinah. "What did they do? They couldn't leave her there."

"They didn't know what to do. The shikari was the only one with any ideas among them, and he wasn't especially brilliant. But after another day and night he hit on the notion of sending one of the coolies back with the news while he and the other men waited and watched. They kept her supplied with food. She must have eaten almost mechanically. But she never left that ledge. And yet—and yet—she was kept from taking the one step that would have ended it all. I sometimes wonder if it wouldn't have been better—more merciful—" He broke off.

"Perhaps God was watching her," murmured Dinah shyly.

"Yes, I tell myself that. But even so, I can't help wondering sometimes." Scott's voice was very sad. "She was left so terribly desolate," he said. "Those letters that you saw last night are all she has of him. He has gone, and taken the mainspring of her life with him. I hate to think of what followed. They sent up a doctor from the nearest station, and she was taken away,—taken by force. When I got to her three weeks later, she was mad, raving mad, with brain fever. I had the old nurse Biddy with me. We nursed her between us. We brought her back to what she is now. Some day, please God, we shall get her quite back again; but whether it will be for her happiness He only knows."

Scott ceased to speak. His brows were drawn as the brows of a man in pain.

Dinah's eyes were full of tears. "Oh, thank you for telling me! Thank you!" she murmured. "I do hope you will get her quite back, as you say."

He looked at her, saw her tears, and put out a gentle hand that rested for a moment upon her arm. "I am afraid I have made you unhappy. Forgive me! You are so sympathetic, and I have taken advantage of it. I think we shall get her back. She is coming very, very gradually. She has never before taken such an interest in anyone as she took in you last night. She was talking of you again this morning. She has taken a fancy to you. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind!" Dinah choked a little and smiled a quivering smile. "I am proud—very proud. I only wish I deserved it. What—what made you bring her here?"

"That was my brother's idea. Since we brought her home she has never been away, except once on the yacht; and then she was so miserable that we were afraid to keep her there. But he thought a thorough change—mountain air—might do her good. The doctor was not against it. So we came."

"And do you never leave her?" questioned Dinah.

"Practically never. Ever since that awful time in India she has been very dependent upon me. Biddy of course is quite indispensable to her. And I am nearly so."

"You have given yourself up to her in fact?" Quick admiration was in
Dinah's tone.

He smiled. "It didn't mean so much to me as it would have meant to some men, Miss Bathurst,—as it would have meant to Eustace, for instance. I'm not much of a man. To give up my college career and settle down at home wasn't such a great wrench. I'm not especially clever. I act as my brother's secretary, and we find it answers very well. He is a rich man, and there is a good deal of business in connection with the estate, and so on. I am a poor man. By my father's will nearly everything was left to him and to Isabel. I was something of an offence to him, being the cause of my mother's death and misshapen into the bargain."

"What a wicked shame!" broke from Dinah.

"No, no! Some people are like that. They are made so. I don't feel in the least bitter about it. He left me enough to live upon, though as a matter of fact neither he nor anyone else expected me to grow up at the time that will was made. It was solely due to Biddy's devotion, I believe, that I managed to do so." He uttered his quiet laugh. "I am talking rather much about myself. It's kind of you not to be bored."

"Bored!" echoed Dinah, with shining eyes. "I think you are simply wonderful. I hope—I hope Sir Eustace realizes it."

"I hope he does," agreed Scott with a twinkle. "He has ample opportunities for doing so. Ah, there he is! He is actually skating alone. What has become of the beautiful Miss de Vigne, I wonder."

They walked on, nearing the rink. "I'm not going to be horrid about her any more," said Dinah suddenly. "You must have thought me a perfect little cat. And so I was!"

"Oh, please!" protested Scott. "I didn't!"

She laughed. "That just shows how kind you are. It doesn't make me feel the least bit better. I was a cat. There! Oh, your brother is calling you. I think I'll go."

She blushed very deeply and quickened her steps. Sir Eustace had come to the edge of the rink.

"Stumpy!" he called. "Stumpy!"

"How dare he call you that?" said Dinah. "I can't think how you can put up with it."

Scott raised his shoulders slightly, philosophically. "Doesn't the cap fit?" he said.

"Not a bit," Dinah declared with emphasis. "I have another name for you that suits you far better."

"Oh! What is that?" he looked at her with smiling curiosity.

Dinah's blush deepened from carmine to crimson. "I call you—Mr.
Greatheart," she said, her voice very low. "Because you help everybody."

A gleam of surprise crossed his face. He flushed also; but she saw that though embarrassed, he was not displeased.

He put a hand to his cap. "Thank you, Miss Bathurst," he said simply, and turned without further words to answer his brother's summons.

Dinah walked quickly on. That stroll with Scott had quite lifted her out of her depression.

CHAPTER IX THE RUNAWAY COLT

"It really is very tiresome," complained Lady Grace. "I knew that child was going to be a nuisance from the very outset."

"What has she done now?" growled the Colonel.

He was lounging in the easiest chair in the room, smoking an excellent cigar, preparatory to indulging in his afternoon nap. His wife reclined upon a sofa with a French novel which she had not begun to read. Through the great windows that opened on to the balcony the sunshine streamed in a flood of golden light. Rose was seated on the balcony enjoying the warmth. Lady Grace's eyes rested upon her slim figure in its scarlet coat as she made reply.

"These people—these Studleys—won't leave her alone. Or else she runs after them. I can't quite make out which. Probably the latter. Anyhow the sister—who, I believe is what is termed slightly mental—has asked her to go to tea in their private sitting-room. I have told her she must decline."

"Quite right," said the Colonel. "What did she say?"

Lady Grace uttered a little laugh. "Oh, she was very ridiculous and high-flown, as you may imagine. But, as I told her, I am directly responsible to her mother for any friendships she may make out here, and I am not disposed to take any risks. We all know what Mrs. Bathurst can be like if she considers herself an injured party."

"A perfect she-dragon!" agreed the Colonel. "I fancy the child herself is still kept in order with the rod. Why, even Bathurst—great hulking ox—is afraid of her. Billy isn't, but then Billy apparently can do no wrong."

"She certainly loves no one else," said Lady Grace. "I never met anyone with such an absolutely vixenish and uncontrolled temper. I am sorry for Dinah. I have always pitied her, for she certainly works hard, and gets little praise for it. But at the same time, I can't let her run wild now she is off the rein for a little. It wouldn't be right. And these people are total strangers."

"I believe they are of very good family," said the Colonel. "The title is an old one, and Sir Eustace is evidently a rich man. I had the opportunity for a little talk with the brother yesterday evening. A very courteous little chap—quite unusually so. I think we may regard them as quite passable." His eyes also wandered to the graceful, lounging figure on the balcony. "At the same time I shouldn't let Dinah accept hospitality from them, anyhow at this stage. She is full young. She must be content to stay in the background—at least for the present."

"Just what I say," said Lady Grace. "Of course if the younger brother should take a fancy to her—and he certainly seems to be attracted—it might be a very excellent thing for her. Her mother can't hope to keep her as maid of all work for ever. But I can't have her pushing herself forward. I was very glad to hear you reprimand her so severely this morning."

"She deserved it," said the Colonel judicially. "But at the same time if there is any chance of what you suggest coming to pass, I have no wish to stand in the child's way. I have a fancy that she will find the bondage at home considerably more irksome